Saturday, April 26, 2008
Hat Tricks
Oh, how I love hat tricks! There is something especially beautiful about it when it is done in the playoffs, and today Johan Franzen went and scored a hat trick on the way to the 2nd Red Wings victory over Colorado. Final score 5-1. Ha, Ha! Currently the Avalanche are mostly looking like a team that thinks they need to get to the golf course soon, and if they keep up their current level of play that wish will soon be granted. However, anyone who watches hockey knows how quickly the tide can turn, so I for one will not get too cocky. After all, playing in Colorado is always tough, and I am guessing Mr. Forsberg will be back for game three after two more days rest, and he might give their team a boost just by being on the ice. I am also guessing they may not start Theodore the next game after two abysmal games on his part. But in the mean time I am going to sit here happily with my Red Wings another victory closer to the Cup and marveling at Franzen who has now scored an amazing 22 goals in his last 25 games. Yay!!!!!!!
Insomnia
So, here it is almost 12:30 at night, and I am in the middle of one of my little no sleep trips. I got sick of laying in bed for over the last hour and thought I might as well get up and do ..... something. The rain is falling on the roof, and we are currently blanketed in a fog so thick that combined with the dark it feels like our house is the only one in the world.
At the same time I take comfort in the fact that I am certainly not the only one who is suffering from a bout of insomnia and perhaps also typing away on their computer or surfing the Internet in a vain attempt to bring their mind into a more restful mode. I remember thinking something similar when I was nursing Isabelle as a baby. Sitting in her room, rocking her against me with the night light giving off its soft glow, I would imagine other mothers, rocking in a chair, bleary-eyed, stroking their babies' heads as they nursed. It is a nice thought, don't you think?
I have never slept well. Even when I was young. My mother never realized that I got up and used the bathroom at least once every night until she went camping with me for Girl Scouts. There we were, tromping out of the platform tent to take a walk in the dark down to the outhouse, flashlights bobbing on the trail. Of course, my small bladder is only a part of the problem. I hear everything it seems and as previously mentioned I frequently cannot shut off my mind. I am sure I could be a candidate for a sleep clinic, but of course, I think those are strange. I mean, don't they hook you up to a bunch of electrodes, lay you flat on your back and watch you rest in a bed you have never slept in before? Given the environment what are the odds of you sleeping well?!
YAWN. I suppose I should go and try again. I am tired, and I do want to sleep. (of course, I was chronically tired for two years during my Masters' program, and I still did not sleep, so I guess it doesn't matter). I am sure I will look at this post tomorrow and determine it makes no sense and possesses nothing of quality (as opposed to my other posts. Ha, ha) but I can at least offer up the excuse that I am sleep deprived.
Besides I am not so tired that I cannot write GO RED WINGS!
At the same time I take comfort in the fact that I am certainly not the only one who is suffering from a bout of insomnia and perhaps also typing away on their computer or surfing the Internet in a vain attempt to bring their mind into a more restful mode. I remember thinking something similar when I was nursing Isabelle as a baby. Sitting in her room, rocking her against me with the night light giving off its soft glow, I would imagine other mothers, rocking in a chair, bleary-eyed, stroking their babies' heads as they nursed. It is a nice thought, don't you think?
I have never slept well. Even when I was young. My mother never realized that I got up and used the bathroom at least once every night until she went camping with me for Girl Scouts. There we were, tromping out of the platform tent to take a walk in the dark down to the outhouse, flashlights bobbing on the trail. Of course, my small bladder is only a part of the problem. I hear everything it seems and as previously mentioned I frequently cannot shut off my mind. I am sure I could be a candidate for a sleep clinic, but of course, I think those are strange. I mean, don't they hook you up to a bunch of electrodes, lay you flat on your back and watch you rest in a bed you have never slept in before? Given the environment what are the odds of you sleeping well?!
YAWN. I suppose I should go and try again. I am tired, and I do want to sleep. (of course, I was chronically tired for two years during my Masters' program, and I still did not sleep, so I guess it doesn't matter). I am sure I will look at this post tomorrow and determine it makes no sense and possesses nothing of quality (as opposed to my other posts. Ha, ha) but I can at least offer up the excuse that I am sleep deprived.
Besides I am not so tired that I cannot write GO RED WINGS!
Saturday, April 19, 2008
What Else? Red Wings
Sorry, this is all about Red Wings and sports and hockey, so if you were looking for anything else, just skip this entry and, in fact, you might just want to skip visiting my blog until the playoffs are over because the Red Wings most likely will be a frequent topic for me!
Okay, I admit it. After those damn Nashville Predators went and scored with like 47 seconds left in the third period of Game five to tie the game, I was a little freaked. I truly believed that the hockey Gods were against us. I mean, there the Wings were having played a very solid game and having something like fifty-two shots on goal and yet..... tie game. I was already dreading going back to Nashville down a game and having to win there and then come home and finish it off in game seven. (Notice I did not say they were done..... true fans always hope, pray, believe, beg, that by some miracle their team will prevail. Besides how can any hockey God choose Nashville over the Red Wings, one of the original six? Duh!)
Then Franzen went and did a little magic (with some help from Filppula) 1:48 seconds into overtime and just like that I feel so much better. So, maybe the hockey Gods are not against us, but then why the torture? I mean anyone with half a brain can see the Red Wings are clearly the superior team, but here they are in a very close series. Just like the rest of the Western conference, I might add. I guess it all comes down to the idea (like in football) that on any given day each team has a chance to do something amazing. I mean, did anyone other then maybe the Giants, really expect them to win the Superbowl over the Patriots? I know, I am mixing my sports but it does prove my point. For me, though I like to think a team is also WORTHY of winning the whole enchilada, and frankly, the Patriots weren't. The Red Wings, however? Oh yeah, they are WORTHY.
In fact, the NHL in general has very little of the "hoopla" that the NFL and NBA have, and I for one, prefer it. You rarely here about any professional hockey player, in a brawl at some night club or arrested for some type of spousal abuse, where as, it is (sad to say) almost commonplace in other professional sports. For the most part hockey players are just regular guys skating in the most grueling playoff schedule in the history of sports, busting their butts for a chance to win Lord Stanley. I watch because it is a true team sport and while you have your individual stars, none of them can do it by themselves. I watch for the amazing break aways and short-handed goals. I watch for a goalie who stops a puck that was certain to go in the net. I watch for a tough check or a good fight and for the fact, that at the end of the series regardless of who was pummeled, fouled or beat up, all players shake hands and say "good game." Ya gotta love it; I do not know how you can't. So, ya all know where I will be on Sunday at 3:00. Watching the Red Wings finish off the series in Nashville.
Okay, I admit it. After those damn Nashville Predators went and scored with like 47 seconds left in the third period of Game five to tie the game, I was a little freaked. I truly believed that the hockey Gods were against us. I mean, there the Wings were having played a very solid game and having something like fifty-two shots on goal and yet..... tie game. I was already dreading going back to Nashville down a game and having to win there and then come home and finish it off in game seven. (Notice I did not say they were done..... true fans always hope, pray, believe, beg, that by some miracle their team will prevail. Besides how can any hockey God choose Nashville over the Red Wings, one of the original six? Duh!)
Then Franzen went and did a little magic (with some help from Filppula) 1:48 seconds into overtime and just like that I feel so much better. So, maybe the hockey Gods are not against us, but then why the torture? I mean anyone with half a brain can see the Red Wings are clearly the superior team, but here they are in a very close series. Just like the rest of the Western conference, I might add. I guess it all comes down to the idea (like in football) that on any given day each team has a chance to do something amazing. I mean, did anyone other then maybe the Giants, really expect them to win the Superbowl over the Patriots? I know, I am mixing my sports but it does prove my point. For me, though I like to think a team is also WORTHY of winning the whole enchilada, and frankly, the Patriots weren't. The Red Wings, however? Oh yeah, they are WORTHY.
In fact, the NHL in general has very little of the "hoopla" that the NFL and NBA have, and I for one, prefer it. You rarely here about any professional hockey player, in a brawl at some night club or arrested for some type of spousal abuse, where as, it is (sad to say) almost commonplace in other professional sports. For the most part hockey players are just regular guys skating in the most grueling playoff schedule in the history of sports, busting their butts for a chance to win Lord Stanley. I watch because it is a true team sport and while you have your individual stars, none of them can do it by themselves. I watch for the amazing break aways and short-handed goals. I watch for a goalie who stops a puck that was certain to go in the net. I watch for a tough check or a good fight and for the fact, that at the end of the series regardless of who was pummeled, fouled or beat up, all players shake hands and say "good game." Ya gotta love it; I do not know how you can't. So, ya all know where I will be on Sunday at 3:00. Watching the Red Wings finish off the series in Nashville.
Tuesday, April 15, 2008
This and That
Ugh, some days I just do not know what to write. I typically write whatever happens to be occupying my brain matter at the time, but the truth is I am all over the board this week, so I think I will just list (in no particular order) all the various themes currently taking up space:
* What is it with road rage? Actually, not even road rage. Clay got incredibly (shall we say "annoyed") this weekend when he was unable to locate a store that carried the golf putter he is thinking of buying. All of us have had times when we could not find what we are looking for. I am still searching for a pair of jeans that truly fits correctly.... and it has been thirty-two years! But I have never gone postal when, after trying on thirty thousand pairs of jeans, I still have yet to find the right one. Clay, well, I knew we were in trouble when the address for the first golf store resulted in nothing more than a residential neighborhood. This was followed by rather jerky driving and higher rates of speed to the second location, which was closed. This was followed by nearly being run off the road when he pulled out into traffic with very little time to spare, which resulted in a lot of horn-honking on Clay's part and me wishing I could disappear into the leather passenger seat. Now, I should back track and say Clay has looked at other golf stores in lower Michigan and has not found the putter in any of these locations either. However, it is a rather high end putter, plus very new, so frankly, I am not surprised. My husband, on the other hand, takes it as the golf gods being personally out to get him and trying to thwart his chances of acquiring the latest and the greatest. While I understand the frustration, I just do not get the extreme reaction. Must be the testosterone.
* I cannot get this book "Extremely Loud and Incredibly Close" by Jonathan Safran Foer out of my head. I read it about a week ago in less than two days, and while I have since read another book and, in fact started a third, I am still mentally chewing on it. Mom recommended it to me (mostly because she wanted to discuss it) and it is powerful. I keep finding more themes to it..... loss, and love, and communication. The communication of a grandfather, who doesn't speak except by writing or with his two hands, one tattooed with the word "yes" the other with the word "no" and to write letters he never sends to a son he never meets, a grandmother who types for hours and hours but produces only blank pages, a neighbor who lives as a recluse in his apartment and talks to no one and yet labels everyone he has ever met with a single word, which he then files in a card catalog, and a little boy genius wise beyond his years, who has the ability to communicate with everyone, but does not pick up the phone when the man he most wants to talk to (his Dad) comes over the answering machine, calling from the Twin Towers on September 11th. And that doesn't even get into the structure of the book and how the author uses the text to help convey the story in a way that reminded me of "The Death of Artemio Cruz" by Carlos Fuentes. I almost wish to be back in a college course just so I could talk about it in a classroom setting. Almost.
* A list in the form of projects/repairs on the house, which need to be done if we are, in fact, serious about trying to sell it. We have cleaned the garage and I have repainted a couple of walls, and the pantry, and the kitchen door, but we still need to power wash the exterior, do some caulking, finish some trim and clean, clean, clean.....
* My very nice weekend away for my birthday, which involved a lovely hotel, leisurely meals with no toddler to entertain (no offense, Isabelle), sleeping late, and a gorgeous pair of diamond earrings. Did I mention I love my husband? (road rage and all)
* The Red Wings, blowing game three last night against Nashville. After playing the better game and being the better team, they sat back and played "not to lose" rather then "to win" for the last 15 minutes of the third period. Basically they handed the Predators a chance to get back in the game and then seemed somewhat surprised when they did. I love the Wings, LOVE them, and was so thoroughly disgusted after this loss which puts the series at 2-1 instead of 3-0 (which is a HUGE difference when playing a best of 7 series in the first round of the playoffs) I just could not even look at the television. I must stop as I can feel the blood pressure rising.
* Laughing silently to myself as Clinton and Obama continue to pummel each other into oblivion, hoping to secure the Democratic nomination. "Clinging to guns and religion?" Could we be any more condescending? The man better not come to the U.P with those beliefs! Ah well, maybe it will help McCain.
* Will my daughter ever potty train?
* What should I make for dinner?
* Is it actually possible for me to lose the last few pounds (the ones I have been trying to erase for quite some time now) without resorting to anorexia, bulimia, plastic surgery, or hiring a personal trainer?
* Could our friend Toad (Todd, actually but he goes by Toad) be any nicer? I asked him to check the cats once this weekend while we were gone and he proceeded to check on them both days, bring in the mail and snow blow the driveway when we got six inches of snow. (yes, in April; it is the U.P. some places got over a foot so I consider us lucky.)
And, I guess, that is about it. Until next time.
* What is it with road rage? Actually, not even road rage. Clay got incredibly (shall we say "annoyed") this weekend when he was unable to locate a store that carried the golf putter he is thinking of buying. All of us have had times when we could not find what we are looking for. I am still searching for a pair of jeans that truly fits correctly.... and it has been thirty-two years! But I have never gone postal when, after trying on thirty thousand pairs of jeans, I still have yet to find the right one. Clay, well, I knew we were in trouble when the address for the first golf store resulted in nothing more than a residential neighborhood. This was followed by rather jerky driving and higher rates of speed to the second location, which was closed. This was followed by nearly being run off the road when he pulled out into traffic with very little time to spare, which resulted in a lot of horn-honking on Clay's part and me wishing I could disappear into the leather passenger seat. Now, I should back track and say Clay has looked at other golf stores in lower Michigan and has not found the putter in any of these locations either. However, it is a rather high end putter, plus very new, so frankly, I am not surprised. My husband, on the other hand, takes it as the golf gods being personally out to get him and trying to thwart his chances of acquiring the latest and the greatest. While I understand the frustration, I just do not get the extreme reaction. Must be the testosterone.
* I cannot get this book "Extremely Loud and Incredibly Close" by Jonathan Safran Foer out of my head. I read it about a week ago in less than two days, and while I have since read another book and, in fact started a third, I am still mentally chewing on it. Mom recommended it to me (mostly because she wanted to discuss it) and it is powerful. I keep finding more themes to it..... loss, and love, and communication. The communication of a grandfather, who doesn't speak except by writing or with his two hands, one tattooed with the word "yes" the other with the word "no" and to write letters he never sends to a son he never meets, a grandmother who types for hours and hours but produces only blank pages, a neighbor who lives as a recluse in his apartment and talks to no one and yet labels everyone he has ever met with a single word, which he then files in a card catalog, and a little boy genius wise beyond his years, who has the ability to communicate with everyone, but does not pick up the phone when the man he most wants to talk to (his Dad) comes over the answering machine, calling from the Twin Towers on September 11th. And that doesn't even get into the structure of the book and how the author uses the text to help convey the story in a way that reminded me of "The Death of Artemio Cruz" by Carlos Fuentes. I almost wish to be back in a college course just so I could talk about it in a classroom setting. Almost.
* A list in the form of projects/repairs on the house, which need to be done if we are, in fact, serious about trying to sell it. We have cleaned the garage and I have repainted a couple of walls, and the pantry, and the kitchen door, but we still need to power wash the exterior, do some caulking, finish some trim and clean, clean, clean.....
* My very nice weekend away for my birthday, which involved a lovely hotel, leisurely meals with no toddler to entertain (no offense, Isabelle), sleeping late, and a gorgeous pair of diamond earrings. Did I mention I love my husband? (road rage and all)
* The Red Wings, blowing game three last night against Nashville. After playing the better game and being the better team, they sat back and played "not to lose" rather then "to win" for the last 15 minutes of the third period. Basically they handed the Predators a chance to get back in the game and then seemed somewhat surprised when they did. I love the Wings, LOVE them, and was so thoroughly disgusted after this loss which puts the series at 2-1 instead of 3-0 (which is a HUGE difference when playing a best of 7 series in the first round of the playoffs) I just could not even look at the television. I must stop as I can feel the blood pressure rising.
* Laughing silently to myself as Clinton and Obama continue to pummel each other into oblivion, hoping to secure the Democratic nomination. "Clinging to guns and religion?" Could we be any more condescending? The man better not come to the U.P with those beliefs! Ah well, maybe it will help McCain.
* Will my daughter ever potty train?
* What should I make for dinner?
* Is it actually possible for me to lose the last few pounds (the ones I have been trying to erase for quite some time now) without resorting to anorexia, bulimia, plastic surgery, or hiring a personal trainer?
* Could our friend Toad (Todd, actually but he goes by Toad) be any nicer? I asked him to check the cats once this weekend while we were gone and he proceeded to check on them both days, bring in the mail and snow blow the driveway when we got six inches of snow. (yes, in April; it is the U.P. some places got over a foot so I consider us lucky.)
And, I guess, that is about it. Until next time.
Saturday, April 5, 2008
To the Two I Lost
I am not one to hang on to the past, and for the most part I think it does not help us to do so. However, some experiences (good or bad) have a way of sticking with you. This month has a tendency to bring a difficult time in my life back to mind, and I have learned it is easier to acknowledge it and move on rather then pretend I don't remember. The truth is I still do even after four years. In this case, though I believe it is good for me to recall how sad I was then because it only serves to remind me how incredibly blessed and happy I am now with my beautiful daughter and family. What follows is a poem I wrote after suffering my second miscarriage in April of 2004.
I never got to know you, I never knew your name.
In fact, you were more of a dream, one whose truth never came.
I will think of you forever, for reminders never cease.
You were one possible future from which I did not want release.
But some choices are not our own, nor for us to understand.
So, I will continue to trust in God, and strive to touch his hand.
A part of me will always miss you, as something I cannot erase,
Because I will always see the possibility of your smile in every child's face.
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