The last few days at the rink were surreal, as the building slowly came down around us. I’d come in for a game and find myself staring at a blank wall trying to identify why it looked wrong. Ah, that’s where all the championship banners used to be. the next game, benches were missing, just the flat ends of bolts left in the cement. By the finals, we were watching the walls of the batting cages come down one at a time.
I played in the Copper League championship game at the rink tonight. We played against our favorite team, the Angry Housewives. They beat us 3-2, in a good solid fair game, and when it was all over we all gathered together for a big photo and I thought my heart was going to break just a little bit.
Not because we lost. If we’re going to lose, I want the Housewives to the be the ones to beat us; they’re good folk. But because this might be the last real hockey season.
Tuesday morning. 5 a.m. Airport coffee and a plastic chair. Tinsel on the airport art. Fa-la-la-la-la.
Life's been a blur of work and Christmas. Throw in a new hockey bruise and you're up to speed.
Every time I switch on the news, my stomach turns over. I keep switching it on though. I'm starting to wonder if I do it out of social responsibility or as a rubbernecker watching a slow-motion car wreck crash into Washington.
The best I can do is take a deep breath, resist the urge to panic, and look to my local community for ways to help.
Happy Stars Wars Day, folks. I've been ultra busy lately, but nothing but the most important intergalactic business could keep from wishing you a happy May the Fourth. So here's a vaguely Star Wars-ish post for you.
After the close of every league season at the local hockey rink, they hold an Iron Man Tournament.
I always feel like I need to qualify this one to my friends who run. This is not like an Iron Man Triathalon where you run/bike/swim 140+ miles (despite the fact that no zombies are chasing you). Nor is it an I-must-train-for-ten-years-to-do-this-and-not-die-in-the-process kind of deal.
It's also not an I'm-a-super-genius-with-personality-issues-and-I-built-my-own-robot-super-suit kind of deal, though that would be cool too.
Knock on gingerbread, but I feel like I've got the Christmas scene pretty well in hand this year. Tree's up. We've made cookies. My husband brought home a mistletoe clump the size of a tumbleweed. I've got a few minor shopping things to do, but mostly it's all wrapped up and in the bag, so to speak. Aside from rooting around in the back of my closet for something passable to wear to the company Christmas party, I'm set. Often I'm starting to feel a little harried at this stage in December. I don't know exactly how it happened, but this mellow season of waiting has been quite pleasant.