All right, here's the deal;
I own a damn meat thermometer. I'm scared to death. What the hell is next? It is in the silverware drawer right now. That's another thing...I have matching silverware. I had matching utensils once before but these here utensils don't have the University of Wisconsin stenciled on them anywhere. What happened to the days where a guy could have 23 huge serving spoons with holes in them for the stuff to dribble through, a buck hunting knife, a military issue can opener, and 7 forks that could be used for any damn thing no matter where they sit on the stupid table in relation to the other forks. I even have 14 butter knives. In the good old days they would last about two weeks. Leave one in each of the pizza delivery boxes to discard with the 4 crusts that you could not quite finish even though you managed to stomach the toppings. I would say that my world is upside down but that remark in itself would suggest that I have some sense of direction.
I was all excited because I was asked to play city league basketball. I am somewhat guarded at these invitations following a similar experience I had when I was teaching in Juneau. Some guys there asked me if I wanted to play. Sure. Went to the first damn practice and some pot bellied hairy backed oaf asked me, " Are you sure that you are over 40?" I replied, "Hell no!" He informed me that they had no desire to have me on their little sweaty team because, "If we were going to cheat we would cheat with someone who was in shape."
Now if I can't play city league basketball here at the end of the world, where can I? Now it turns out here that they want me to play the center position. Bout ten years ago I played college basketball. I was a POINTGUARD. For those of you that don't know much about basketball, that is the little lightning quick fella that reeks of creativity and stealth. It was roughly the equivalent of asking Mary Lou Redden if she would please consider trying out for Lion's Club roller derby team in Cedar Rapids, Iowa.
All is well though. Turns out they have an activity here that a person can become injured in much more quickly than stupid ole basketball. ICE HOCKEY. Yep, that's right. As fate would have it, a game for fading folks who are too slow to physically run up and down a floor. Skates, ice and inertia are the great equalizers. The same basic activity, but you get to stand upright on a quarter inch blade of metal while moving around on a sheet of ice. You are starting to see the beauty in it now...I can tell.
They told me that I didn't even have to know how to skate. Swell guys. Just show up and become enveloped in the testosterone embrace that is hockey. They truly didn't mind that I couldn't skate well. In fact they have a name for my kind...goalie. They didn't mind that I couldn't skate; they didn't mind that I had to take it easy for the first hour or so after I ate; and they didn't mind that the goalie garb didn't quite fit. They were men of reason and logic. Put the biggest guy between the posts to guard the tiny goal. By the time I packed my business between the posts there was only a one-foot by one-foot area where I could be scored upon. I brought this to their attention. They asked me, "Where is that one foot by one foot hole that is unguarded?" It was between my legs. Their reply was, "You have been on the ice for an hour...only 3 minutes of that hour have you been on your feet". It was too perfect. They seemed to be swell men. They didn't seem to mind anything.
It all came to an end when I did find out what they did mind. Apparently it is some big hockey sin to pee in those huge hockey shorts that you wear on the outside and they do mind if you bleed on the jersey. The real kicker is that...well.... the pee froze right away and flaked right off without a stain.... and...well...it was my own damn jersey that I bled on! There was no formal end to my hockey career. The guy who used to pick me up stopped coming by about a week ago. Saw him in the store and he acted like he didn't know my name. I pushed the issue at the checkout stand. He ignored me until he got near the door and turned, looked right at me and said, "See ya around Sally." Kind of odd I thought since there was nobody around me...much less a woman.
So those of you out there who can think of a proper use for a meat thermometer I would appreciate you letting me know. I pull it out of the silverware drawer from time to time for that 3 or 4 hours while I'm waiting for my ride to hockey practice. One time it created quite a stir in my dog Olie. He looked up at me...then at the thermometer...then back to me and he actually spoke. He said, "Put it back please dad.... I'm not sick, no temperature...feeling fine, really.... look at me hop around.... think I will go for a walk…feeling very frisky actually. Put it away please." I did. Walked outside and laced up the skates for the puddle next to the house.
33 and embracing life with the vigor of an intoxicated sloth,
Bruce