Back in the Saddle

Yesterday my team curled in the Senior Bonspiel at the Bowling Green Curling Club in Ohio. It's a good club and a fun place to be. We went 1-1, finishing fifth. I skipped the second game and we got some breaks and the boys played good in front of me. We won it, 10-5.

It's the first game I've played skip in around 7 years. I don't mind saying I was intimidated by the prospect. I threw last rocks almost all the time for around twenty years, but you need a different mentality for being skip. You have to want it, you have to want to throw the rocks which generally mean the most to the outcome of a curling match. 

But as I said, we caught a couple breaks and the boys played well in front of me. I did manage to shoot a tight port to punch out a stone to score four. We still had time to play, but I knew with that four spot we would win.

It felt good. Yes, the shot, but being skip again really made my day. I appreciate the guys letting me. I've said many times that curling is a great game, but it's the people who are the best.

It's All Right to be Sentimental

I don't mean this to be at all melancholy, although it certainly is sentimental and perhaps a bit wistful.

When they were toddlers I can remember my kids rushing to the living room window to wave bye to me whenever I went somewhere. In my mind's eye I can actually see each of them in that front window, waving frantically as little tykes do.

Yesterday coming home from Newark Ohio as my oldest son was on his way to work, he slowed down on his exit from the local freeway to allow me to quickly catch up so that we might wave at each other as our trails separated. Last September as I turned out of the parking lot of the diner where my second son and I had had breakfast in Stamford, Connecticut, as I began my journey back to Detroit, I saw him watching my car as I left. We shared a wave.

Not quite the little blond and redheaded boys of 40 years ago. But still a treat for a Dad.

Time Zones

As I spoke of yesterday, me son Charlie and I watched live wrestling. It turns out that the show was in Perth, in Western Australia. It was late afternoon there as it was early morning here.

We don't often think about how big this world can be. He we were, my son and I, in the early morning hours of a Saturday in the eastern United States, and there they were in the dying embers of Sunday. As the Sun was literally rising here it was setting there. They were closer to Monday while we had only left Friday six hours behind us.

Maybe it isn't that big a deal. But it seems so to me. It's an interesting feeling, almost like awe. We ought to feel more of that in life.

Ringside Seats

What do you do at 5 O'clock in the morning in central Ohio on a late February Saturday morning? Why, watch pay per view wresting live...from Australia.

Yep, that's just what me and me son Charlie are doing. It's tomorrow afternoon in the land down under, because of the International Date Line or something like that. I believe Australia is 19 hours ahead of us, so while it's today here it's tomorrow there. Mind blowing.

Charlie bought a pizza, which is cooking in the oven right now. As we eat that means I'll get to ask, for the first time in my life, "Is this delivery?"

Get it?

Anyway, there are worse ways to spend Saturday mornings. I know. I've experienced them.

He'll Help Anybody

We Catholics know that when you can't find something you pray to St. Anthony for help. I did that just yesterday in fact and promptly found what I had misplaced. It truly works.

Several years ago one my aunts, a sister of me Mom's (that's typical of how someone becomes your aunt) lost something important. Mom's side of the family is overwhelmingly Protestant whereas Mom converted to Catholicism after she married me Pops. That's important to know only because you won't appreciate the story otherwise.

Mom suggested her sister pray to St. Anthony. In fact my aunt's exact prayer was, "St. Anthony, I don't know you but my sister does. Please help me find what I'm looking for." Lo and behold, she found it in the next few minutes.

Few things are more powerful than sincere prayer, eh? It knows no denomination.

Serendipity, Maybe

I try to stay on top of the oil changes in my vans. It's only common sense, of course, and why burn out a motor even in an old yet otherwise good vehicle for the want of staying on top of the fluids?

Yet how many of us are ever actually smack dab right on time when seeing to the chore? We'll be within a few miles typically, right? While I knew that my newer old van needed service somewhere in 214,000 mile bracket I wasn't sure of the precise mileage when that would be. As I pulled into the oil change place I frequent I was at 214,444 miles. And I was exactly at the recommended change spot.

That'll never happen again. It surely never happened before either.

High School Reunions

One day back in 2003, me Pops, me self, and me son Charlie sat at the office in the Shop, drinking coffee. Hey, it was a well deserved break. We'd been working hard that day.

Anyway, for whatever reason me Pops was staring up at the calendar on the wall. He observed, "Man, time flies. I have my fiftieth high school reunion coming up."

Curious myself about mine after that I did some quick math and said, "Yeah, really. Looks like my twenty-fifth is next year." 

As a little smarmy smile grew on his face, me son Charlie remarked, "I'm coming up on my second."

Touche, boy. Touche.

4-0-1

Remember last Tuesday? I don't remember a lot about it either, but I do recall writing this blog where I wondered out loud whether a tie constituted a continuing winning streak. The general consensus, and that being the two people who actually responded directly to my question, was that it counted as an unbroken streak without a loss. I could legitimately go on wearing what I had worn for the streak. So I donned my 'lucky' Sheamus hoodie again last night.

We won 11-7 in a game which was not as close as the score.

Four wins, no losses, one tie in our last five games. I guess Sheamus returns again next Monday. The question is, do I wash the hoodie? You can wash out the luck, you know...

Music Critic

I occasionally sing, generally softly, when I'm driving. A song will pop into my head and I'll sing along with it.

With me brother Patrick in tow as I went to Mass yesterday I half sang, half hummed King of the Road.

A minute later and it was Flowers on the Wall.

After that, as I was just starting Hank Williams Jr.'s Family Tradition Patrick blurted out, "Keep your day job."

All right, maybe my voice gets old. And at least I know where I stand with him.

Mom at 90

Mom would have been 90 today. I'm still not sure whether I've actually come to grips with it or not. It's been almost a year and a half, September 22, 2022, since she passed.

I'm heading out to the cemetery before work to say a few prayers. It reminds me of a cold winter Sunday a few years back where she wanted to stop and see Dad. After a few minutes of quiet contemplation she said out loud, "I love you, Bill, but I have to go. It's cold!"

I'm sure he understood. I'll come back by when its warmer myself Mom.

Generation Gap

One of these days I want to visit Philadelphia. It's common knowledge that there's all kinds of important historical stuff there, the Liberty Bell and Independence Hall and such. Me son Charlie wants to go with me when I go. He's a big fan of Sylvester Stallone's Rocky and would love to show me the sites in Philly where many of the iconic scenes in the movies were filmed. 

I would like to see them too. My only problem is that every time, and I mean every single time, someone mentions Rocky all I hear is, "Again? But that trick NEVER works!"

Thank you, thank you, I'm here until Tuesday.

Ash Wednesday

Today is Ash Wednesday, the start of Lent. It's easy for me to say, but the other two issues of note this February 14 - Valentine's Day and the opening of baseball spring training - pale next to that. It's time to ready ourselves to become better people.

No matter how good we already are, there's always room for improvement. I don't think we should beat ourselves up, but we must never forget the value of self review nor the lessons of regret. This is the time to think all that out. 

Read good books and articles. Reflect on what you should and should not have done, honestly and perhaps a little brutally, despite what I just said. See God in everyone you meet. Just maybe that will help them to see God in you.

Curling Dilemma

I did not wear my usual curling sweatshirt four weeks ago, but, rather, one based on the wrestler Sheamus from World Wrestling Entertainment. It features a Gaelic cross on the front (Sheamus is Irish) and the word 'laoch' which means 'warrior' in Irish, on the back. I curled great as did the team and we won. So I wore it the next week.

And we won. So I wore it a third time.

And we won. So I wore it last night.

We tied.

I don't know what to do now. Does a non-loss count as keeping a streak alive? 

The Game

I watched the game yesterday. What? No, not football, golf. The Phoenix Open. It's the golf tournament which, after the Masters, I most look forward to.

It's famous for its stadium hole. The organizers surround the sixteenth hole with a triple deck grandstand that seats 20,000. It has private suites too.

The tournament simply feels electric, even over television. There's less raw energy at the Masters. Of course, I think the Masters folks prefer that, being genteel and all.

Yes, I fully realize there was another game yesterday. But I didn't watch it. I believe that anticipating new commercials against a background of manufactured violence is little more than a neurosis.

The Speck

There are those who wish to belittle the importance of humanity as 'a speck on a speck on a speck (on a speck)'. In short, in a vast, expanding universe, we're tiny, unimportant nothings.

I never found this a convincing argument. For starters, it actually encourages us to not take the entirety of the universe seriously. Alien worlds, alien lives? Speck on specks on specks (on specks) too. Each as tiny and unimportant as us. Take that, SETI.

Even in earthly terms, size isn't the keystone. A Giant Redwood is a magnificent tree. But it isn't human. It isn't self aware. It isn't able to consider its place in creation. It also far overshadows we mere humans. Yet it's asinine to argue that a tree is superior to a person, or a person unimportant merely because the tree is larger. 

In short, size, mass and relative geography aren't the end all be all. Moral value and moral virtue are not in them. They're just there. But individual human beings? We're aware that we're here. And we can do something about that.

Can't Win For Losing

Yesterday I spoke about a long day up North. As I passed a Shell station in Mackinaw City right at the tip of the mitt I saw gas for $3.07 a gallon. Too much, I know, but a good price for that area and these times. Yet as it was in the wee hours the station was closed. I vowed to stop by as I returned. 

Of course, by the time I made my stops in da U.P. it was I clear I wouldn't get back that far without more petrol. Thinking about that relatively inexpensive fuel, I bought a meager $10 at $3.24 when around 40 miles from Mackinaw. You know, enough to get across the bridge for the cheaper cost. 

You know where this is going, don't you?

Crossing the Mighty Mac in great anticipation, I soon made my exit by that same gas station from earlier, where its gas was then $3.28. I could have filled up completely and saved four cents a gallon.

It figures. 

Green February

This has been an abnormally warm Michigan winter so far, something which doesn't bother me at all. It's supposed to be 62 in Detroit today. Still, I understand the affect that might have on things like, oh, nature. How good or bad that is is surely a subject of debate.

I had a long day on the road yesterday, leaving at 1 AM and getting home a touch before 6 PM. In fact, I was in Michigan's glorious Upper Peninsula, stopping by me Hessel haunt for a few minutes as I was too close not to. There's next to no snow; my driveway was as clear as in June. Even the inside of the house wasn't particularly cold. 

There were signs for a 'Snowfest' today through Sunday, but I can't see where there'll be must festing.

I'm certain the snowmobilers haven't had much to do. I could see ice fishermen out on the lake despite there being standing water along the shore. I assume they know what they're doing but it didn't seem safe to me. They were way out there: a half mile or better if I were to hazard a guess.

Driving home during the day, I saw many farmer's fields in the northern and central Lower Peninsula going green already. The sight was odd, especially as there were occasional snowbanks in the shade. I do wonder what effect that has on their planning. But I'm not enough of a farmer to know.

Ah well. It is what it is.

The Voice

It happened again last night at curling. I had an old friend come up to say, "I heard that laugh, and I immediately thought, Marty's here!" Yes, with the exclamation point.

Remember last week? I had virtually the same thing happen, as I wrote here . While it's good to be known for something, I have to admit stuff like this makes a guy just a bit self conscious and vaguely paranoid. 'Someone told a joke, and I laughed. Was it that laugh?' 

"And you do have a distinct voice," my buddy Nick tells me. Yeah, distinct. I've been told I have a future with the Cartoon Network. Seriously. Right on TV, on a baseball pregame show: Tiger Pregame

Oh, I'm not going to stop. If it's that much a part of my personality, that ingrained after all these years, I probably couldn't if I wanted to. And it is good to be remembered. It leaves me interested for what may happen next Monday.

Bumper Cars

Grandpa Joe once had an old Packard that he really liked. He also had an older brother whom he was close to, and one day the car and the brother came together in what even Joe admitted was a funny story.

His older brother was Uncle Bill. Joe thought enough of him that he named his first son, me Pops, after him. Uncle Bill was as quiet and reflective as Joe was loud and abrasive. But if you told Uncle Bill to do something you'd better mean it, because he would do it.

One day someone's car had slid off into a ditch, and Joe and Bill went with Grandpa's Packard to try to pull it out. They hooked up to the car, and Bill got in the driver's seat of the Packard because Joe thought he was better at things like pulling vehicles out of ditches. Uncle Bill revved the Packard up slowly, and gently tried to get into gear several times, with no luck moving the stuck car. Joe become more impatient by the second, until he finally yelled, "Hell, rip the bumper off her!"

"I knew right after I said it I'd said it to the wrong guy," Grandpa admitted years later, retelling the tale with a laugh.

Uncle Bill's face drew into a huge grin. He raced that engine and dropped it into gear. The car leapt forward powerfully, as a 12 cylinder Packard should. And he ripped the bumper clean off.

As Joe said years later, "What could I say? I told him to do it."

He never did say exactly how they got the car out of the ditch though. But that really isn't the point of the story anyway, is it?

The Wee Hours

Let's see what thoughts arise at 4:28 in the morning. What stream of consciousness may spring from the brain?

I just ate a Hershey bar. Milk chocolate: breakfast of champions? 

Barnaby Jones is on TV. You think Buddy Ebsen got so tired of playing Jed Clampett and country bumpkins that he figured to break the mold and become a private detective? He actually started out as a song and dance man, you know. It doesn't seem so.

We'll know soon if that oversized rat sees his shadow I suppose.

Ah, I quit. Yes, it's a slow news day Ron.

The Lions

I've had this internal debate since Monday morning over whether I want to talk about the Detroit Lions or not. I'm still not sure that I want the bother, even as I'm clearly bothering right now.

Was it a good season? Yes. Their best ever, as some assert? Absolutely not. Best seasons are championship seasons. The baseball Detroit Tigers had good seasons in 1950, 1961, 1987, 2006, and 2012. They had a solid shot at winning everything those years. But their best ever years were 1935, 1945, 1968, and 1984, when they won it all. The others are mere footnotes, or worse: shoulda woulda coulda years.

Detroit should be happy about their recently ended football season, and understandably. But at day's end, they fell short. That can never be a best ever.

Cloyce Adrift

There was once this good ol' boy, I'll call him Cloyce just to give him a name, who considered himself the neighborhood innovator. Some of his ideas, to be fair, were kind of clever. But most of the time all he did was jury rig. That's okay too so far as I'm concerned, if it's a decent enough adaptation.

Cloyce had an old Chevy Bel Air, I believe it was a '65, and it needed a wheel alignment. The old rattletrap drifted sharply to the left (this is not leading to a political joke I assure you) and really needed front end work. But ol' Cloyce didn't want to put that kind of money into the car. So he looked around in his garage for what was handy and found an old snow tire. He put it on the car on the left front.

That stopped the drift. His theory was that the snow tire, having deeper tread, made up for the amount of space which had been created by vehicular wear which led to the drift. Based on the results, I'm inclined to say he was right, as he drove with that winter tire for about six months before he got rid of the car.

It was a jury rig. But hey, it worked for him, and considering the types of cars I drive, who am I to argue?