Long story short, the people who manage the ether for the Democrat-Herald have decided to handle the blogs in-house instead of via an outside company called WordPress; I admit I have no real idea how all this stuff works or why the blogs were ever administered beyond the purview of the DH website.

Hell, when I was going to school, an electric typewriter was a technological marvel.

Anyway, at the suggestion of our new web guy, who’s responsible for making all of this switchover stuff works OK even though he’s only been on the job for like three weeks, I am writing one last post via WordPress to help readers make as seamless a transition as possible to the new setup.

If you’re having any trouble reading or finding the blog, please give me a call at 541-812-6110 or email me at steve.lundeberg@lee.net and I’ll ask the web guy to solve whatever problem you may be experiencing.

btw, we’re hoping not to lose all the posts archived in this WordPress system — in my case, more than 2,000 of them over five years. But just in case there are any glitches in the transferred archiving, if there’s any blog research you were dying to do, today might be the day to do that.

And now, Catch of the Day No. 50, a mid-1960s Wilson-made Willie Horton glove. Willie starred for the Detroit Tigers, then for the Triple-A Portland Beavers at the

Long story short, the people who manage the ether for the Democrat-Herald have decided to handle the blogs in-house instead of via an outside company called WordPress; I admit I have no real idea how all this stuff works or why the blogs were ever administered beyond the purview of the DH website.

Hell, when I was going to school, an electric typewriter was a technological marvel.

Anyway, at the suggestion of our new web guy, who’s responsible for making all of this switchover stuff works OK even though he’s only been on the job for like three weeks, I am writing one last post via WordPress to help readers make as seamless a transition as possible to the new setup.

If you’re having any trouble reading or finding the blog, please give me a call at 541-812-6110 or email me at steve.lundeberg@lee.net and I’ll ask the web guy to solve whatever problem you may be experiencing.

btw, we’re hoping not to lose all the posts archived in this WordPress system — in my case, more than 2,000 of them over five years. But just in case there are any glitches in the transferred archiving, if there’s any blog research you were dying to do, today might be the day to do that.

And now, Catch of the Day No. 50, a mid-1960s Wilson-made Willie Horton glove. Willie starred for the Detroit Tigers, then for the Triple-A Portland Beavers at the end of his professional baseball career. I used to love watching him play at Civic Stadium.

Here’s the glove, picked up for a dollar at a thrift store in east Linn County:

I was never allowed to have a dog as a kid. The story line was, “We don’t have a good place for a dog,” which was at least partly true, though there were plenty of dogs in my neighborhood and we certainly could’ve done something to make our home suitable for a dog had there been the will to so.

My parents were fond of saying, “When you grow up and have your own place you can have as many dogs as you want.”

They were right. I could, and I have.

In the 28 years since I left my childhood home for good, I’ve had six dogs: Bingle, Amanda, Data, Ruby, Shag and Jewel, the only one who’s still alive (she’ll be 11 in a couple months).

I’ve loved them all of course, and each was fantastic in his or her own way, but Jewel stands out for being especially gentle and well mannered, and no matter how long I ask her to wait in the bed of the truck, she simply will not jump out; on Friday, she patiently watched the passersby on Monroe Avenue in Corvallis for a couple hours while my friend and I visited.

Jewel gets tons of attention wherever she goes, from people of all ages, and even from folks who, I am told, aren’t usually that fond of dogs; she’s pretty captivating and inviting.

In honor of my personal favorite canine, this week’s list shines the spotlight on seven others that are pretty cool, both real and fictional. Note: Snoopy, Lassie, Scooby Doo and Rin Tin Tin don’t make this list mainly just because they make every kind of famous dog list; this compilation makes room for some others.

Here we go, in no particular order:

Astro, from "The Jetsons."

Balto, inspiration for the Iditarod, immortalized by a statue in New York's Central Park.

Silverton Bobbie, found her way to home to Oregon from Indiana in 1923 after becoming separated from her family while on a trip.

White Fang, from the movie based on the Jack London book.

Tramp, from My Three Sons.

Shadow, center, from Homeward Bound.

S---head, from The Jerk.

And now, our Catch of the Day, No. 48, a Wilson Billy Martin glove that I bought at a junk store in Seaside a dozen or so years ago for around $40. I sort of overpaid for this glove, but I guess I just wanted it pretty bad.

We managed to get swept by a team from the Albany Athletic Club, and individually, the twin bill was kind of a mixed bag for your intrepid blogger, a somewhat reluctant softballer (I love spending the time with Pam, but I’ve just never been that much for slow-pitch).

I managed to go 6 for 7 on the day but didn’t exactly scorch the ball. And defensively, while I recorded six putouts in the nightcap (three apiece at shortstop and left field), in the opener I committed three errors at third base; still trying to figure out how that happened.

Anyway, as you can see it was sort of a feast-or-famine kind of day at the ballpark, which began with half of my stick of of Doublemint breaking off and falling onto the gravel parking lot as I took the gum out of its wrapper.

Momentarily, I was going to just be satisfied with 50 percent of a serving of gum, but when I realized the other half hadn’t fallen into a pile of dog manure or onto a dirty diaper or a discarded syringe, I just plucked it off the gravel and popped it into my mouth.

“You eat a bushel of germs before you die,” my mom would often say as she ate a cookie or cracker or whatever that she had accidentally dropped onto the floor or ground.

I’ve always remembered that and thus am seldom all that bothered about doing the same kind of thing. An exception is for any food item that hits the floor in the DH lunch room, which is adjacent to the press room. The floor was just cleaned and waxed Sunday, so it’s looking pretty spotless right now, but usually it has sort of a SuperFund appearance about it.

For me to eat something that’s hit that particular floor, I either have to be super hungry, or it has to be some particularly treasured food item. You know, something from Hasty Freez, Ciddici’s, the Pepper Tree, etc.

And now our Catch of the Day, No. 47, a mid-1950s Stan Lopata catcher’s mitt made by Rawlings. I picked this mitt up nearly 20 years ago at a junk store in Brookings for around $20. Lopata was a two-time all-star for the Phillies.

At the cash register, I ended up shooting the breeze momentarily with the checker, a woman approximately my age.

Now, having been taught good manners by my parents, I am as into politeness as the next person, probably more so; I try always, for example, to say please and thank you anytime the situation remotely calls for it.

Still, while I know respect was definitely intended, and respect is what I felt, it seemed odd to have the checker address me as “sir” about three times in our 60-second conversation, especially given my super casual attire of blue cargo shorts, a red Madras High sweatshirt and black Nike running shoes.

Turning away from the checkout stand, I then nearly bumped into a couple walking out with a pair of large plastic bins.

“Oh, I’m sorry, excuse me,” I said after avoiding the collision.

“No problem. Your just fine, sir,” said the woman, who appeared to be in her early to mid 30s.

Sir? Again?

Oh well. Extra formally polite is definitely better than extra impolite.

And now, our Catch of the Day, No. 46, a late-1960s Wilson-made Catfish Hunter model. Catfish, a Hall of Famer for the A’s and Yankees, threw a perfect game in 1968.

Even I had to laugh at the rich irony that would’ve arisen from, say, the paramedics removing the pack from my comatose self and noticing its contents.

But as you probably gathered, since you are reading a fresh blog post, I did not end up unconscious from a bike mishap, or anything else for that matter.

Here’s the deal:

I would never, ever tell anyone that wearing a bicycle helmet is a bad idea, but I just really have a hard time bringing myself to wear one. Because when I was a kid, my unprotected head and I pedaling thousands of miles, uneventfully, around greater Milwaukie, bike helmets had not yet been invented, and even if they had, anyone wearing one would have been labeled a hopeless dork and teased mercilessly.

The dork factor, and the fact that nothing ever happened to me or anyone I knew, is a huge barrier to wearing a lid now, at age 49.

Oh, when my kids were little and learning to ride, I donned a helmet to set a good example. Evidently, however, not a good enough one since neither of them wears a helmet anymore.

Before departing on that Thursday afternoon ride, I asked sports editor Les Gehrett, younger than I am but in my general age group, if he wore a helmet while riding a bicycle.

“I don’t own a bike right now,” he said.

“But if you were to ride a bike, would you wear one?”

“Absolutely not,” he said. “I’d feel like an idiot.”

Copy editor Kate Schell, however, who is roughly the same age as my 20-something kids, said she pretty much always wears one.

“I’d rather be a dork than a vegetable,” she said, and again, I can’t really argue with that logic.

What about you? Bike helmet or no bike helmet?

And now, today’s Catch of the Day, No. 45, the semi-legendary, mid-1960s, Wilson-made Max Alvis glove written about in this spot in spring 2011:

Those messages, of course, are built around the very basic idea that everyone deserves to be treated with respect and dignity and to feel safe, especially in their own home, and that if you’re in a situation where that’s not the case, CARDV is a nonprofit, confidential agency to help you get out of that situation.

In October, CARDV would like to make a big push to raise its profile in Linn County, where the majority of its clients come from. Among its projects is trying to partner with a number of businesses that would provide support by having CARDV literature available and/or serving as a collection point for old cell phones; even an outdated, out of service phone can be used to access 911, which is the first call many prospective clients need to make.

Another one will be getting stickers with CARDV’s hotline phone number — 541-754-0110 or 1-800-927-0197 — affixed in women’s bathrooms around the county, particularly in places like bars, where a potentially abusive situation might arise or escalate. When Crystal mentioned the bathroom stickers, it made perfect sense to me as a means of getting information into the hands of those who need it. Everyone, of course, has to go to the bathroom, and someone in trouble may have ducked into a restroom for safety or just to try to compose herself.

A CARDV sticker in that restroom might end up being a lifesaver.

If you operate or otherwise work at a Linn County business that would like to partner with CARDV in some way — and really, why wouldn’t you, whether you’re a restaurant or hardware store or bicycle shop? — call CARDV at 541-758-0219 or write to Crystal at crystal.kelley@cardvservices.org.

And you don’t need to wait until October.

And now, today’s Catch of the Day, No. 44, a Denkert-made Billy Goodman first baseman’s glove that came from Rick’s Bargain Shop in Lebanon a couple years ago; it was on the verge of being thrown out by Rick’s when a friend rescued it and gave it to me.

Goodman, btw, won the 1950 American League batting title for the Red Sox and finished his 16-year career with an even .300 average.

Unless you don’t see so well, or are new to planet Earth, they are high-top Converse Chuck Taylor All-Stars, my single favorite shoes ever.

I have a slight preference for white ones, and I actually have a pair of those too, but when I saw these basically brand-new sneakers at Goodwill for a mere $13, I simply couldn’t pass them up. Unsurprisingly, they drew a number of comments in the newsroom. Surprisingly, one of them was from editor Hasso Hering, not really the Chucks type.

“Pretty fancy shoes you’ve got there,” he said as we looked over a letter criticizing an anniversary announcement I had typed up last week; well, at least I have good taste in footwear.

And as longtime readers may remember, I have written specifically about Chucks not once but twice over the years. Hey, Converse All-Stars deserve that; they’re Americana.

So, of course, is baseball, which brings us to today’s Catch of the Day, No. 43, the Wilson A2403 catcher’s mitt I use in my senior league games. It’s a late 1970s model, identical to the one I used at Rex Putnam High, that I bought on eBay a few years ago for $20. The A2403 was Wilson’s top of the line back then, the A2000 of catcher’s mitts:

Thus did Jennifer think the pic below would be of interest to me.

“Recognize that blond girl in the red dress?” she asked.

It’s my daughter Pam, now 22 and about to start graduate school.

Along the lines of how probably most dads think, no matter how old she gets, she’ll always be my beloved little girl, which maybe partially explains (along with inertia/laziness) why the photo of Pam that I keep on my desk at work is this one (first grade, maybe second grade?):

Pam, much like her older brother Bob, has always been the same basic person as she’s worked her way through the years; she’s smart, cheerful, friendly and confident and is not above patting herself on the back for good grades or the like.

“Daddy, I got a 99 on my statistics test,” is a genre of conversation starter she has used ever since kindergarten. Which is when, incidentally, she made this:

It is, as you likely guessed, a calendar, one that requires the user to manually change the date every day — which her mom has done lovingly and faithfully for the past 17 years (the calendar was current on the day I took this photo, btw).

Anyway, often when Pam tells me how fantastic she has done on some test or project or paper, I will tell her, “Great job. And nice job on that wood-block calendar also.”

And even though I say that to tease her and to gently try to keep her from getting a big head, I actually mean it also. I treasure that little calendar.

Nice work, Pam. On everything. You’re doing great.

And now, Catch of the Day No. 42, a 1950s Wilson Ball Hawk picture-palm model that I bought for maybe $20 at a junk store at Lincoln City nearly 20 years ago:

“Hey, all you ‘flip-flop’ people, I refer you once again to the authoritative Beach Boys:

T-shirt, cutoffs, sandals, pair of thongs. We’ve been having fun all summer long.”

Until around a decade or so ago, the only time I’d ever heard the rubbery, summery footwear referred to as anything other than thongs was in “Margaritaville,” and I guess I just gave Jimmy Buffett a pass since he was writing a song lyric and not, like, a treatise on shoes:

I blew out my flip-flop; stepped on a pop top.

Anyway, fascinating though all that is, it merely serves as the intro for our latest Top 7. With the warm season in its homestretch, it seemed like a good time to list my favorite “summer” songs. Here we go:

1) “Summer of ’69,” Bryan Adams.

2) “Summer in the City,” the Lovin’ Spoonful.

3) “Summer Breeze,” Seals & Croft.

4) “Summertime Blues,” written by Eddie Cochran, though I favor the Who’s version.

5) “Summer Rain,” Johnny Rivers.

6) “All Summer Long,” the Beach Boys.

7) “Summer Side of Life,” Gordon Lightfoot.

And now Catch of the Day No. 41, a late 1950s Rawlings Mickey Mantle “Triple Crown” glove: