End of the fourth quarter. Twenty-six point four seconds on the clock. Heat up by three and Bulls are about to inbound the ball. Chicago has no more time-outs.
Robinson brought it up. Held my breath as Nate took his first three-point shot. Rims out. Booz got the rebound. Passed to Rip. To Noah. Back to Rip. RIp to Nate, who passed out to Butler. No one’s covering Butler! Clock winding down to 5, 4, 3… Shoy. Misses. Zero. Game over.
What’s in a name? Really? Why is a person’s name so important?
Shakespeare addressed this ageless question in the infamous play, Romeo and Juliet. He answered with, “A rose by any other name would smell as sweet.” But come on, with names like Romeo and Juliet, they were destined for a million versions of their story told and retold for centuries to come. The names bleed romance and unrequited love. Wouldn’t you say?
So, yes, a name is just a name, but when writers rack their brains for perfect names for their characters, it’s not too different from the grueling task of naming one’s children. Seriously. I often thought to myself, if I choose the wrong name, this character will be stuck with the destiny of waking up with bad name day—a much worse condition that bad hair. Continue reading →
Trying to capture the swan in the Central Park pond.
Left Alice’s Tea Cup, tummy full of tea and sparkles in my hair. Off to Central park we go, to walk off pumpkin pancake calories and to share one spot in New York City we still get lost in. And for that reason, we actually walk down the west side of Central Park for some time, from 74th to 103rd, just chatting about life, kids, this and that. The sun is shining and my hand is tucked through Hub’s arm, in his sweatshirt pocket. Love this time we can just stroll arm in arm without a care in the world. No where to rush to. No one to answer to.
Until nature calls. All that tea… It was inevitable. So we venture into the park in search of a public bathroom. The closest one is behind the tennis courts and as Hubs heads toward the men’s room, he says, “Five minutes. You have five minutes to write your next blog.” Continue reading →
I didn’t know I loved basketball. Until one day in fifth grade, two semi-coordinated students were chosen to train with the middle school team in my hometown of Windsor, Ontario. My best friend J. and I were those two students. Neither of us knew how to dribble or shoot, but we were fairly tall for our age, and the coach saw potential and gave us a chance. I’m not sure how far J. took her balling career, because she moved away before we started high school.
The peak of my career occurred in eighth grade when my team unanimously chose me for captain that year. I anticipated a few passes, cut the lanes, and hit my lay-ups. Pretty consistently. Plus I got along with everyone on the team. I never did the click thing, until I was forced into a click of non-clickers by the clickees who excluded me. Continue reading →