Wednesday, September 8, 2010


This past weekend I cleaned out my storage compartment here at the apartment and found 2 hockey sticks and an equipment bag big enough to fit a body.

Today I watched Slap Shot.  I haven't seen it in a while.  It appears the Universe wants me to think about hockey.

I've never been a die-hard hockey fan, but I love watching the games when they're on.  (I usually cheer the Capitals since I lived in DC. )  There's something compelling about watching a bunch of large guys wobble onto the ice and suddenly become graceful and frightening at the same time.

But there is another reason that I like hockey.  When I became a new mom, I uncovered a quiet midnight feeding routine.  My son would whimper and I'd immediately rise and turn on the TV.  Not much is on at 2 AM, but hockey is.  I'd sit covered in blankets in our little apartment with the lights off and a soft glow from the little muted TV.  My son would crane his head, bottle in mouth to see only hockey.  Nothing else interested him.  Jeffersons? No. Infomercial? No.  Just hockey.

I would hold him and think about his future.  He was a small, warm little entity with a timeline of potential ahead of him.  He could be anything.  He could do anything.  And my life was nothing but for him.  All of those thoughts with Brett Hull in the background gliding on the ice.

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