Sunday, Oct. 28

Up around 7 a.m., but skipped my exercises. Hubbie accompanied Mother to our house early, and we put a pot of chicken on to stew. Mother, of course, chopped the veggies for it.

My reason for making a pot of chicken was that I planned to use it tomorrow night for Chinese soup, my contribution to a chili and soup event at the college library, sponsored by the Friends of the Library.

But since I hadn't received an invitation as usual, and I hadn't seen the event announced in the newspaper, I began to wonder if we had the date wrong. We were going by a date that Hubbie wrote down when we attended the last event at the library a couple of weeks ago.

I decided I needed to check the college's online calendar to confirm the date. There, I found that the event is Nov. 29, rather than Oct. 29.

No problem. I'll just do it all again for Nov. 29. For today, I served the chicken with mashed potatoes and gravy, and a side of English peas.

While we prepared the chicken and then had lunch, we watched both the old version of "War of the Worlds," and the new version, as well as Monday and Tuesday nights episodes of "Dancing With the Stars."

After lunch, Mother headed to the couch for a nap, while Hubbie and I got ready to attend the symphony concert later this afternoon.

When Mother woke up, I accompanied her home, since she said she wasn't in the mood to attend the concert.

Hubbie and I arrived at the college fine arts building around 3:30 for the concert that began at 4 p.m. It was a really good program this time, intended to be very family friendly.

The concert included "The Olympic Spirit," created for the 1988 summer olympics, and very familiar to the audience. Also included was "The Young Prince and Princess," from Scherazade, and the overture to "William Tell."

Following an intermission, the first piece was "Casey at the Bat." This number began with the canned sound of thousands of people cheering at a baseball game. As the cheering died down, the orchestra began playing, and a narrator read the famous poem about Casey at bat. The deep-voiced narrator was great, bringing just the right tone and animation to the poem, as the orchestra added drama.

Casey at the Bat
by Ernest Lawrence Thayer ©

Published: The Examiner (06-03-1888)

The Outlook wasn't brilliant for the Mudville nine that day:
The score stood four to two, with but one inning more to play.
And then when Cooney died at first, and Barrows did the same,
A sickly silence fell upon the patrons of the game.

A straggling few got up to go in deep despair. The rest
Clung to that hope which springs eternal in the human breast;
They thought, if only Casey could get but a whack at that -
We'd put up even money, now, with Casey at the bat.

But Flynn preceded Casey, as did also Jimmy Blake,
And the former was a lulu and the latter was a cake;
So upon that stricken multitude grim melancholy sat,
For there seemed but little chance of Casey's getting to the bat.

But Flynn let drive a single, to the wonderment of all,
And Blake, the much despis-ed, tore the cover off the ball;
And when the dust had lifted, and the men saw what had occurred,
There was Jimmy safe at second and Flynn a-hugging third.

Then from 5,000 throats and more there rose a lusty yell;
It rumbled through the valley, it rattled in the dell;
It knocked upon the mountain and recoiled upon the flat,
For Casey, mighty Casey, was advancing to the bat.

There was ease in Casey's manner as he stepped into his place;
There was pride in Casey's bearing and a smile on Casey's face.
And when, responding to the cheers, he lightly doffed his hat,
No stranger in the crowd could doubt 'twas Casey at the bat.

Ten thousand eyes were on him as he rubbed his hands with dirt;
Five thousand tongues applauded when he wiped them on his shirt.
Then while the writhing pitcher ground the ball into his hip,
Defiance gleamed in Casey's eye, a sneer curled Casey's lip.

And now the leather-covered sphere came hurtling through the air,
And Casey stood a-watching it in haughty grandeur there.
Close by the sturdy batsman the ball unheeded sped-
"That ain't my style," said Casey. "Strike one," the umpire said.

From the benches, black with people, there went up a muffled roar,
Like the beating of the storm-waves on a stern and distant shore.
"Kill him! Kill the umpire!" shouted someone on the stand;
And its likely they'd a-killed him had not Casey raised his hand.

With a smile of Christian charity great Casey's visage shone;
He stilled the rising tumult; he bade the game go on;
He signaled to the pitcher, and once more the spheroid flew;
But Casey still ignored it, and the umpire said, "Strike two."

"Fraud!" cried the maddened thousands, and echo answered fraud;
But one scornful look from Casey and the audience was awed.
They saw his face grow stern and cold, they saw his muscles strain,
And they knew that Casey wouldn't let that ball go by again.

The sneer is gone from Casey's lip, his teeth are clenched in hate;
He pounds with cruel violence his bat upon the plate.
And now the pitcher holds the ball, and now he lets it go,
And now the air is shattered by the force of Casey's blow.

Oh, somewhere in this favored land the sun is shining bright;
The band is playing somewhere, and somewhere hearts are light,
And somewhere men are laughing, and somewhere children shout;
But there is no joy in Mudville - mighty Casey has struck out.

The concert ended with two other familiar numbers from movies: "The Sorcerer's Apprentice," and "Harry Potter Sympohonic Suite."

Back home, I fixed a hot dog on a bun, with mustard and relish for Mother's supper, which Hubbie took to her. Hubbie and I had leftover barbeque and sweet potatoes for supper.

Spent the rest of the evening watching TV, including "The Shining," a 1980 psychological thriller starring Jack Nicholson...very appropriate for Halloween week.