Archive: Weekendery

A trip to the grocery store is significantly more pleasant when the place is practically empty and the deli order kiosk is working.

When I go to Lowe’s, where I will inevitably buy items I can not manage to carry with my own two arms, I should get a cart to ease my troubles and avoid looking like The Little Wife on a field trip to the hardware store.

If faced with the options of using my fingers at a fancy-ish restaurant or forfeiting lobster meat, I will only hesitate for a split second before picking up the claw with both hands.

It is possible to stain a piece of clothing the very first time I wear it, despite the napkin on my lap, especially if I have been waiting for weeks to bust it out of the closet.

Cooking a slow-cooker dinner is even more satisfying on the weekend because I’m generally on the couch, reading or falling asleep, enjoying the development of delicious aromas in the kitchen, instead of at work, missing the action.

I could not handle being a loyal hockey fan because watching the USA/Canada gold-medal game was way too stressful.

Everything I know about hockey I learned from The Mighty Ducks, and apparently, no one actually does The Flying V!

When sung at the right tempo and level of enthusiasm, “O Canada” makes a passable drinking song.

Judging from the preview of the 2014 Winter Olympics in Sochi, Russia, there will be a lot of ballerinas and big, furry hats.

18 hours of snowfall

24 inches of snow received

1 dinner reservation canceled (sob)

1 scavenged dinner of grilled cheese sandwiches and canned soup

5 episodes of How I Met Your Mother watched with audio commentary because we’ve seen them all so many times

20 sugar cookies baked and decorated

2 new, successful recipes for the Super Bowl

2 books finished

2 slippery dog walks

5 comments that the snow was taller than Ted

1 snow mobile spotted zipping along our neighborhood (what?!)

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Winter hardly ever fazes me, but this is the first year I can ever remember thinking wistfully of spring, allergies and all. It has already been the harshest winter I’ve had in this area, and we are due for more snow on Tuesday! It’s boggling my mind.  I like to think of myself as a hardened New Englander, but maybe living so far south has thinned my blood and made me soft.

Saturday. Loaded Ted into the car for a trip to the groomer (or “the spa,” as we joke). Dark clouds and heavy, cold rain en route. Afterward, onward to a Christmas tree farm to pick out this year’s specimen, snow starts to fall. Earliest we’ve ever had since I can remember! Determined to be expeditious in the tree hunt, but every tree looks the same: not tall enough, too tall, not symmetrical, is this the one we saw first? Almost take a spill in the muddy pathway. Finally decide on an 11-footer, pay our twenty bucks, and tie it down to the roof of the Civic. Miss the old Subaru’s luggage rack. Pull over twice to check on the tree, but manage to get home in one piece. Together, putting the tree up is suspiciously simple. JG goes back out into the snow to retrieve a newly-shorn Ted; I stay home to sweep and mop the kitchen and clean two bathrooms. Pressed sandwiches for lunch. Ted surprises us by not attacking the tree. I drape six strings of lights amid the branches, and JG watches various football games. Ted and I go for the slushiest walk on record. He loves it; I do not. Once home and into dry clothes, I hang ornaments and lay out the patchwork tree skirt. JG makes jambalaya and oven fries. Eat dinner at the coffee table and watch a rented copy of Up. I almost cry. Twice. The tree glows softly next to the couch. Snowy ground outside. Peaceful.

Monday. Wake up with a crick in my neck, can’t turn, can’t look up, ohmygah. Ted and I slip and skid through the morning walk. The snow and slush aren’t so pretty any more. Realize that my car is encased in a fortress of ice solitude and spend twenty minutes chipping away at it. Finally decide to run the defroster on high instead. At work, attend a meeting that largely focuses on a campaign to improve our processes but is really just being organized. How novel. Struggle to communicate with a manuscript author that I need original picture files and keep receiving pictures in Word documents and PowerPoint slides. Assume I must not be speaking English because there is no other explanation. Another author struggles with a PowerPoint issue; can I look at it? I try to send brief instructions but end up fixing it on my own. Great! Can you do the same thing with this file? Yes, but I don’t want to. I do it anyway. End the day with four out of five items crossed off my list. Not bad. Not good, either. On my way to my first yoga class. Too bad my neck still hurts.

On Saturday afternoon, JG and I set off for the Delaware game against UMass. We knew it would be crowded because it was Parents Weekend, and sure enough, the campus was crawling with UD-paraphernalia-clad parents and out-of-state license plates. At our usual tailgate spot, we overheard a tour group as they wandered through the agriculture school. The weather was crisp and cool — finally, real football weather! — and JG and I both sported our jerseys and blue-and-gold scarves. We sipped drinks in Neoprene cozies and chatted. I worked on a volleyball scarf, and JG commentated on the goings-on of the parking lot. It was all as it should be.

The tailgate next to us was larger than usual. Typically, a dad, a son, and a grandpa come with pre-made sub sandwiches, eat at a card table, and don’t talk much. They’re friendly enough, but it’s a low-maintenance affair, and we each keep to our spots. However, on Saturday, they had brought an extra family, a helium Happy Birthday balloon, and table cloths, so we peeked over ever so often. After a bit, JG noticed that the dad was having trouble lighting the grill, so he walked over and offered them the lighter we keep on hand because our starter is finicky. The men struck up conversation, and we learned that the dad used to play football at UD, and the dad from the other family played baseball when he was at school. The two families were celebrating “Pop-pop’s birthday,” and the daughters had made a goofy paper hat that the older man sported adorably. And hey, this other family is in the school district where we live! JG knows the oldest daughter’s math teacher! Oh, and the dad works in pharmaceuticals! What type of medical writing do I do? (I was itching to ask him for his card, but I lost the nerve.) Was I working on a sweater over there? Scarves are such a nice gift for the players! Volleyball is so interesting! Well, enjoy your tailgate! Yes, you too!

After eating dinner, JG and I walked to the stadium and followed our usual routine: JG carried the seat cushions up to our spots, and I stayed down at field level to take pictures of warm-ups. When I made the hike up to our seats, JG was in deep conversation with the man two spots down from us. His daughter was in the colorguard, he was saying, and she was a junior in the civil engineering program. Oh, I was in the colorguard! JG’s best friend was a civil! The man and his wife had both graduated from UD, he said, and they made the drive up from northern Virginia for every home game. That’s dedication! We nodded appreciatively.

Five minutes into the first quarter, the couple next to JG and me (between us and the Virginia parents), walked up to our row. They always arrive at the same time each week like clockwork. They sidled past us, saying hi and sorry, and we recapped them quickly on what had happened. The family behind us followed soon after, and we all jumped to our feet when the team scored two touchdowns in rapid succession. Before long, we were up by twenty points, and the burly dad behind me grabbed my shoulders from behind, gave me a good shake, and shouted, “How about that, girl?!”

Although initially stunned, I perceived a warm feeling from our neighboring season ticket holders, as though their fold had closed in around us. Don’t get me wrong — JG and I love going to the games and spending time together. Each game means at least five hours of uninterrupted time to talk or goof around, and I always look forward to it. But there’s something special about becoming friends with the people that the box office has deemed will be your companions for the stretch between opening kick-off to that last second on the clock. Up until now, we’ve coexisted peacefully, shuffling by with beverages and chiming in to boo a bad call, and everyone is pleasant.

This time was different. At halftime, JG whispered, “It’s like we have friends!” For the first time in four years of attending these games, I felt like we had ascended to the ranks of the real fans, not just recent graduates with good intentions. From our tailgate to gametime, we had other people to talk to and exchange stories, and we were becoming a part of the UD fabric. I loved it.