I don’t know exactly when I became a hockey fan, but I did. Over the course of winter’s solstice, while others cocooned in the warmth of their homes feeling love’s embrace, I gorged on nachos and beer. I watched grown men pummel each other to the ice. As the crowd roared in approval, I rose with them and felt a primitive rush of adrenalin. I like the sound of clashing long sticks and secretly yearn for the satisfying smack of players when they hit the boards.
No, I’m not having anger issues. I’m a seeker of harmony and peace. I believe in hopes and dreams and leaving legacies. I want to touch the lives of others and in turn touch their hearts. I am certain that life has purpose and we find each other on the same path because of destiny. I believe in pure love and soul mates. That the touch of the wind on a fall day brings grace falling like leaves in shattered lives. I believe the warmth of the sun on iced snow thaws hearts. That the real beauty of the seasons is embodied in those who plunge from black sand foundations into aquamarine waters without checking depth.
And yet, I still want to smash the faces of those who hurt others. I want to kick the butts of those who take away smiles and leave bruised hearts. I want to be on the ice and get in fist fights and defend the honor of those whose lives have been derailed by the soulless. I want to crack ribs over injustices and split lips over malicious gossip. I want to throw water on cruel power hoarders and watch them sizzle to the ground like the wicked witch in the Wizard of Oz.
I’m a southern girl. Born and bred to smile sweetly and keep rage in the kitchen while crushing pecans for a pie. Staring into my iron skillet watching the hot grease splatter while cooking fried chicken, I ponder life and the people in it. Don’t mess with southern girls. We may snap and get in your face and tell you to go find a puck.
But until then, I go to hockey games, secretly putting new names on the jerseys of the fighters, and recite the Serenity Prayer.
God grant me the serenity
to accept the things I cannot change;
courage to change the things I can;
and wisdom to know the difference.
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Wow! This is a *fantastic*, skillful post! I love the very deep contrasts you draw here. The verbs where YOU become the hockey player are GREAT! That line about rage and the pecan pie! There is soooo much to like about this post - fabulous fabulous details, great words - all so skillfully woven together. And I love the humor in a polite Southern girl telling someone to go "find a puck" (or something else unmentionable that my mind wants to flip around and say) - and I suspect that may have been the intent.
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yeah! All of the above by "reflections" (great post reflections whoever you are) and I am stunned by the passion you feel about probably the game with the purest emotions of conquering evil with diligence and hard work!! The emotions you feel are ingrained in us Northerners who grew up on the game of the week in the 1950's-60's on Wednesday nights when the evil Montreal Canadieans would joust with the beloved Boston Bruins or other US teams and regularly administer savage beatings to us. But Oh! when we persevered and my dad would say " them damn Maroons got theirs tonight" I went to bed floating on a cloud of contentment, knowing, if just for today, good triumphed over evil. Elaine your killing me here! your blog has just sent me back to my childhood and connected me back to my dad who left me way to early in my life. Makes me love you more. Beautifully written and totally unexpected from a Southern Belle!
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