Kate and Leopold We're Not

Things move fast here at the blog. Too fast, I'm afraid, for a coherent message. The only conclusion an attentive, objective observer could make is that we're all crazy. An objective observer would probably be right. But I'm not objective, so I'll just keep posting the madness and let everyone else sort it out.

We were going along fine and I was feeling all kinds of tender, devoted thoughts. Sunday morning came as a shock to the system, the worst kind.

I woke up earlier than everyone else. Marie was snoring as I often do and there was little chance of getting back to sleep, so I woke up and made some oatmeal. I cut an apple into it and added some brown sugar and cinnamon, breakfast disguised as an entire apple pie. My belly is contentedly full though my mind is nearly empty.

Saturday morning we cleaned house and in the afternoon we had our burger and golf outing and everything was lovely and harmonious. We came home around six and Marie made grilled ham and cheese sandwiches, then we met the kids for the parade. Everything was still fine. We rode home on the jam-packed Max train with Bryce in my arms and Marie's hand on my waist. At home she fell asleep in my arms watching "Kate and Leopold". I kissed her forehead and held her close. "I love you so much," I whispered.

So the morning came and I couldn't sleep so I made the breakfast and fiddled with the blog a little and checked out Rob Moseley's Oregon Duck blog in the Register-Guard for updates, which are usually a little scare in the early days of June. Turns out the PAC-10 is making overtures to six members of the current Big-12, including Texas and Oklahoma, a deal that could mean twenty million in revenue to every team in the newly created superconference. I played in two little poker tournaments, one with a ten-cent buy-in and the other with over 6,000 entrants putting up a dollar each. I used to play a little bigger but I've since found I can get just as frustrated, elated or challenged playing small. After the first hand it's just chips and cards, although the small-limit players will show you some creative devastations: the other day I lost with ace-ace, all-in before the flop for ten thousand chips versus jack-three offsuit. I raised seven times the blind behind a limper and and he RERAISED me. Flop came king-jack-three. Rivered another jack. Now that was impressive. It reminded me of that old Mel Brooks quote, "tragedy is when it happens to me. Comedy is when it happens to you."

Marie and I didn't have a good day today. She got on me about playing cards on Sunday morning and before we were done everything came out of the anxiety closet, from both of us. I'm not sure she would jump off the Brooklyn Bridge to find me through time but she might push me off another one before we're done. Clearly, Kate and Leopold we are not. But then I'm no Hugh Jackman. I don't have the charm or grace of his characters, and I don't have his perfect proportions or full head of hair. Unless we find a time portal of our own, we'll have to make the best of the present and the assets we have in reality.