Tag Archive: Doris Day


“This is the greatest generation any society has ever produced.” – Tom Brokaw

“To whom much is given, from him (or her) much is expected.” – Luke 12:48

Every day is a gift.

For my mother Marjorie, April 4, 2019 is day #36,500 … to be exact.

Please feel free to double-check the math: 365 days x 100 years = 36,500.

Even though a critical mass of our extended family celebrated her birthday during spring break (March 23), today marks 100 years since my mom came into the world.

For Almost DailyBrett it’s extremely difficult – if not impossible – to make a third-person singular assessment of the woman who provided the ultimate first-person singular experience: My own birth.

Therefore your author has to acknowledge right here and now: The following epistle is woefully biased, and there is no remedy in sight.

Let’s get to the point: Marjorie M. Brett is without doubt, a superb representative of the “Greatest Generation.”

Her father, Randolph Myers, lived to his 100th birthday and beyond. He was as sharp as a tack at the community celebration of his century birthday in 1989. Ditto for Mumsy. Longevity runs on the Myers side of the family … and follicly challenged dudes too.

She may have slowed a tad here and there, but that didn’t stop California DMV from renewing her driver’s license for another five years.

And what a century it has been. We are now blessed to join her as she embarks on her second 100 years.

An Amazing Century For The Ultimate Go-Getter

Que será, será; Whatever will be, will be; The future’s not ours to see; Que será, será; What will be, will be.”

Sorry Doris Day: Que será, será is NOT my mother’s motto … not even close.

Similar to her father, Marjorie Myers Brett, is a supreme doer and an impressive achiever.

As Prime Minister Margaret Thatcher reportedly said: “Life must have purpose.” My mother’s life has purpose in spades.

It’s simply amazing to ponder what she witnessed, endured and celebrated during her incredible tenure on the earth from 1919 to 2019 … and counting.

Growing up as the daughter of a Western Pennsylvania lawyer, my mother witnessed the Great Depression, World War II, gave birth and raised three Baby Boomers; marveled as man walked on the moon, and now watches her AI vacuum cleaner “Rob” beautify her floors with more technology horsepower than NASA possessed when Neil Armstrong descended to the lunar landscape.

Without doubt, she did not approve of everything that transpired during the past century … she cared too much. Her laser-like focus does not permit nuances. She assesses white from black, good from bad, useful from irrelevant. She calls ’em as she sees ’em. She leaves diplomacy to others.

Her over-achieving worldly father did not have patience for those who wasted time. There was no teenage wasteland with “Pappy.”

The same is true with mother, one of the few liberated women of her time who earned a college degree, who taught classical piano to musicians, and who spoke confident French in the cafes on the Île Saint-Louis. There is no reverse gear with my mom’s transmission, let alone neutral. It’s petal to the metal, all the way.

One can argue that much was given to my mother, but at the same time much more was expected. She responded with an overachieving life, confronting and surmounting every challenge thrown her way to our fast-changing increasingly complex digital world.

Today’s widespread male parasite plague of doing nada, exhibiting zero pride and leaving it to women to take care of them, was not even remotely fathomable for any son of Marjorie M. Brett.

Even though the punitive word “privilege” raises the blood-pressure of your author, my mother provided me with winning biological lottery advantages (much is given), but she also was strict, demanding … yet understanding (much is expected).

It was sink or swim.

Your author would not be the person he is today without the caring, guidance, encouragement and love provided by my mother.

Mumsy will never admit to this statement, but it’s nonetheless true: The world is a better place because of the century-long contributions … both large and small … of one Marjorie M. Brett.

I am not worthy, but eternally thankful.

Love you, mom. Always have. Always will.

 

 

 

 

“Just me and him in a room for 10 minutes.” – John Roseboro talking about Juan Marichal shortly after being clobbered in a bat-swinging brawl in 1965

MarichalRoseboro2

“There were no hard feelings on my part, and I thought if that was made public, people would believe that this was really over with. So I saw him at a Dodger old-timers’ game, and we posed for pictures together, and I actually visited him in the Dominican (Republic). The next year, he was in the Hall of Fame. Hey, over the years, you learn to forget things.” – Roseboro talking about forgiving Marichal

“(Roseboro) forgiving (me) was one of the best things that happened in my life.” – Juan Marichal eulogizing John Roseboro in 2002

Fifty years ago was the Year of “Satisfaction.”

NASA’s Project Gemini was paving the way for Neil Armstrong to walk on the Moon just four years later.

1965 was also the year that San Francisco pitcher Juan Marichal frightenly clobbered Los Angeles catcher John Roseboro on the head with a baseball bat.

The author of Almost DailyBrett was only 10 years-young at the time, and still remembers this August 22 brawl as if it was just yesterday.

Contemplating the incident a half-century later, one can easily conclude that Roseboro, who had every reason to hold an eternal grudge against Marichal, was a better human being than the vast majority of us.

Juan Marichal Hitting Catcher John Roseboro

He was not only willing to forgive; he even flew his family to the Dominican Republic to spend time with Marichal and his family. Maybe San Francisco Giants and Los Angeles Dodgers fans can learn something from this story. Baseball is only a game and sometimes emotions get high, but what is really important in life?

And when Roseboro eventually succumbed to a series of strokes and prostate cancer in 2002, the Roseboro family wanted Marichal, “The “Dominican Dandy” to not only be one of the pallbearers at catcher’s funeral service, but to actually deliver one of the eulogies.

In these days of institutional gridlock and permanent feuding, maybe we should contemplate Roseboro’s remarkable willingness to forgive, although he certainly never forgot. He was hit on the head with a baseball bat, an act that potentially could have been fatal … and yet …he was the bigger man.

Why Are We So Easily Offended?

“Love is patient, love is kind … it keeps no record of wrongs.” — 1 Corinthians 13:4-8

”Johnny, Johnny, I’m so sorry.” – Willie Mays Serving as a Peacemaker immediately following the bat-swinging brawl

Writing Almost DailyBrett in many ways is the equivalent of walking across a mine field.

You know deep down inside that one of these incendiary devices (e.g., blog posts) will go boom and pow now and then. The subject could be relatively benign, such as the choice of gluten free foods or more serious including: graduate teaching fellows going on strike; widowers daring to date again and without forgetting the dearly departed; or even preferring to go to the Rose Bowl over a family gathering.

It seems as if Hatfield’s vs. McCoy’s-style of feuding and pettiness is way too prevalent in our society with perpetual keeping of score of real and perceived transgressions. For Roseboro, he knew what Marichal inflicted on him in the heat of battle, and yet he was not only willing to forgive he developed a lifetime friendship with Marichal and his family.

Remembering a Better Man

“I wish I could have had John Roseboro as my catcher.” – Marichal speaking at Roseboro’s funeral in 2002

You wouldn’t blame Marichal for being humbled, and a little bit sheepish delivering the eulogy at the service commemorating the life of John Roseboro.MarichalRoseboro1

Roseboro had every reason for a lifelong beef against Marichal. And yet he realized the brawl was keeping Marichal out of the Baseball Hall of Fame. He (Roseboro) knew that sending the signal that the brawl was history was the way to ensure that Marichal was enshrined in Cooperstown.

How many of us would do that? How many of us are not on speaking terms with a wide variety of people, and for what reason? Can we even remember?

Maybe Doris Day had it right: “Que Sera, Sera”, (Whatever will be, will be).

Or better yet, Roseboro had it right. Pathos subsides. Time moves on. Life is too short. Make peace. Enjoy our limited time on Earth.

Sounds like good advice to all of us, including the author of Almost DailyBrett.

http://www.cbssports.com/mlb/eye-on-baseball/24368857/two-amazing-photos-of-famous-juan-marichaljohn-roseboro-brawl

https://miscbaseball.wordpress.com/2009/07/21/the-fight-between-juan-marichal-and-john-roseboro/

http://www.sfgate.com/sports/knapp/article/40-years-later-The-Fight-resonates-in-a-positive-2646178.php#page-2

http://www.nytimes.com/2002/08/20/sports/john-roseboro-a-dodgers-star-dies-at-69.html

https://almostdailybrett.wordpress.com/2011/07/17/magnanimous-in-victory-gracious-in-defeat/

http://www-pao.ksc.nasa.gov/history/gemini/gemini.htm

 

 

 

State of Excitement

“We want you to visit our State of Excitement often. Come again and again. But for heaven’s sake, don’t move here to live.” – Former Oregon Governor Tom McCall (1967-1975).

mccall

The sun is out. The rain is falling. The steam is rising off the concrete.

It’s just another sunny, rainy, steamy day in the State of Excitement.

Even though McCall and yours truly both earned journalism degrees from the University of Oregon and affiliate with the right side of the aisle, I suspect the dearly departed governor would be unhappy with me.

I moved from California to Oregon.

Yes, I am personally responsible for rising housing costs, freeway congestion and polluted campgrounds…even though I don’t camp. If you don’t believe me, just ask some of the Oregonians who don’t even know me.

Truth be known, I have lived in Oregon (second time) since 2010 and this time around I have not once heard any rhetoric about being a dirty rotten “Californicator.” There is a good reason for this absence of vitriol; the vast majority of Californians – despite the well documented problems in the Golden State – don’t want to move to Oregon.

It all boils down to what the Realtors call: Tradeoffs. Does a Californian want to trade a warm, sunny Mediterranean climate for a lousy temperate weather pattern, but in most instances a better quality of life?

When is it most difficult to live in Oregon? January and February, when the days are short and the weather is damp, cold and wet? Or May and June, when the days are long and the weather is damp, cool and wet?

oregonrain

In Oregon, you expect January and February to be crummy and Mother Nature obliges. In May and June, you are looking forward to summer. Will summer ever come?

California became a state in 1849 largely as a result of the discovery of gold and the Iron Horse. Oregon became a state 10 years later. Long before, Meriwether Lewis and William Clark trudged more than 4,100 miles to discover a soggy spot (Seaside) in a wet place (Oregon).

Periodically, I am asked if I would ever go back to California. Anything is possible, but not probable. Why? Living in Eugene, Oregon is easy. Keep in mind, I have not shed my Type A personality. I will never subscribe to Doris Day’s Que Sera, Sera.

What I have no desire to do again is the East Bay’s Sunol Grade or the San Mateo Bridge and paying $6 for the privilege. The prospect of 45 minutes one-way on a GOOD day or about two hours or more of my time each working day is just not worth it. Life is simply too short to spend more than half-a-day out of each week behind a steering wheel. Oregon gives these hours back to me, every day.

That’s huge.

The other stunning factor of California reality are the real estate prices…$3,500 per month (or more) in mortgage payments or rent and another $1,000 a month for property taxes, let alone utilities…to live in an underwater negative equity McMansion, which serves as the base for your next mind-numbing commute. That’s a price that I do not want to contemplate, let alone pay.

My South Eugene tree house is valued just north of $300,000 and I own it outright. If you magically transported and dropped my house in Silicon Valley, it would be worth about $1.3 million. Maybe, some Silicon Valley stock-option millionaire could bail me out of my mortgage prison and set me free…or maybe not.

I have been there; done that.

Shhh!!! There are days in Oregon when the sun shines, the air is warm and skies are blue. When these days arrive…and they do…Oregonians (yes, I am proudly one of them) head out on the trails, barbecue on our decks, sit under Douglas fir trees…and marvel at the wonders of life.

We have seasons, real seasons. In LA, it was overcast in the morning, hazy sunshine in the afternoon, highs in the 80s or 90s; lows in the 50s and 60s day-in, day-out for months on end. I refused to breathe any air that I couldn’t see.

Give me the deer grazing under the deck of my house. Give me the leaves falling in football season and the Autzen Stadium tailgate party. Give me the longer days of spring and everything blooming. Winter is a drag, but with very little (if any) snow.

There are tradeoffs between Oregon and California. Yogi Berra said that when you come to a fork in the road, “take it.”

I have done just that.

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Tom_McCall

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Lewis_and_Clark_Expedition

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Que_Sera,_Sera_%28Whatever_Will_Be,_Will_Be%29

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