We began yesterday with a light breakfast, then walked into town to check out the bookstores and various other shops. Sandra ended up buying some comic books, while I picked up a hard-cover copy of Asimov’s Guide to Shakespeare. At one of the used bookstores, I stumbled onto something written back in the early 1980s called Baseball’s Top 100 Players or some such, written by a guy named Maury Allen. I’d never heard of this book, nor of the author, so I thought I’d take a look. Well, I quickly put it back on the shelf, without ever reading past the table of contents. Babe Ruth was listed at #3, behind Willie Mays and Hank Aaron. Rod Carew made the top 25; Steve Garvey made the top 50. Nice try, but no thanks.

Wandered around some more, stopping for brunch at a place called Geppetto’s. If you’re ever there, I highly recommend that whatever you order, be sure to get their fresh-cut fries along with it. Great stuff.

After more window-shopping and an unintentional nap, we met up with my mom and stepdad and ate dinner at Greanleaf Restaurant, which would have had a good view of Ashland Creek had said creek not been so low. If we listened very carefully, we could hear a faint trickling noise.

Down the road a bit, an outdoor music and dance show followed dinner, complete with such unusual renaissance instruments as the oud and the hurdy-gurdy. Very cool percussion work, too. The show lasted about 40 minutes, after which we entered the Elizabethan Theatre, a stage under the stars, to watch the Oregon Shakespeare Festival’s production of The Merchant of Venice.

The play lasted almost three hours, including one intermission, but you’d never know it. I don’t get out to the theater too often, so I don’t have much point of reference, but the show these folks put on was highly entertaining and very true to the text. It’s remarkable to me how this group of people, both on stage and behind the scenes (along with the able assistance of Shakespeare, of course), could transport us all to a completely different world for so long without us barely even noticing.

That’s the magic of theater, I suppose. Which, in a curious way, isn’t unlike the magic of baseball. Both take you someplace else for a little while. And both bring you back a little better for the experience…