Treasure chest…

Even though Raffi trims under the neck,

which is cheating a bit,

I’m voting for him…

It’s the thickness of it and the colour…

The colour is the best part…

It’s nice…

Am I jealous???

I wouldn’t say that…

I’d say it’s respect…

— Tanner Glass on the awesomest playoff beard EVER:

as quoted in the Vancouver Sun…

The other evening,

Little Gem asked me,

Mama,

did you think you were ugly,

when you were a little girl???

I wondered,

momentarily,

what section,

of the ether,

she pulled,

that question,

out of,

and offered up,

the nearest answer,

by saying,

I remember when I was,

eight or nine years old,

and my mother’s best friend,

called me a little bitch…

I didn’t know what that meant,

at the time,

but I knew it wasn’t pretty…

The conversation,

which ensued,

between myself,

and my daughters,

after that reveal,

further instilled in me,

the concept of how,

the more,

we can let go of,

as adults,

the less our children,

have to carry…

I hear a lot of talk,

about the forty years,

of disappointment,

and missed opportunities,

around the Vancouver Canucks…

But seein’ as,

I wasn’t a serious fan,

way back then,

my bags aren’t packed,

with similar sentiments…

But if and when,

residual worry,

fogs my vision,

I take the time,

to really feel it,

and then watch it,

drift away…

Little Gem believes,

in herself,

as a practical,

mathematician…

And she takes pride,

in articulating,

her many,

problem solving,

strategies…

So much so,

she’s become,

one of the go to girls,

for many of her classmates…

The other afternoon,

as she proceeded through,

the list,

of previous callers,

searching for the correct,

phone number,

to see if her friend,

needed some after-school,

homework support,

she asked me,

Mama,

Who’s Flor eeda???

I said,

I don’t know for sure,

because there wasn’t,

a voice-mail…

But I suspect it may have been Coach Boucher…

She wondered,

What do you think the call’s about???

I waited,

briefly,

for the facts,

to arrive,

with a smile,

and said,

It was something about,

a tension headache,

and a strong desire,

to erase,

all presets,

in time for,

the final round…

Given what happened,

in the last five plus minutes,

of game three,

down in San Jose,

my funny bone,

tells me,

A.V. will be,

dipping into,

his rock collection,

and pulling out,

some hematite…

There’s the doghouse,

and then there’s,

THE dawghouse…

The difference,

between the two,

is the distance kept,

from the scrap heap,

multiplied by the PIM’s,

of the opposing team,

divided by the dying seconds,

of the third period,

leading to,

the stunned silence of,

You sunk my battle ship…