We're all winners

It came to me at some point tonight that I have no idea how other people get themselves through each day, each night, especially as we age and the journey slows down, becomes more painful and deliberate.

I admit it can be a struggle for me. One day recently, as I was waiting for some time to "pass," suddenly all I could hear was the loud "tick-tock" of the clock on my wall, and I just as suddenly hated that clock and considered violently ending its ability to speak.

Instead, I just sat here and listened to its awful voice, as it foretold my eventual demise.

Then a strange thing happened. Instead of hearing death from its sound, I heard life. In its rhythmic cadence, I heard my own heart-beat, an affirmation of life -- my life!

A terrible, dark sound turned into a beautiful bright sound.

All in a flash, I found myself grasping to the floating board of life, adrift in the ocean, even after my boat had sunk. It was a glorious moment, albeit as fleeting as the horrible one that had preceded it.

***

This was just another weekend, I suppose, though one with exaggerated impulses. Every Friday by 3, I start collecting my kids from their various schools, and parties and practices, all over San Francisco.

It's a fairly elaborate math problem, really. One is here, going there. Another is there headed here. The third is not answering my text, so who knows where (s)he is or when I'll be finding out.

This particular Friday, my driving was finished some eight hours later, at 11 pm. By then, I'd added around 30 miles to my ancient car's odometer.

What I liked about Friday night was that all three ended up back here, with me, under the same roof.

Saturday was a different story, one far too complex to recount. All I will say is that sometime after midnight, seven 15-year-old boys entered my apartment, and somewhere around four or five in the morning, they were all sound asleep, four of them on the floor.

This really isn't that big of a place, as any of my dear readers who have visited my flat can attest.

By 10 this morning, none of the seven young men spread around this place like bananas under sheets had roused, but it was time for me to leave to drive to Bernal and pick up my 17-year-old for his futsal game downtown.

He played brilliantly and but his team lost badly.

We came back to my place to find all seven 15-year-olds had vanished.

***

After both the boys had helped their Mom move some new furniture into her house this afternoon, they and their little sister came back here with me to watch the Oscars.

I was so pleased to see a former student of mine from Stanford win in her category. Way to go, Sharmeen!

Just another weekend, here at Hotweir Central.

-30-