Essay: Summertime and the livin’ is easy. So the song from Porgy and Bess goes. Even though most of us, like school kids, consider those bookends of Memorial Day and

Fiction: On the afternoon of June 29, 2051, Ted Falconer, director of the Pearl Sector Homeless Pavilion for the city of Portlandia, stood atop Neakahnie Mountain and stared down on

Memoir: I was not an athletic kid by any 7th inning stretch of the imagination. As an only child, I lacked the opportunity to compete in the physical arena on a

Memoir: There were two religions in my family, Catholicism and baseball.  My Dad was a life-long fanatic of both. Devotion like his came from a deep indoctrination in faith.  Faith

Memoir:  My father played baseball once a year. No glove, no cleats, no practice, but a deep affection for family. On a grassy field he played with brothers, cousins, and

Essay: He is the only one of nine who sees all the game facing forward. If the object is to get home, that is where he plays. He goes by

Memoir:  I was a rather oblivious mom when it came to my son’s sports events. Especially when it came to Little League. Mainly it was because both the practices and

Memoir:  You know the type. That overbearing baseball mom who shouts through the fence: are you kidding me? when the umpire calls strike three on her precious boy. Or the

Fiction: Chapter 1 Twice upon two times, magic would dramatically alter the fortunes of baseball’s New York Mets. First, there was 1969. The Mets phoenixed from last place to win

Nonfiction:  I love baseball. It offers a sense of order in an often chaotic, messy world. There is poetry in its movements and strategy. Unlike other sports, where the main