My Fault!

I am not superstitious. Not in any way. I find it odd, though, that some things seem to tie together a little too closely sometimes. I speak, of course, of the Blues record when I am not wearing my "lucky sweatshirt."

I have a plain old Blues Hockey sweatshirt that I put on when I get home from work virtually every evening throughout the autumn, winter and fall. Diane keeps our house relatively cool to help minimize the impact of her hot flashes. I compensate by putting on a sweatshirt.

Not just any sweatshirt, though. It has to be my lucky Blues Hockey sweatshirt.

I end up wearing my Blues Hockey sweatshirt during almost every Blues game I watch on television. I say almost because even my lucky sweatshirt has to be washed occasionally.

My lucky sweatshirt is not perfect. I haven't kept track of the wins and losses while wearing it, but I have noticed a troubling trend - we have lost every game I have watched on television while not wearing my lucky sweatshirt.

I'll bet you can guess what comes next - the losses to the Blackhawks and Flyers last week came while my lucky sweatshirt was waiting to be laundered.

The losses are my fault.

I accept full blame.

I mentioned this troubling trend to Diane after our loss to the Flyers Saturday and she immediately retrieved that load of laundry and got it into the washing machine.

I was wearing my lucky Blues Hockey sweatshirt during our exciting 1 - 0 game against the Penguins Sunday.

Now I'm not claiming any magical powers being associated with my sweatshirt, but you can't deny that we played horribly when I wasn't wearing it and then played well and won a very exciting game when I put it back on.

You can bet I'll be wearing that sweatshirt all the way to the Stanley Cup Finals, now!

Feeling Naked

Every morning I get out of the shower and dress in my seemingly standard khakis and crisply starched shirt with lace up leather shoes. I load up with my standard daily carry items and place my Cross pen and pencil into my shirt pocket - always with the pen to the left side. I finish up my daily preparation routine by strapping one of my three old-fashioned analog watches to my left wrist.

Yes, my routine is another example of my rather rigid, anal-retentive personality. Occasionally, though, something goes awry and my routine is shattered. It might be the distraction of one of the cats popping open the bedroom door and jumping onto the bed; hoping to get a bit of attention, or maybe because Diane has not yet written the pants color onto the inner tag of my new pants so I can tell if I have selected black pants or blue pants.

Whatever the cause; it is a very bad thing when my routine is thrown off.

Wednesday was one of those days. Haley, the cat I have nicknamed Cat Ballou because she is, like the song from the movie said, "mean and evil through and through," burst through the bedroom door and jumped onto the bed next to me as I stood getting ready. One must always keep one eye on Haley when she is nearby because she will try to lull you into a false sense of security by purring loudly - only to go into full attack mode with no warning. The only good thing is that she is declawed so she can only bite me instead of bite and scratch me!

My routine was thrown into a loop by my attempts to protect myself from Haley. I got to work and glanced at my wrist only to realize that I had forgotten to put on my watch! Now that may not seem like a very big deal to you, but trust me, this was very bad! I look at my wrist constantly throughout the day; expecting to see my analog watch riding there so I can monitor the passage of time.

But it wasn't there!!!! It's almost worth driving back home to get my watch because I go bonkers all day when it's not on my wrist where it's supposed to be.

I felt so naked!!!

The Pause Button

Ron and I were virtually inseparable as teens. We had a unique bond. No one would have expected us to be best friends. I was a geek even before geeks existed. I helped Ron with his math homework and made a little money by doing calculations with my slide rule faster than the other kids in the cafeteria could with their newfangled calculators. Ron, on the other hand, was the cool jock. He pretty much beat me in every game or sport we played, and he was the one the girls wanted to hang around with.

I really liked one of the girls in our youth group and hoped she would ask me to her school's Sadie Hawkins Dance. I was really excited when she came up to me one Wednesday evening and asked if she could speak to me privately for a minute.

This was it!!!! I was going to Sadie Hawkins with her!!!

She spoke as soon as we got a little bit away from the rest of the group, saying, "Do you think Ron would go to the Sadie Hawkins Dance with me if I asked him?"

I was shell shocked! Here I was certain that she was going to ask me to the dance, but all she really wanted to ask me was whether I thought my best friend would consider an invitation from her. I hid my disappointment and told her I was pretty sure he would.

Yes, Ron and I were about as different as they come, but somehow we had ended up best friends.

Life intervened and the kids who were inseparable became distant friends. I moved to Wisconsin three decades ago and our contacts gradually tapered off to almost nil. Facebook has recently allowed us to sort of keep track of each other, but our visits and conversations are few and far between.

I hadn't talked with Ron for a long time - nearly four years, in fact. The last time we visited was shortly before Mom died when I stopped by his house for coffee and conversation.

A lot has happened since then.

Four years is a long time.

I had a business trip that took me to St. Louis for a week earlier this month. I finished up with the business side of the trip on Thursday. Diane came in on the train so we could spend Friday and Saturday visiting with family. Friday morning, though, was set aside to visit with Ron.

I suppose it would seem normal that our first conversation would be awkward, a bit of small talk about our families interspersed with long periods of silence.

That might be normal, but our relationship was never normal. While we're both a bit older, a bit grayer and, perhaps, a bit chunkier than the last time we sat at his dining room table; our visit was as if time had stood still. We had the relaxed conversation that only true friends can have. There was, of course, all of the obligatory updates about our kids, but our conversation was more like one you would expect between people who get together every week.

We talked about the similarities between his battle with cancer and Diane's, we talked about Dad dying shortly after we moved into the house behind Ron's family, and we talked about the difficulties of watching his parents grow old.

We talked like people who really knew each other; like the friends we were and, obviously, always will be. We talked like people for whom time had stood still and had merely put our conversation on pause for the last four years.

I don't know when we will have the next chance to sit and talk, but I know that, whenever it is, we'll just pick up where we left off.

Once again, we'll just release the pause button and our friendship will continue on as if we'd never paused at all.

Mirror, Mirror On The Wall...

I know I'm not hip, with it, down or whatever the current term is for being culturally relevant. I look in the mirror each morning and the face looking back at me is that of a mildly paunchy, middle aged product of some previous generation. I have no doubt that no one other than my family really wants to look at this mug; and even they would probably rather skip it most of the time, too.

That said; I simply don't get this new "selfie" fad. What's the point of taking pictures of yourself and posting them all over social media for all the world to see. What's more, many young women feel the need to pucker up their face and flash the peace sign before taking the picture.

What's the point?

The standard female "selfie" expression can make even attractive women look bizarre. Yet they continue to appear on social media with frightening frequency.

I don't take "selfies."

I see that face in the mirror - and the mirror doesn't lie.

I guess it's just because I'm not hip - or whatever.