In October of 1998, the Red Sox lived up to our expectations, but not our hopes, and bowed out in the division series, and the enemy Yankees won it all, again. We were not to know that young Leo would not grow up with the same sense of futility that plagued generations of baseball-loving bears, who were always certain that the ultimate loss was looming somewhere ahead. (East Coast bears are nearly all Sox fans,though there are a few who cheer for the Phillies. In the Midwest, Cubs fans naturally predominate. For them, the futility persists as of this writing.) But I digress. With baseball season behind us, the time had come for my farewells; there was no longer a need for television access, (except on Sundays, and Monday nights) and my journey lay ahead. Mum baked some supplies for the road, and I found myself once more bidding good bye to loved ones and setting forth for a look at the world.
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