World Addiction and Poetry

The World Cup has ended. I have to wait four years before the excitement, the geography lessons and the poetry can be enjoyed again. I love the World Cup. I love the athleticism of the players, the passion of the fans, and especially the poetic delivery of the commentators. In what other sport would you hear commentary like the following:

the ball is spinning viciously

it would have been a glorious goal if a goal had been forthcoming

that was a blatant body check

that was a massive interventions

that could be the lid on the coffin for- _______________not quite the nail

that play took a coat of paint off the post

if another goal is scored the game will get a little nervy

the fans are an orchard of orange and yellow

the player is having an orgy of self-incrimination

the ball fell to the deadliest of predators

the team is in disarray

the players is as volatile as a cocktail that can spill over with the slightest shake

a plot is being hatched

that player is getting a bit too muscular for the referee's liking

you are experiencing agony and angst to a level you never knew you had

had the game by the sruff of the neck

this one's on the knife's edge now

Yes, I will miss the poetry of the world's sports addiction. I will not miss the horns and hope that the World Cup will follow Wimbledon's lead and ban them from games in the future.

Other changes I would like in the next World Cup would be instant replay of questionable calls before they are made final, and Team USA playing in the final game. Some say that will never happen until the US stops calling the game "soccer" and starts calling it "football."

Why I Love Midwestern Small Towns

Today on our way to a funeral visitation, we had occasion to stop for lunch in Laurie, Missouri. The population of Laurie was 1000 in 2000. We stopped at restaurant called Val's. "Country Cooking and Sassy Servers" the sign said. It was an excellent choice and reinforced my love of Mid-America. The server in the back shouted at us to sit anywhere we wanted. Another server immediately brought us huge glasses of ice water and informed us that she was one of the nice servers---not one of the sassy ones. The place was mostly locals dressed in plaid flannel and worn denim. Shaving was not a high priority for most of the men; good eating and friendly chatter was. Servers called everyone by first names or "hon" and took good care of them. As soon as one couple sat down gigantic glasses of PepsiCola were placed in front of them. They didn't have to order---the server knew. It was afternoon, but breakfast could still be ordered and we did---a two-egg omelet was a pile of eggs and I mean a pile---we could have shared and still had leftovers. Coffee cups were filled before they were half empty. In spite of the sad reason for being in Laurie, we left the restaurant feeling full of food and full of love for small towns in the Midwest.

Noah, Noah, Did you feel sorry for all those people?

This morning I read the story of Noah and the Ark. I can imagine what it would have been like for six people to be in a boat approximately the size of a football field with two of every kind of animal and seven of some kinds. The fresh fragrance of spring it would not have been. I am sure it was a relief when the forty days of rain were over and the waters receded and the ground dried up so they could all leave the Ark and get some fresh air and exercise. As I was mulling all of this over, another difficulty that Noah had to endure popped into my mind. What about all the other people who were not invited into the Ark? What about the ones whose evil deeds presented the need for God to destroy his creation and start over again? I doubt that Noah was too friendly with these evil people. I imagine that they ridiculed him when he was working on the Ark even though there wasn't a cloud in the sky. Doing God's will is often difficult; having a bunch of people ridiculing you doesn't make it any easier. These people may have irritated him, but nevertheless, they were his neighbors. There must have been times when they shared refreshment, borrowed from each other, or laughed at the antics of a toddler together. Then the rains began. Noah followed God's directions and entered the Ark with his wife, sons and daughters-in-law. It rained harder. The people who had ridiculed Noah began to head for higher ground. Perhaps a few of them shouted at Noah and asked to be taken into the Ark. Maybe a part of Noah felt sorry for them. Maybe his wife had compassion for them and begged Noah to save a few of the ladies that she had shared sewing tips with or borrowed flour from so they would not drown. Staunchly, Noah followed God's directions. Maybe his sons saw childhood friends with whom they had played kick the rock or hide and seek clinging to floating logs and shouting for help. Maybe the sons wanted to reach out and allow these friends to enjoy the safety of the Ark. But Noah stood firm. God, not his personal feelings or the pleas of those around him, directed his path. Even when the last surviving evil people were congregated on the highest hill in the world, shouting that they had learned their lesson and promising that they would be good from now on, Noah did what God had directed. I wonder, was it hard for Noah to allow God's justice to prevail or did he just for a moment contemplate saving his former neighbors?

What's a Hiney Shot?

Friday night we were riding down the Boulevard. Our friends John and Gerri were in the backseat. Mike, who was driving, said, "What's a hiney shot?"

This had nothing to do with the subject we were discussing, but to humor him I said, " I guess it's a shot given in your derriere."

"Well," he said, "why would Walgreen be advertising that they are giving shots in the rear end?"

At this point, we all turned around and looked at the Walgreen kiosk. It said "HINI shots available here." We all started laughing when we realized that it meant H1N1 shots not hiney shots.

Super Baa Saves The Webkins

Last year Amaris, my then eight-year-old granddaughter, hinted that she would like a penguin Webkin for her birthday. Happily I found one for her and she added it to her collection of Webkins: two dogs and a panda bear. I loved the little penguin. It was so soft and cuddly. The perfect gift for an eight year old. Amaris immediately registered it at the Webkin Website and began providing it with a wonderful internet environment---a bed, tables, chairs etc. Imagine my dismay when she informed at Christmas this year that she had been notified that her eleven month old penguin, her two dogs, and her panda bear were going to EXPIRE soon unless she bought another Webkin. Isn't "expire" a euphemism for die? How terrible that her treasured little friends were going to meet such a horrible fate. Wanting to save her the distress of losing her website pets, I found a Webkin lamb and gave it to her for her ninth birthday. For a time her Webkins have been saved from EXPIRING by the little lamb that she named Super Ba---Is it a bird? Is it a plane? No, it's Super Ba who has come to save the Webkin clan. Super Ba, however, is only a Bandaid. Soon she will receive another expiration notice. Do I smell a racket? Did I become a part of the racket? I do believe I did. But hey---that is the perogative of grandmothers.