No Ending But A New Beginning

Hello. It's me. (No! Not Adele.)

Yeah, I know. You're wondering where the heck I've been? Well.... life happens. Maybe you thought I ran out of ideas?  Never going to happen. My brain ain't the biggest, nor does it fire neutrons and electrons around as readily as missiles are currently flying around the Middle East, but it often sees rainbows in a world that, these days, seems mostly grey and dreary.

Perhaps you figured that I have made enough money from my writing and that I am resting on my laurels along with my royalties. Nope....haven't made even one red cent (whatever that is) from putting pen to paper or from clickety-clacking on a keyboard .  So, you're thinking it must be that Jim just got sick and tired of writing. Wrong again. I love this stuff. What else gets me up at 4:15 A.M.?

Well, to be perfectly honest, there is something, or more precisely, someone for whom the time of day matters not to me.  That would be my competitive swimming 15 year old daughter, who practices, well before dawn, five mornings a week. At that hour is it really morning or is it more appropo to say she practices late at night? In any event, one more year and she will be old enough to drive herself and I can stay in bed.  It's a good thing we have two vehicles because when that time comes I bet you a million bucks that her mom, also know as my wife, will be conducting mobile surveillance to make sure her first born arrives at the pool safe and sound.

Early risings are no chore for me.  I love both my kids indescribably, so being in their company is priceless daddy-daughter time.  Time spent writing is right up there too. Those minutes and hours I spend crafting a story in my mind, chewing on the ideas and spitting out those that are crappy is time well spent. A writer's busy mind is the antithesis of idol hands being the devil's workshop.

When I started typing at 4:15 this morning, I had an idea that I thought may be a fun to pursue. As often is the case, everything that I have typed so far bears absolutely no similarity to that original idea. Once I begin to type, my rainbow loving brain takes over and I am powerless to stop it.

For your reading pleasure and as an example of what goes through the mind of someone who awakes shortly after 4:00 A.M. (not much or, at least, not much that is earth shattering), I'll relate my original idea. I probably should have ended today's blog two sentences ago but what the heck. I've been away from writing for 51 weeks so I am prepared to cut myself some slack if the following story doesn't measure up. I'll make a deal with you, if you don't enjoy it then only send me half of the money that you usually send. ;-)  Here is today's story as a work in progress.

possible titles...........The Letter Between B and D or Now You C It Now You Don't  (needs work!!)

Given that it was January, 2015 when I last posted, I thought it only prudent that I begin by saying hello to everyone.  From there I ran with the idea that I would say hello using as many words or expressions as I could think of that began with the letter H.  I came of with five. Accompanying Hello, the other four where: Howdy; Hey!; Hi; and How ya doing? My idea was to then gracefully, yet amazingly, move you, the reader, from H to the letter C. Riveting writing for sure! You get what you pay for. :-\  

I make the smooth transition to C. Here it comes.....

For 2016 I am anti just about any word that begins with C.  C has had its day.  I am done with it.  I think you'd agree.  During the previous few years, the "Big C", the dreaded cancer, has been prominent in my family.  My loved ones are all doing well but we will forever be ardent enemies of the "Big C".

To strengthening my argument for the abolition of C, last spring I was found to have a coronary condition. (good use of alliteration and they are C words too..bonus!)  When I was told I had developed arrhythmia my first thought was that it meant my tone deafness had been cured and I would finally be able carry a tune.  Taking a page from Adele, I'd be calling my debut album 50. Google dictionary crushed that dream.  Arrhythmia has something to do with electrical misfiring of the heart so that it speeds up for no apparent reason. My heart rate would double in the blink of an eye.  What a rush! No need for caffeine, chocolate, cookies or crack cocaine?  These pesky C words could be removed from my vocabulary. (An admission - I have never tried crack cocaine, although I sure saw enough of it and what it does to people. It is caffeine multiplied by infinity. Not pretty! They both derive from the cocoa plant so go figure.)  

Since my diagnosis, I've had one medical procedure, which I watched on a HDTV as the doctor probed around my heart with a pair of tweezers.  It was as if he was playing a video game with my insides and I was hoping that he played a lot of Mario Brothers as a kid.  He snipped a few of my internal wires and sent me on my way.  He said I would be improved but that I would likely need a second procedure.  He was right, my symptoms persist. Maybe this summer I'll get fixed so that my coronary becomes ordinary.

As we work towards and wait for good health to return to our clan, I am going to have to think of a few more C words to banish. Cod fishing......never; think of other C words for consideration

- cuddling?? 

- cognac - what kind of liquor is that anyway?? 

- cayaking - check spelling....

Finish with a profound yet witty statement that ties the entire story together and leaves the reader wanting more.

The End

That story never quite got finished.  All in all, not a bad effort after being away from the writing game for almost a year.  I promise my next story will have a beginning, middle, and end. My! Look at the time. It is almost 2:00 P.M. It's my bedtime. Surprised? A little early, you say! Well I do get up at 4:00 A.M. most mornings and I now do it without the benefit of caffeine, chocolate, and cookies. Thankfully I have my Adele albums and the arrhythmia to sing her songs. Goodbye, it's me, Jim.

Hockey Dads, Make Room

I just got back from the sporting goods store.  It surprised me how quickly someone can be transformed into a hockey player.  Well, at least look like one.  One of my coaching expressions is to inform my players that there are people who play hockey and then there are hockey players. Their goal is to be one of the latter; a very rare athlete indeed. 

Now back to my shopping excursion. My daughter, Avery, is a mature 12 year old, a honour student, and, as of today, a Peewee.   Perhaps inspired by the gold medal winning Canadian Junior Hockey Team or by watching my Northeast Bantam B's last week, she decided she wants to play hockey.  Peewees are larger than Atoms (don't tell that to Einstein), gigantic compared to Mites, but smaller than Midgets and Bantams. (What's a Bantam anyway?)  Throw Juveniles, Tykes and Juniors into the mix and one begins to realize that maybe size does matter after all.  (I hope my wife doesn't read this, she'll know I've been lying to her all these years.)  

Avery knows the game better than most kids her age.  Her only obvious deficiency, when she finally hits the ice next week, will be that she can't skate.  She says she can go forward, stop a little, and definitely can't go in reverse.  Even with that fairly honest self assessment I think she is being somewhat optimistic.  Confidence is a great asset, but I hope when reality body checks her ego this coming Wednesday that she will get right back up on those blades of steel and persevere.

That truly is my hope, that Avery sticks with it.  Long enough at least,  so that when I donate her equipment to the minor hockey association I can tell them that it is "used" equipment.  Unlike her older sister, who found her sporting fit to be competitive swimming at a young age, Avery continues to try things out.  I love her enthusiasm and willingness to explore, but my garage is starting to look a lot like the sporting goods store I left this afternoon. Soccer, basketball, swimming, volleyball, rowing, and softball have all been favourite sports during Avery's short life.  Can hockey stay in favour?  That is the several hundreds of dollars question.

Lynda wondered why I just didn't just go get used equipment for Avery.  If any of you know Lynda then you would realize that position is totally unlike her.  Normally, Lynda would be totally against her kids wearing anything that someone else had so close to their skin.  Her thinking would be along the lines of "Who knows where that equipment has been and what heebie-jeebie creatures are lurking behind the layers of protection."  The fact she questioned that I outfitted Avery in all new equipment hints that Lynda also habours doubt that Avery will be the next Hayley Wickenheiser. Lynda wasn't an athlete, so she doesn't understand.  You have to look good to play good.  You need to be different than everyone else, but that is in how you play, not in how you look when you play. You can't have a Koho hockey stick when everyone else has a PMP 5030.  Your helmet must not be red when everyone else is wearing black.  You first need to fit in, then you work to set yourself apart from the pack by playing the game the way it was meant to be played - like a hockey player.

Avery may turn out to be a girl who plays hockey or a girl who played hockey once.  It matters not. What matters is that she is excited about trying.  Almost as much as I will be to watch her.  After all my years involved with the game, today I became what I thought I may never be, a hockey dad.  It sure feels special, but it sure was expensive.

One last thought before the final buzzer sounds on this story.  Lynda's dad, Ron West, was a famous, perhaps infamous, local hockey referee.  My first game misconduct, while playing hockey school hockey, came at his hands and that was long before I even knew he had a daughter.  I got the last laugh on him (or did I?). Just kidding, dear.  I hated Ron, the ref.  I've had my share of run-ins with many refs, both when I was a player and now as a coach.  It's not that I don't respect them, it's more that they are just so wrong so often and I don't mind telling them.

I wonder if my attitude towards hockey refs will be carried on by Avery or will she turn out more like her grandfather and be a sympathizer of the folks in the zebra shirts?  I'll be okay with whatever path she chooses.  I can tell her that all that time I spent in the penalty box allowed me to see the game from an entirely different perspective.  Getting punched in the head repeatedly does that to a person.  I am thankful that Avery is more like her mother and is a lover not a fighter.  I think even Ron West would have approved. On that he would have be right, for the first time ever. Touché, Ron!

The 5 Second Rule of Engagement - featuring Butter Bowls & Mother's Roles

I have never considered myself to be an overprotective parent.  I frequently...okay, always abide by the "5 second rule" whenever my kids drop an item of food on the floor or ground.  I don't even bother to count if the landing area is a lap, car seat, or the top of the dog's head.  If the landing zone is sketchy then I'll just count to five faster so not as many germs get a chance to hop on for the ride.  So far, it seems, this approach seems to have worked well - the kids are still alive and kicking.

My lovely wife, Lynda, does enough "mothering" of the kids for the both of us.  Case in point was this very morning. I was heading out the door to pick Kendall up at the swimming pool and then drop her at school when I was handed a larger freezer bag containing a copious amount of Cheerios in a reemployed butter container that was now full of skim milk.  Don't worry, a spoon and some napkins were cozily nestled next to the cereal and milk too.  Lynda must have seen the "What the..." expression I was wearing at that moment so she explained that Kendall had said that she hadn't much time in the mornings and wasn't eating her breakfast.  No sense questioning.  Twenty something years of marriage and fourteen plus years as a father has taught me that.

So as Kendall jumps into the car and buckles up for the commute to her junior high school, one that takes no more than five minutes, even in the St. John's' version of rush half hour traffic, I show her the freezer bag that her mother has prepared.  Now it is Kendall who has the 'What the..." look on her face, which appeared as no surprise to me.

I tell Kendall that her mom wanted to make sure that she had her breakfast before going to school. Kendall laughed and went on to explain the recent conversation she had with Lynda that may have been the catalyst for her mom's concern. Kendall had recently mentioned to Lynda that the lineup at the pool's Tim Horton's is often way too long and that she would be late for school if she tried to order from there.  The school's breakfast program, although awesome, is usually out of her favourite breakfast food, bagels, by the time she arrives and that she is usually stuck with having to eat a bowl of cereal.  Somehow Kendall's version of events was interpreted by Lynda as "pack breakfast for Kendall and make sure it is cereal and milk that she will eat in 3 minutes or less with a small plastic spoon while sitting in a car driving up to 70 kph on the Parkway and stops and starts suddenly for traffic lights, traffic, and pedestrians".

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What do you think the odds are that a 14 year old girl would take the chance of wearing her breakfast rather than eating it and showing up to junior high with a huge milk spot on the front of her blouse?  I have found that milk doesn't adhere very well to the "5 second rule".

I'm writing this morning from Starbucks, where wifi is free, offers bottomless coffee with my Gold Starbucks card, and the leather chairs are comfortable, even if they do have more than their share of milk stains. There's no chance I'll be adding to those stains today.  This butter container is actually a very good cereal bowl so the milk will go precisely where it is supposed to.  So tasty and I'm saving $3 by not having to order the bran muffin.  Just one caveat though,  On the off chance that I drop a Cheerio or two on the floor her at Starbucks, then to heck with the "5 second rule".  Some rules are okay to break. I think even Lynda would approve.