Baseball. America's sport. Poetry and green fields. John Updike's "Hub Fans Bid Kid Adieu". Vin Scully and Lon Simmons and Bob Uecker. Ted Williams and Babe Ruth. The high hard one on the inside, and the can of corn. Bobby Thompson's shot. The Red Sox coming back from 3 games down to win. And then sweeping. Pudge Fisk waving it fair.
Books. Novels. Collections of short stories. The complete Shakespeare. The edition of the complete Sherlock Holmes that I read when I was ten. The compact OED. The annotated Alice. The wall of SF&F paperbacks in my husband's office. Escape and freedom and information.
Brian Eno. "The Bell Dog". "Baby's on Fire". Before and After Science. "Backwater". If you study the logistics and heuristics of the mystics, you will find that their minds rarely move in a line. It is much more realistic to abandon such ballistics and resign to be trapped on a leaf on the vine.
The Beatles. Yeah, yeah, yeah.
Black bean burritos. With the spiciest salsa possible.
Black Phoenix Alchemy Lab. Little brown bottles of magic scent. Snake Oil. Coyote. Dracul. Dee. Titus Andronicus.
BBEdit. Yes, I love my text editor.
Boots. Black harness boots. Brown engineer boots. Under jeans. Preferably button-fly jeans, as worn by ASH.
Buffy the Vampire Slayer. Our shared love is what brings us together here.