“Did I make this much noise when I turned 11?” Lilly asked on Friday evening, soon after Ann’s 11th birthday get-together and sleepover got under way.

“Yes, you did,” I answered. That was the year she and her friends talked about calling the spectre of Bloody Mary, but didn’t get around to trying.

Eleven times around the Sun for Ann. Still a child, but edging away from it. There were no efforts to call out Bloody Mary at Ann’s event. I wasn’t expected any. But there was a lot of electronic game-play and standard-issue giggling. Pizza and cake were served.

On Saturday evening, we watched Moneyball on DVD. Or at least Ann and I did; Yuriko was too tired for it, and Lilly was out with friends. I’d heard it was good, and it was. I didn’t know the history of the 2002 Oakland As, so the arc of the story – if not the substance of it – was new to me. I’m glad it wasn’t an underdog-goes-all-the-way story. Instead, it was an underdog-has-a-better-season-than-expected story. Using math.

I didn’t realize that Philip Seymour Hoffman was even in that movie until I read one of his obits this morning. He played the obstreperous manager Art Howe. While watching that character I thought, he looks familiar. But I couldn’t place him. I guess that’s the mark of a fine character actor. He can disappear into his character.