As I am in a ditch today, spinning muck with my rear wheels, I checked on the Yankee game which was supposed to be in progress. “Delayed” it says on the ESPN website, where to Sekhnet’s grim amusement I tend to follow the box scores of games in progress while I do other things on the computer.
“The game’s not boring enough?” she asked the first time she saw me open the window to see how many hits Cano had, “you need to turn it into a box of numbers?” I began explaining the beauty of a box score, the complete story told with a list of names and a few columns of numbers, but she was already heading back to the garden to do something that made sense.
I felt a sharp pang of annoyance when I went to check the score just now, since I live only a few miles from Yankee Stadium, where the game is supposed to be ticking away in a box score in another window, and it doesn’t seem to be raining here. I had a sudden memory of my father, a man of towering anger, shaking his head and laughing once when I got angry about something as a boy.
“You were mad at the rain one time, in a rage that it was raining!” he observed brightly.
What it was, of course, was a boy’s disappointment and frustration that the thing he’d been looking forward to had been cancelled on account of rain.
The little flash of annoyance, almost anger, at the rain today, reminded me to be grateful. Gratefulness, my friends, better than anger almost every time. I’m not talking a tumor with a silver lining, I’m pointing out that it is good to see the larger picture. In the context of a life, every change for the better is something to be thankful for.
Now to call my old friend who is busy dying.