Tuesday: CU Baseball

An uneventful day at work, catching up on quite a few things.  So here is a very exciting picture of my Columbia University baseball that sits on my desk in a mini mitt.  I sometimes throw it up and down when I am thinking, much to everyone else's annoyance.  One random piece of general knowledge that I have in my head is that a baseball is only the real thing if it has 108 stitches.

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Because of my cold, which I may have mentioned in passing, I have been been sleeping pretty badly this last week and have spent quite a few hours sitting up in the night, reading, and waiting for my cough to subside.  While reading in the wee hours, I finished 'Letters Home: Correspondence 1950-1963' which consisted of Sylvia Plath's letters home to her mother, from the day she left to go to college, until her death.  It was a superb read on so many levels - touching, frustrating and revealing.  And perfect for something to dip into in the night, when big story plots weren't the thing.  The sad thing is reading it, knowing the inevitable conclusion it is hurtling towards.  But even her mother, who edited the letters, conceded that they only gave one side of an incredibly complex relationship.