Immune to Seahawks Fever

(Disclaimer: I'm not a hater. I'm happy for you crazy Seahawks fans. I don't begrudge the festivities. I just don't get it. I hope this post entertains you. But mostly, this is for the minority who didn't catch the fever. For my friend who's sitting on her party's sidelines right now, working on report cards. For my other friend, who is shopping and cleaning today - what a great day to shop, right?! She'll have the store all to herself - brilliant. Please just enjoy my report from the sidelines.)

The other day, I wore my navy pinstripe pants and a light olive green shirt to work.

"You've got your Seahawks colors on!" one of my colleagues cheered.

Actually, no.

I just have a LOT of blue and green in my wardrobe.

I really tried to become a sports fan. Growing up, I don't remember having sports on TV at home. When things got serious with my husband - an avid sports fan - I tried to watch all the sports he was interested in (which was most of them). I understand the games (well, the basics, anyway). But five years later, I was still commenting on hair, uniforms, and fans and wondering why everyone was cheering.

So I gave up on being a sports fan and embraced my lack of interest. I still go to the occasional sports event with my husband, but for me it's all about the food and the people.

Which is also why I look forward to the Super Bowl party every year: friends and food.

Today I'm blogging during the game because I'm at a party where everyone wants to WATCH the game. I don't want to get thrown out for talking. Or worse - yellow-flagged.

I'm not sure why I'm immune to Seahawks fever. Seattle has gone crazy and it seems everyone is infected. People who never cared about football are watching, cheering, and outfitting themselves from head-to-toe in Seahawks gear. In church today, the lady in front of me was praising God with her hands raised and her blue and green curly hair ribbons bouncing away. Even corporations have gone mad. Buildings figured out which offices to light to create a multi-floor "12" at night. And I'm certain I was the only person not in a Seahawks jersey at work on Friday.

My main proof of the madness is found in the halls of my respectable hospital. There's a "hall of heroes" I walk through every day. It has life-size cut-outs of hospital employees, pledging to continue pursuing excellence. Well, this week, those cut-outs had blue and green Mardi Gras beads draped around their necks. And their faces were covered with photocopies of Seahawks players' and coaches' faces. Hm.

What's a non-fan to do? Keep a low profile, that's for sure. I waited to come out of this closet until Super Bowl Sunday, in hopes that, once the final game is over, I won't be driven out of the city.

It occurred to me this morning that this might be what it's like to be Jewish in American in December. Almost everyone is excited about Christmas, and the world seems to be flooded with tinsel and carols. You kind of envy the celebratory spirit, but don't really get it - or want to embrace it, either.

But really, this is a great way to watch the game. Snacks are within reach, I'm happily occupied by my iPad, and I know exactly when to look at the TV - like just now, when all my friends jumped out of their seats, yelling and cheering. One of my friends has a HUGE voice and very entertaining (and family friendly) commentary. And I earned some goodwill by prepping dinner so my hostess, who is also the birthday girl today, can enjoy the game.

As usual, I'm happily entertained by my people. I'm thankful I'm not immune to that!

For Shirley

This is a sad weekend. You see, one of my "bestest" childhood friends lost her mom last night. Not a surprise; in fact, her mom's last month included The Great Escape from her winter refuge. She wasn't exactly medically cleared to travel, but she really wanted to go home before, well, going Home. I love that she had one final rebellious adventure and that her family advocated for her to get what she wanted.

My heart is sad. For her husband. For my friend. For her family. And for me, because she's such a sweet lady and she was such a good sport about our shenanigans while we were growing up. You know how it is with your best friends' moms.


Mrs. H, here are a few things that come to mind when I remember you:

You were...

The heart with room for one more.

• because, after three boys, you adopted the amazing girl who became my lifelong friend.

The buyer of clothes.

• because every year, on some random day, I would arrive at your house to see an entire new wardrobe in your daughter's closet.

The supporter of summer camp.

• because you encouraged all our memory-making at my favorite place on earth, and one summer you even included me in your week at family camp.

The preserver of heritage.

• because you made all those Swedish delicacies, including the only lutefisk I've ever seen.

The enforcer of cleanliness.

• because you wouldn't let us go out until your daughter's room was cleaned. And you just rolled your eyes when I did the cleaning.

The believer of myths.

• because you never knew that I wasn't the only one responsible for eating all the cookie dough.

The tolerator of teen sleepovers.

• because you gave up many hours of sleep so we could giggle all night long.

The provider of sanctuary.

• because you welcomed me into your home when I needed a break from mine.

The lover of Jesus.

• because you finished the race, faithful to the end. I look forward to seeing you again someday, wonderful lady. We'll make Swedish cookies for the angels. And I promise not to eat all the dough.

(photo stolen from my friend, but I know she won't mind. This is one of my all time favs.)