Da Blooze & Stuff

Yesterday was a pretty good day, unlike other days this past week… or perhaps longer. I’ve alluded to the fact I’ve been…um… “out of sorts” of late. It’s actually been worse than that, but that’s beside the point. Let’s get back to yesterday.

I awoke around 1000 hrs, put the coffee on, lit off the teevee and switched it to NBC… to catch the final game of the Red Wings’ season, which was televised nationally (lucky me!). I was anticipating a bit of a pre-game show but this being Texas (well, not really but my NBC feed is out of Amarillo), what I got was Today’s Evangelical Sermon For Shut-Ins. Instant and immediate zzz’s ensued, until I was awakened by the beep-beep-beep of the coffee pot signifying all was right with the world. So we roused ourselves yet again, made our way into the kitchen, poured that first cup and puttered about a bit before the game began.

About a minute after the puck dropped, my phone rang… SN1 on the line… and we proceeded to watch the game together but separately as is our custom. SN1 demonstrated what it means to be a true hockey fan, as he was out until 0400 hrs Sunday morning yet still roused himself after only six hours sleep just to watch the game. You may remember, Gentle Reader, I’ve mentioned SN1 is TDY to Nellis AFB in Beautiful Lost Wages, NV attending yet another boondoggle “career broadening” activity, this most recent one being an advanced service school. He and his class had some sort of function last evening and Buck served as the gaggle’s Designated Driver. So…no hangover involved, just a lack of sleep. But true hockey fans rise above this sort of thing… and so he did. We traded off phone calls as the game progressed, mostly when the Wings scored or Hasek made a spectacular save…things like that.

The game wasn’t a disappointment. The Wings dispatched Chicago easily… winning by a score of 4-1. Hasek came close to his sixth shutout of the year but it wasn’t to be, as Chicago scored on the power play with a little less than three minutes left in the game. Overall, the Wings looked really good and I’m taking this as an omen of future success. The playoffs begin next Saturday, and it looks like Buck and I might get to watch the first game together… in meat space, rather than on the phone. He graduates from his school at the end of next week and will swing through P-Ville on his way back to South Carolina.

That’s a great good thing, ya know. Beer will flow with wild abandon and there will be LOTS of yelling, cheering, and the odd moan or two. Kewl. It don’t get much better than that (for a geezer).

Deetroit Free Press Photo: Nick Lidstrom and the President’s Trophy, at a presentation before yesterday’s game. Nick never touched the trophy. The only hardware you actually TOUCH at play-off time is The Cup itself, once you’ve won it. It’s one of the quainter superstitions in the NHL.

―:☺:―

So. The wind diminished enough yesterday to allow me to put my awning down, open up the windows, and take in the gentle Spring air minus the gale force winds. We only got up to 70 degrees, which is dead-solid-perfect in my Big Book of Weather. Just the kind of day that made sitting out side with a couple of hefeweizens and a good cigar most enjoyable. (A critical beer review here. Beer snobs might wanna bookmark that link; good stuff be there.) A few more days like yesterday would do a whole lot towards restoring my mental health. Speaking of which…

My step-mother (“Mom,” hereafter) called on my birthday lo these two weeks or so ago. Mom is only about ten years older than I, so we relate to each other more as peers than in a traditional mother-son sort of way. Talk flows easily between us, punches certainly aren’t pulled, there are no agendas or games. The conversation turned almost immediately in this sort of direction (and it’s most certainly not verbatim, either):

Mom: So. How ARE you, anyway?

Me: I’m about a six on a scale of ten.

Mom: Really. Why is that? Birthday thing? Introspection about aging?

Me: That’s part of it. Growing old ain’t for sissies. One makes adjustments, one realizes there are “certain things” you can’t do as well as you used to, if at all. Your reflexes slow, your appearance changes, yadda, yadda. You adjust. But that’s only part of the issue.

Mom: Well…what else?

Me: I find myself missing (The Second Mrs. Pennington) a lot these days. I know that’s neither rational nor normal, given the fact it’s been nearly ten years now.

Mom: I understand. It’s been 17 years since your Dad died and I’m still not over it. I doubt I ever will get over it. Some wounds just don’t heal.

Me: Wow. Thanks for that. I’ve found friends and even family have a very limited tolerance for wounds that don’t heal; the expectation is you should just “get over it” and get on with life. After a bit you just stop talking about it. But (The Second Mrs. Pennington) was in my life for so long, and so deep…

Mom: What you and (The Second Mrs. Pennington) had was very special, Buck. And you have to realize some people never have what you two had, even for a moment. I understand completely.

Me: Thanks.

Ah… that’s what Moms are all about, innit? Even we geezers need a shoulder once in a while. Or a therapist, if you believe in that sort of thing…which I both do and don’t. As in I “do” believe where other folks are concerned and “don’t” when it comes to me, based upon past experience. “Therapy” in my situation would be both a waste of time and money... two commodities in relatively short supply in these parts.

Lest this pity-party get completely out of hand, let me reassure you I’ve just got Da Blooze. It ain’t nuthin’ serious. Sitting outside yesterday with a cigar and a few beers got ‘em on the run, for the moment. It also helps (me, anyway) to “count your blessings” when you hit the lower points in life. I went through that exercise yesterday, too. I have a lot to be thankful for… relatively good health, two wonderful and successful adult children, beautiful grandchildren, financial security, and a life-well-led, with tons of great memories.

That should be enough, no? But sometimes it’s not. Who knew this damned torch would burn so brightly, for so long?

Not me.

―:☺:―

Today’s Pic: Mom and Dad, sometime in 1990…about a year before Dad died. Taken in Newport Beach, CA.