Friday, March 22, 2013

SOME DAYS THE BEAR BITES YOU.MCOLOR ME BITTEN.



       Georgetown JUST LOST THE TOURNAMENT. Yup. Jes like that. The 2nd seed lost to seed 15 - ole What's Their Name. As an old Hoyette, attending during the Camelot years - when we had a team (and a president), it smarts. Even now, in my dotage, I can still get a chuckle recalling that cute little bulldog, Jack, being led onto the gleaming, screaming planks, only to ceremonially void and then regally exit.  (Were I in attendance this evening, I might well have done the same.) And just when I could really use a sherry, The Tombs is out of range.
       Now tomorrow, I shall be comforted by my spectator role at a soccer game plus two lacrosse games. Emma will be wedged between her two cousins - ripping the leather off that checkered ball against similarly determined but hardly as deft as our girl.  We don't call her the "Motivator" for laughs.
 
       Speed-demon Molly, having just finished basketball and soccer, is in fine form for lacrosse. Molly is quite the kidder around the family, but her public prowess is legend. Act Two in the lacrosse arena will give star billing to our eldest grandpeep, Declan.  He's been playing for a few years and is such an amiable and kind little shaver, folks on the opposing team never anticipate an 'issue' with him as an opponent.
       Indeed, tomorrow we shall separate 'the men from the boys and the women from their inferiors'. The Hoyas will be playing nothing - same old, same old.  One other fond memory wanders through my consciousness from my Georgetown days.  I dated an Annapolis midshipman for awhile.  He hailed from the deep South (double loser).  He was a man of a few words.  Unfortunately for me, a few of those few were memorialized by someone whom he apparently held in some esteem (as well as a bored daze when together).  So far too oft, he was given to drawling, "Some days you bite the bear and some days the bear bites you."
       The remaining seventeen or so words in his lexicon must not have been quite so riveting - or utile - as I simply cannot think of one.  Which is of no moment because, as you may have guessed, I'm the happiest of grandmothers, secure in the knowledge and gratitude of not having spent the last forty-five years listening to that drivel daily and abed, comfy and enjoying the anticipatory thoughts of the shining sportsperson-ship to which I'll be treated on the morrow.  Do Tell allows as how he shall miss you as well.
Later, Lorane. . . .
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