It's hard to believe that nothing much happened over the three day week end. At least nothing I should write about. Although something just came up that concerns me a little.
When I write I always picture myself in conversation with someone, an imaginary friend. I call him Harvey, like the Pookah in the movie of the same name. By the way, the movie name is "Harvey," not "Pookah." I have instances when I want to want to write: there is something I want to talk about. But since I am writing, I write: there is something I want to write about. It's a good thing Harvey is a Pookah, he doesn't care if I write the write or talk the talk. He is happy he's not in Akron.
Over the week end I watched the Detroit Tigers game against the Texas Rangers. I turned it off when the score was Texas 6 and Detroit 2. The score at games end was 15 to 5. Texas won the game the championship and will be the American League representative in the World Series. I told Wanda I wasn't going to let the outcome bother me, I said, "I'm not going to let this bother me," but it did, which is foolish, really.
In 2008 the Detroit Red Wings, a hockey team, won the Stanley Cup. This is the equivalent of winning the Super Bowl in football or the World Series in baseball. The Red Wings were in the finals the next year. Predicted to win the cup a second time, they did not. The best of seven series went to the final game and Detroit lost, to Pittsburgh.
I called my brother to commiserate the loss but he was too emotional for a conversation. Emotional, Hell, he bit my head off. I admit, I've been there too. Now when I put this in perspective, with all the troubles we face in the world today, it is rather foolish to mourn over a sports franchise.
The game and the series was over. I said I wouldn't let the outcome bother me but I had to know, how could Texas score fifteen runs? Wanda was reading while I went on line to check the box scores. I was making the tisking type nosies that most husbands, I'm sure, have in their arsenal. Wanda knows my nosies well. I was making the ones that require a "What's wrong?" from her. And, since she asked, I assume I have permission to share information.
"I can't believe this, I said. Scherzer gave up six runs in three innings, and added, then Porcello pitched to one batter and gave up three." Wanda, trying to read and look like she cared said, "Which team?" "Which team? How can you ask me which team when you know Detroit only scored five runs?" I snapped. And just then, at that very second, at the end of a long baseball season, and a longer relationship, it hit me. I got it! For the first time ever, I asked her this....I said,
"You really don't care, do you?" And so she told me, she said, "No, I really don't. Why do you think I was usually at the computer when a game was on? I watched what I did because you were interested. I felt like I should care, because you did."
And here I was giving her statistics, minutia, knowledge that she neither needed or wanted. I never thought about her criteria for enjoying a ballgame. Wanda didn't need all the extraneous information. She was entertained by the action as it happened. And when it was over, it was over, done, forgotten about.
Maybe you remember the blog entry Wanda's always right? We just had our twenty second anniversary. We've been together twenty four years. It's truly remarkable, I think, to know we are still learning things about and for each other. I promise I will never again make assumptions about things I feel Wanda should know. But, only if she stops telling me how many E's and other vowels she has in Words With Friends.
I closed Jill the Cat in the bedroom closet yesterday. Wanda heard her in there about five hours later. The cat was pretty well pissed off at me and let me know it. Every time I came anywhere near her she would meow something nasty at me. Now, twenty four hours later I'm still trying to work this out.
The door to the bedroom closet was open an inch or two. Jill decided to go in there and investigate. I walked into the bedroom and noticed the open door. I did check inside the closet before I shut the door. Jill could have said something, Jill could have come out of the closet, Jill did neither of these things. So, why is it my fault?
Thursday it was Casper and the coffee and yesterday, Jill. These two cats are both giving me stink eye today and it's starting to freak me out.
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