Congrats to the Saints, the “Ain’ts” no more.

From PostSecret

Later today the Pro Football Hall of Fame announces this year’s inductees (mandatory mention of Jerry and Emmitt) and there’s room for three more nominees. I’m rooting for Russ Grimm because of my fond memories of the Hogs (he’d be the first), Don Coryell, and Richard Dent.

Tomorrow is the annual Game-To-End-All-Games and, most times, it’s a yawner. Predicting a Colts victory and rooting for the Saints.

Monday begins the slowest month of the year: the space between the SB and Spring Training. Nothing important happens, sports-wise, except for Daytona.*

In March, The Bride and I will be in Arizona with some awesome folks to catch some baseball. In the meantime, the second hand on the clock will barely move.

(*Shut up, NBAers. No one takes your game seriously. Two-thirds of your teams go to the postseason. Get real.)

There’s been much debate about the slow death of newspapers, the nails of the coffin coming from the easy access to information via the internet. Many newspapers made the leap and here’s a case in point.

This morning’s San Francisco Chronicle on Kindle contained 185 articles, with thirty in the Sporting Green alone. It’s a rare day when there are less than fifty articles in the daily edition.

The subscription through Amazon is $5.00 a month.

There are no advertisements at all, though I suspect that will end someday.

A hardcopy daily edition outside of the Bay Area is $1 except for Sunday ($2.50, I think).

Newspapers that do not adjust their business models to this electronic reality should go out of business because the refusal to use available technology means they are reporting yesterday’s old news and that is a failure of their fundamental mission.

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When this blog falls towards the wayside, its neglect is not from lack of interest but more a misdirection of interest. Such is the case now.

In October and November, foreclosure notices were taped to the front door of our rental. Considering the times, we perhaps should not have been surprised but we were. The landlord had stopped paying the mortgage and the bank exercised what they considered prudent fiscal policy: they wanted their money or the property. Who can blame them? We were in no danger of being thrown into the streets immediately, as prudent and admirable research by our daughters proved that we had rights as loyal tenants. We would have to leave, yes, but time was on our side.

Our landlord offered to work out a deal so we could buy the place but the 1950s-era house had seen far better days and would, in our opinion as longtime residents, become a money pit. We moved out at the end of November.

[A quick divergence here to thank everyone who helped out. You did a magnificent job and we are beyond grateful.]

Next on the calendar were the holidays and unpacking, simultaneous events that are not recommended for the faint of heart. Two months later, we are starting to feel at home.

Along the way, I began fulfilling a promise to myself to work on my grandmother’s photographs. Regrettably, they have not been stored in ideal locations but many survived the rigors of time. My plan is to eventually copy them to CD for all interested parties and then, sadly, find a final resting place for them.

That moment will be hard because the pictures were people who touched and loved me and my family across the decades. As I scan the pictures sequentially in time, I watch my grandparents grow older together (but never old to me), their children learn to walk, my parents hold me, and my grandfather kiss my mother for what may have been the last time in his life. It’s impossible not to feel something.

But that is life. It moves on. As each day goes by, I am becoming the older people in the pictures, but in my own way as each journey is unique. At this point in time, I do not know how many pages are left in My Book of Life but like my ancestors, I will try to fill those pages with good times, good people, exciting adventures and memorable experiences that will keep me company as I get closer to the last chapter, whenever that is.

My mother and grandfather in 1940.