Liz told me Mike and Deanna’s news yesterday, and the little slice of life update I had written seems almost flippant next to this reality. Still, that is their story to tell if and when they tell it, and this is mine. And it’s late. Again. At least the deadlines are self-imposed. Maybe if I tried to get the letter ready, say, six weeks or so in advance, I wouldn’t slip up like this.
I spent a very frustrating Saturday trying to get tickets to the women’s figure skating competition for April, Liz and me. I finally had to give up when the ticket-selling website crashed. I hadn’t known that Liz had skated for years until I asked her which event we should see in February. She did a number of extra-curricular activities when she was in school, but for reasons she has never quite understood, it’s as if her parents never remembered to re-register her each year, so there were some years where she was skating, then some where she was in choir, then back to skating. It kept her from finding an activity she enjoyed, since she would never know what she was going to be allowed to do each year. Apparently Elly used to brag about Liz’s piano playing, but Liz thinks that Elly must have been confusing her with Dawn, since the Pattersons never had a piano. Did Elly’s problems begin that early? Or were they always there? Frank told me that even back when he and Elly were dating she’d sometimes call him Fred – Fred the boyfriend – and then get huffy when he corrected her.
April wants to check out the snowboarding. Or did she say that she wanted to check out the snowboarders? I’ll do my best to get tickets or maybe we’ll just hit some Whistler bars one evening. The trouble with having the Olympics on your doorstep, aside from the years of political bickering and construction, is the feeling that you really should take part and attend as much as possible, even if you go bankrupt in the process.
April told me about her grades and we had a long talk. I’ve advised first years so many times before, but it’s a little bit different with someone related to you, someone whose personal background you know. If she’d been anyone else, I’d be disinclined to believe her description of her home life. She has since signed up for some extra help and it sounds like her roommate is reminding her that there is more to university than hitting the books. Our webcam chats sometimes wander into some strange places; am I doomed to inherit a menopause lasting a decade?!
PS – Stephen Colbert is satire, people. Get over it.