Last night W. and I spent some time together. I mention this because lately it’s been such a rare thing. One or the other of us works late, I’m off, he’s not, I’m at the computer, he’s watching something stupid on tv, he’s at the computer, I’m watching something on tv that he considers asinine. I’m not sure when our interests started taking divergent courses, but last night I thought maybe it was about time to make a feeble effort to connect in some small way. So I sat down with him to watch a football game. Denver was ahead of Seattle, 13-7. See how well I can pay attention? I also had several photo albums in my lap, a roll of tape, and a new album that I’m transferring pictures to because our very old albums are very old and falling apart. The football went back and forth with what I am told were either brilliant or blundering plays that didn’t affect the score one way or the other. I can hardly stand the play-by-play guys at the best of times. “There were any number of things that they didn’t want to happen there, and it happened.” WTF does that even mean? But I bite my tongue and don’t ask. When W. goes to take some clothes out of the dryer, there’s a lot of hooting and hollering as someone makes an interception. “Who got the interception?” W. calls from the laundry room. Ummmm… I watch the replay but have to tell him I didn’t catch the guy’s name. He says, no, he means which TEAM got the interception. And I have to tell him it was the guys wearing blue. He comes back and asks me if I even know who’s playing. Of course I do!! The Denver Broncos and the Seattle somethingorothers, and okay, now I know the blue guys have to be the broncos because they have horses on their helmets. I’m not completely oblivious you know. And the interception did not affect the score, so once again, what does it matter in the grand scheme of things? During commercials W. changes to the channel playing the Harry Potter movie, Prisoner of Azkaban. He hasn’t read the books, but he quite enjoys the movies, mostly because he has watched them all with his grand daughter. He asks me all kinds of questions – like, is Sirius Black Harry’s father – and I have to wonder who exactly is the one that doesn’t pay attention here. At least I know better than to advertise my ignorance so blatantly. When there’s four minutes left to play and Seattle has pulled ahead by more than a touch -downs worth of points, I gather up my mess and head for the stairs. I haven’t made much headway at all and need a larger workspace and no inane sports blather distraction. He asks me where I’m going – the game isn’t over! Well, I tell him, yes it is. Denver has fallen apart at the seams. Their great plays ended in the first quarter and it’s been all down hill since then. There’s not enough time for a come back or a turn around or whatever the proper lingo is. Seattle has won and the game is over. I don’t even CARE what the outcome is. Why stick around for it? Halfway up the stairs I hear the voice of Harry Potter. I rest my case.
So, all in all, it was a nice relaxing evening in which we actually chatted with each other about stuff. W. folded some laundry. The cat had to make a couple of rash decisions on who to pester the most. He is not normally faced with such a dilemma, and all the excitement made him sleep better. I now know the difference between a mariner and a seahawk, sportifically speaking. W. knows what a dementor is, more or less. Was that some quality time or what?