Yesterday should have been a very, very sad day in our house.
Except… it wasn’t.
Our beloved hockey team’s season ended too short once again.
Some of you are relieved. Others are happy. And a rather large selection of you so-called friends are ridiculously happy that us doomed Canuck faithful are sentenced to yet another painful ending.
I love you. But I don’t understand you.
(Don’t worry, you don’t need to explain. I will never understand you. Or, that part of you, at least.)
But there are a few who today, like me, are sad, somewhat confused, and yet… okay.
It’s only a game, of course.
But a great game.
(High fives to all who agree.)
A quick disclaimer: I write to Canuck fans. You love another team? I bless you to do so. Whoever you’re for, be for. Please, and thank you.
Another disclaimer: there are many blogs dedicated solely to Canuck hate. (Ha ha ha. And, they call us pathetic.) BUT, this is NOT one of them. So, if you’re not exactly fond of Canucks – and its in vogue to hate us, so, I understand if there’s more than a few of you – this is probably not the post for you. Check back in on Wednesday. There won’t be a single thing about hockey in here, I promise.
Ten years ago today, I woke with dread.
No, I hadn’t heard the news. I just hit my head on the top bunk and realized I had no idea what I was going to do for the chapel service I was supposed to lead that morning.
I shrugged on my backpack, hoisted up my thirty-pound-nursing-textbooks (word to the wise: those of you going to Nursing school, prepare to invest in a decent masseuse, physiotherapist, or chiropractor), and hoped my very strong coffee would give me inspiration as I walked the flowering-cherry-tree-lined path from McMillan Hall to Neufeld Science Center.
Other bleary-eyed students joined me, coffee mug in one hand, the other rubbing their eyes. Obviously, none of us were built for 8 am classes.
None of us residents, I should say.
A commuter friend saw me and bounced along the path.
I realized as I got closer she wasn’t smiling. “Did you hear the news?” she puffed out. Read more
At the end of The Hunger Games, a conflicted Katniss, an angry Peeta, and a frustrated Haymitch disembark the Capitol train for District 12. Each character has a different anguish. Peeta knows Katniss’s feigned affections were merely an attempt to recast the apparent defiance of a threatened double suicide as the insane actions of two lovesick teenagers. Haymitch wishes Katniss a better actress in her attempts to diffuse rebellion and satisfy the Capitol. Katniss herself is far more preoccupied with the knowledge that she unwittingly sparked the flame of district rebellion.
And now all she knows and loves will likely die.