Why am I so sad
Why am I so blue
The Oilers lost the cup
To Carolina, true,

This shouldn’t really matter
My deadline is still looming
And it isn’t natural to be playing indoors on ice
While outside the pansies are blooming

Okay, so it isn’t Wordsworth. Or even Seuss, but it’s the cry of my heart and that’s gotta mean something.

And now . . . (Scriptural sigh) it’s over. I haven’t had any stake in the Stanley Cup for many years so the past few weeks have been a wild ride. Probably a good thing the Oilers have been in a bit of a slump in the years since I started writing. I get emotionally involved in the games and the players. When the Oilers win, I write well. When they don’t, I just write. There’s a reason we don’t have television. I would be the one intent on the game, remote in hand, while my husband dawdled around, whining ‘honey, come to bed.’

As a young girl I used to watch television, hands clasped, leaning as close to the television as my vigilant mother would let me, praying (yes, I’m shallow) that my team would win. I didn’t understand why God wouldn’t be rooting for my team. They were the best. They were the deserving ones. And yet, when I would see the dejection of the teams that my guys finished wiping the ice with, I couldn’t help feeling bad for them as well.

So I’m reaching back to those more innocent emotions and trying to be happy for the ‘Canes and the fans who might be as superficial in their intercessory prayers as I was. And happy for the editor of Beckett Hockey Monthly who cavalierly predicted the Hurricanes victory only to cringe when the Oilers made their startling come-back. Being happy for these people is the Christian thing to do. At least I didn’t kick the cooler across the kitchen like my nephew did. (Mind you, my son has my cooler and I was in sock feet. So, no kicking.)

I just wish my dad could have seen his beloved team make their unprecedented run to the cup.

And now it’s time to pay attention to that looming deadline and get back to more important things. Like trying to find emotionally gripping ways to say, “She walked down the hall”.

When I was growing up Saturday was a day indelibly connected to Hockey. Sitting on the 'high stool' in a flanellette nightgown as mother tortured our fresh-from-the-bath hair into pin curls for Sunday - watching Hockey Night in Canada with Foster Hewitt announcing the play by play. Ducking whenever Eddy Shack from the Toronto Maple Leafs decided to get into yet another fight with John Ferguson of the Montreal Canadians (or Habitants) because Mom would be cheering them on, waving the tail comb dangerously close to our heads. We cheered for Toronto because they were the closest team to us out here in Western Canada. Then when Edmonton got their own Oilers, we switched allegiances. Natch. When I got married, my husband and I decided to forego the dubious pleasures of television which meant no more hockey. Then, when our children were younger a friend took pity on us and donated a television to our household just in time for my children to watch the Edmonton Oilers, helmed by Wayne Gretzky, begin a winning streak that, for some reason, made us proud even though the only contribution we made to their wins was to watch them on television and yell 'shoot, shoot'. Important, but, I'm sure, had a minimal impact on their success or lack of.

Now, after a fourteen year dearth of even getting a whiff of the Stanley Cup, here are the Oilers on the brink. Can they pull it off? Why do I still care? I don’t know. I haven't watched hockey for years. I’ve never met these people and will probably never get to. But the colours on their sweaters are familiar and a part of my children’s childhood. My two sons are avid fans and I’m sure they are sending enough ‘positive vibes’ out to their beloved Oilers that mom doesn’t need to join in. My nerves can’t take it anymore. I’ll find out tomorrow.

Life is bad for you


Now what are we supposed to do?

I just read, in my morning newspaper that chemicals used in water bottles cause prostate cancer. SO, that means that bottled water, that elixir of good health, that pinnacle of all that is pure and good, is really bottled evil. Death waiting to happen. They will now have to put a warning sign on the bottled water. (Warning – drinking this pure spring water can and/or may possibly cause some form of cancer)

Why am I not surprised? Daily reading of the newspaper will tell you that overall, living is very bad for you, because living causes death. It’s a tragedy. Meaningless, meaningless, all is meaningless and chasing after the wind, as the Teacher says in Ecclesiastes. Everything you do, everything you come into contact with is, in one form or another, bad for you. Aspirin is bad for you. Cars are bad for you. Chocolate is bad for you. (though I would dispute the science on that one). We may as well pack it in right now because life is going to end one way or the other.

The trouble is I LIKE life. I like the idea that I can wake up in the morning and do . . . well . . . things. I like being alive. I don’t like stubbing my toe or cutting my finger with my very sharp Cutco knives. (Warning – Cutco knives can cause grave bodily injury when not used correctly) But even as I see the blood flowing into the sink it reminds me that I am alive. That I can look out the window and see the little birds chirping on the branches then see them take off and fly right into my window because I forgot to put a warning sign on my window. (Warning – used improperly this window can cause flying death to any bird who thinks they might be able to go through it)

Life is fraught with dangers. To add bottled water to the list, well, so be it. I’m just thankful I don’t have a prostate.