The Secret Is Wags

It’s a Scrabble day.  Most Sundays, Tim and I manage to get in a game of Scrabble.  I won last week, not that I care one way or the other.  For me, it’s all about getting the best word scores I can in each turn.

Last Sunday, I had the seven-letter word, “unmined,” on my tray.  I looked all over the board and couldn’t find a place to play it.

Before my turn, I’d realized (excuse the indelicacy but I share it to make a point), that I needed to pee … badly.  I thought I could wait until the end of my turn, but as I scanned the board for a place to put my wonderful word, my bladder kept vying for my attention.  I wasn’t comfortable.

So I put aside my lap desk and went into the bathroom.  Ahh, better.

While I was up, I got a drink of water (must refill the tank), pet Ducky, and looked outside at the trees.  All of these things felt good. (more…)

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Since Tim and I want to do something that “defies the odds,” that being win a large lottery, we talk often about things that have big, big odds.

Today, when we started our weekly Sunday Scrabble game, I went first. I played the word, “joked.”

Tim’s turn. On my “d,” he played the word, “joked.”

Okay, what are the odds?

“J” and “k” are not common letters in Scrabble. For us to both get the same combination of letters on the first turn is an extraordinary occurrence.

Evidence of defying the odds? I choose to see it that way.

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Golfer Steve Stricker sucked in 2004.  He sucked so bad he lost his tour card.  In the mid-nineties, he’d been a golfer with promise, but after several years of lousy play, he’d dropped to 172 on the money list.

I don’t care about golf myself.  But Tim does.  He plays (when we have money—he plays a lot in our virtual reality where we’re lottery winners).  He also watches it on TV.  Before we got together, I considered watching golf as something akin to watching slugs traverse my back deck.  I told Tim that while I had no problem with him watching golf, he shouldn’t expect me to watch it too.  That’s when we started playing Scrabble on Sundays.  He watches golf and plays the game, and I play the game and write or draw or read.  It works for us.

Over the years, though, I found myself paying just an eensy-weensy bit of attention to the tournaments.  While Tim always rooted for Tiger (and for the record, he’s not impressed with Tiger’s recent behavior).  I found myself paying attention to the underdogs.  One day, when Phil Mickelson made a putt to win a tournament (after having come in second or worse in many), I cheered.

I immediately clapped my hand over my mouth.  Was that me?  Cheering for a golfer?

Oh how the mighty have fallen.

I was not only watching golf, I was rooting for the golfers.  Sigh.

Yesterday, Tim watched the Northern Trust Open, and when it was over, he told me that the tournament’s winner (Steve Stricker) had just become the #2 golfer in the world, and just five years ago, he was in the high hundreds.  In 2006, he used sponsor exemptions to get in tournaments and managed to have seven top-10 finishes in tournaments.  He was voted PGA Tour Comeback Player of the Year.  Since then, he’s continued to improve, and yesterday’s win put him in the number two position.

I LOVE comeback stories.  They make me feel good.  They remind me of how life can turn around and make me believe that mine will too.

And speaking of comeback stories, in yesterday’s Scrabble game, I got 200 points in my first turn (we play on the Super Scrabble board with 10 letters on our tray, so my first word went across the double and triple word squares).  Tim wasn’t thrilled.  But he came back.  He beat me by 42 points.  That was fine—he was pleased, and I enjoyed the close game.  That’s the way it goes for happy lottery winners.

Life feels good.

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