Oliver Wendall Holmes Sr. said it best in his poem: Cacoethes Scribendi
If all the trees in all the woods were men;
And each and every blade of grass a pen;
If every leaf on every shrub and tree
Turned to a sheet of foolscap; every sea
Were changed to ink, and all earth's living tribes
Had nothing else to do but act as scribes,
And for ten thousand ages, day and night,
The human race should write, and write, and write,
Till all the pens and paper were used up
And the huge inkstand was an empty cup,
Still would the scribblers clustered round its brink
Call for more pens, more paper, and more ink.
Turned to a sheet of foolscap; every sea
Were changed to ink, and all earth's living tribes
Had nothing else to do but act as scribes,
And for ten thousand ages, day and night,
The human race should write, and write, and write,
Till all the pens and paper were used up
And the huge inkstand was an empty cup,
Still would the scribblers clustered round its brink
Call for more pens, more paper, and more ink.
And now: From the desk of Pigpen Price
As I sit around the house, doing my best to avoid the coronavirus, I have discovered I have another ailment. Reed has a name for it.
It's called cacoethes, which is the uncontrollable urge or desire: in my case to write and write...and write. It has taken over my body. It really isn't a shocker. I've spent my adult life with a variation of the above.
Reed just shakes his head and calls me: Hemingway. Of course, my readers know I'm nowhere close to a Hemingway, except for the fact the great American novelist is my favorite author. I wish I could write like that.
Anyway, Reed Palmer is a smart fellow. He's the best hitter on our 60-and-over baseball team. He stands 6 feet 5 and I've asked him twice this week, if he sees any viruses up there. I'm 5-8, and my neck hurts after a 10-minute conversation with him.
No doubt, Reed is going to read this. My tall friend will make his way to my blog sometime during the next 24 hours. Reed will probably utter under his breath, "there goes Pigpen again!"
Pigpen is my nickname on our old-time baseball team. I go by Hemingway once I leave the baseball field. I'm kidding.
I'm the historian for our organization, which has been in existence for 52 years. We have close to 40 active players and if you include our retired players, and our associates, we are close to 100 strong. Formed in 1968, the club continues on and on and on...just like the Energizer bunny.
As for Palmer, the man can hit. He hit 29 homers in 2018! After one of his record-breaking home runs, a group of us went to the local watering hole. "I told the cocktail waitress, "I'd like a Reed Palmer, please!"
Well, that's enough for now. I'm going to get my trusty dictionary out and see If I spelled cacoethes correctly.
Note: Reed started all this. I followed up with my little story line and Oliver Wendall Holmes Sr. finished it for us.
Photos: Reed and me.
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