I'm away from home for a night at a conference. It's in a fancy hotel, one that's priced way above my usual limit on nightly lodging rates - this meeting isn't sponsored by a state agency, so the planners didn't have to follow the restrictions that I'm used to. So I'm not accustomed to anything this swanky, and it makes me feel a bit out of place.
After I got my laptop hooked up, and checked my email, and found "Grey's Anatomy" on the TV, I finally got around to unpacking my suitcase. As I picked it up to put it on the folding luggage stand, I noticed something trailing from the bottom. At first I thought it was frayed fabric or the zipper was coming loose, but as I tried to pull it off, I realized what it was: a nice clump of mixed dog and cat hair, courtesy of my furry friends at home. Nice to know they were thinking of me and wished me a good trip.
February 22, 2007
Message from Home
February 10, 2007
Sports
I admit it - I enjoy watching sports. Not all of them; I find most forms of racing tedious, and I can't stand to watch boxing. But I love college basketball, and I've been a baseball fan since I followed the Giants as a kid, hanging out with my friends in the branches of an accessible mulberry tree and listening to Lon Simmons over a little transistor radio. I personally hate competing; the closest I've come to participation in organized sports was an intramural ultimate team in college. Mostly I just appreciate the athleticism, the determination and perseverance, and the drama of the game. And since my kids have started playing sports, I have new appreciation and a different perspective.
Hockey entered our lives this year. Son is playing on a team of 7-11 year olds in a "mite" house league. This weekend was the big tournament the local club hosts, with teams coming from across the state. Being a native Californian, hockey was not part of my growing up. I've seen the bad movies and heard of its reputation as a rough game. But this experience hasn't show that side. I know the obnoxious competitiveness of sports is there, but I keep getting glimpses of things that reveal some of the mystique and help to explain why it's so attractive and important to so many people.
Take professional athletes, for example. Lots of arrogance fueled by excessive money and you get all sorts of bad behavior that makes headlines. But occasionally you learn that at least some of them have things in common with the rest of us. One of the coaches for a visiting hockey team at this tournament was a former pro baseball player, someone we've watched play many times and admired for his skill. He seemed to not be one of those players who are in it for the media glory, though it can be hard to tell from a distance. But at 8:30 on a Sunday morning, when you see him carrying boxes of donuts and his son's gear bag after the early game, it's easier to believe. When we watched him from the stands at Safeco Field last April as he was honored on his retirement from baseball, he seemed larger than life, but on the ice, lining up to shake hands with my son and the other players and coaches on his team, he looked like one of us.
And there are the kids. Sure, there are some who pout or rage when the game doesn't go well or they don't get to play the position they want. But there are more who not only show up but want to play on any terms, just because it's fun. My son is one of these kids, and he rarely gets the attention, but he tries hard anyway. At the start of the season you could count the number of times he had ice skated on your fingers. By the tournament weekend, he was really making a contribution to the team, and in the second game in particular he not only played with enthusiasm but had a couple of assists and really did well. The tradition in this tournament is to name a MVP for each team at the end of each game. When they called his jersey number we were thrilled for him, excited that he got to share in the spotlight for a bit. But then there was some talk amongst the adults on the ice, and some confusion, and it became clear that no, they hadn't really nominated him for the award, they had selected another kid, one who had volunteered to play on that team because they were short-handed, who had inadvertently been given a jersey with the same number. Ouch. Right out there in front of everybody, they called him up but then gave the medal to another kid.
I caught up with him in the locker room. He was subdued, but not visibly upset. Many of his teammates, and all the adults - including the coaches of the opposing team, which had lost the game - were making a point of telling him he had played a great game and was a good sport. But it had to hurt. Then the kid who had been given the medal came up to us. He's younger, one of those small quick kids that can move like lightning, and an excellent skater. He stood in front of my son and in a barely audible voice said "You can have this medal. I already have one from another game so you can have this one."
I don't know if he was prompted to do this, or if it was his idea - I don't know this kid or his family at all. But his generosity was an unexpected blessing, a note of grace in a smelly, decrepit locker room, a token that said to my son: "You were noticed. You made a difference." I can't think of many ways to do that any better. And if sports can bring those opportunities into his life, then I'll buy into the mystique, and cheer them all on.
February 05, 2007
Finding the balance
All the things I want to do, and so many are left undone. Writing--I'm
managing to keep up with my critique group, but posting on this blog is
worse than erratic. I don't spend as much time with my friends as I'd
like; none of us seem to have time to just hang out. As the breadwinner, I'm feeling the financial pressure of another year with a minuscule or non-existent pay raise, while expenses go up (though I'm sure this angst is at least partly due to my annual tax-time-taking-stock crisis). I haven't dared to get involved in any project more complicated than making a recipe for months because I am convinced I won't have time to finish. My creative side is in deep hibernation.
And today I learned that a co-worker has pulled the plug--he's resigning.
Has resigned, actually--made his announcement on his last day in the
office. I'm stunned; I didn't really see this coming, though I never
thought he would stick around indefinitely. I'm sad; I will miss our
conversations greatly and it will be a loss not to be able to stick my
head in the office next door and vent or share another example of the
strange and bizarre and feel like I'm understood. I'm more than a
little jealous; I feel like I will never be able to afford to do this
and his decision is coming at a time when I'm feeling particularly
stuck. It comes on top of another close co-worker securing a year's
leave starting this summer. Though she plans to return, it will really
change the dynamics of our team when we just seemed to be finding our
stride. Now it feels thrown off balance.
I feel like the fulcrum for too many things: my children and spouse and household, my aging parents, my work responsibilities. Keeping those in balance requires keeping me in balance. But my balance point feels like it's being squeezed on all sides, when I really need a broad base for stability. It's starting to feel very precarious.
