Monday, February 04, 2013


Yesterday was a special day. All over the country people celebrated. It was a day for beer, chicken wings (why on earth?), chili, chips, pizza and various other traditional and totally non-nutritious food. There were calls made by the referee that were questionable and half-time entertainment that looked like a commercial for shampoo, while the real commercials cost the earth and were gone over with a fine tooth comb by everyone from lusty youth and horse afficionados to communications students looking for an A. And we celebrated too.

We were not celebrating Super Bowl XLVII, rather birthday number nine.

Nine years ago Eleanor Catherine was born to Kate and Ron. There is all kinds of mythology which sprang up around her birth, mostly connected to the fact that after three boys, there was now a girl in their family. You know, one of those dainty things that wears pink dresses. I had missed Eleanor's basketball game the day before her birthday, but apparently a talent spotting coach had wanted to recruit Eleanor because she is so—well, I am not sure of the word, but think, tough, competitive, aggressive, un-afraid. Just the words that a soccer recruiter had used about her in the Fall. 

Remember her name when Super Bowl LXVII rolls around.

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