Hearing yesterday that the new pope was American reminded me of October 1978, when, living in Warsaw, I learned that the new pope was Polish. That choice was more surprising – popes for centuries had been Italian – and probably more political. But there is something beautifully subversive about putting on the world stage right now a compassionate, multilingual American.
On a more personal note, the new pope was a freshman at Villanova University (majoring in mathematics) when I was a senior (majoring in English). So our paths probably didn’t cross, though it’s possible he read me in The Villanovan.
We gave up on The Four Seasons (the series, not the concerto) after two episodes, finding it silly and glib. Though I did enjoy the dinner scene when the three couples are discussing vacation ideas and someone suggests Warsaw. "The New York Times says Poland is the new Portugal."
I was delighted by this evidence that my favorite country is finally getting its due. (Even though a google search turned up no such quote from the Times.) And, naturally, I thought: the more interest in Poland, the better for my memoir. But I would not like Warsaw to be overrun with tourists the way that Lisbon now is. As a flat, often overcast city far from the sea - and close to Russia - it probably doesn't have to worry too much about massive popularity.
Yesterday was Japanese Heritage Night at loanDepot Park – the Dodgers were in town – and I figured it would also be the Last Game of the 2025 Season With an Open Roof.
I headed down around 5 and found the roof closed. I hesitated before entering the parking garage. I hesitated again when the man behind the ticket window told me the cheapest ticket was $40. Because of the Dodgers, he told me. It costs a lot to see the rich. I complained to him about the price as well as the closed roof.
Inside, I found a sympathetic staffer standing at the top of the escalator.
“I agree with you,” he said. “I would love to see the roof open.”
“It’s because of the weather,” the young woman at the information desk told me.
“But it’s a beautiful evening,” I said. (There was a dark cloud hovering to the north.)
I wandered the concourse, which was unusually lively. Behind the left field stands a group banged on Japanese drums, supervised by a woman in a kimono.
After the third inning I walked outside to call Hania. No rain had fallen; there was a light breeze; it was a gorgeous South Florida evening.
Back inside, I walked with authority past the usher of Section 19 – it pays to wear a dress shirt to games – and found an empty aisle seat a few rows back from the premium section. Almost immediately, Shohei Ohtani came up to bat, and I enjoyed a straight view of his towering fly ball as it headed toward the right field stands.
Instead of a soft breeze, I felt cold blasts from air-conditioners on my back. I left after the seventh inning, the game tied at 4. I used to insist on staying till the final out, but not in a stadium with a closed roof.
Outside the parking garage, a young Black man played “What a Wonderful World” on his trumpet.
“In the old stadium,” I told him, as I placed a few dollars in his instrument case, “they used to play that song at the end of every game.”
"Really?” he said. “I didn’t know that.”
I shared the elevator with two young men who, naturally, heard my complaint about the closed roof.
“Was it closed?” the one man asked. “I didn’t even notice. I was so focused on the game.”
I found his obliviousness to his surroundings so astonishing that I didn’t ask him why, after being so absorbed in the game, he was leaving in the eighth inning.
It is rare these days to take pleasure in the news, but I was delighted to read in this morning’s Miami Herald that a yacht sank off of Miami Beach with over 30 social media influencers on board. They were all rescued, but it's possible their invaluable phones were lost.
Last week on Fresh Air, Terry Gross paid tribute to her recently deceased husband, Francis Davis, by reading from some of his work. (Davis was a writer and critic, primarily of jazz.) This is the wonderful thing about being a writer: your writing – books, stories, articles, essays – survives, even if, eventually, it goes ignored. But anyone with a genuine interest can read the words you wrote, at various points in your life, and feel your presence. Gross said that, alone now after four decades of marriage, she finds comfort in her late husband's work.
Today is Polonia Day, honoring the approximately 20 million Poles who live outside Poland. It is such a large and historic diaspora that it has not only its own name, but its own day.