Dear NHL

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Tuesday, November 20th, 2012

Dear NHL Players and NHL Owners,

Today is day #66 of the NHL lockout.  I have an almost-4-year-old son, and to him, 66 days feels like a lifetime.  That’s 66 days of explaining to him why he can’t watch his favorite team and his favorite players turn into idols before his eyes.  That’s 66 days of explaining to him what ‘lockout’ means, and nine Saturday nights of missed Hockey-Night-in-Canada memories.  That’s 66 days of baby-faced disappointment.

I am trying to teach my children the values of humility, need-vs-want, and family.  Instead, what I see from you is an ongoing display of greed, ego, and entitlement.  As players, you get to play the game that you love.  As owners, you get to be surrounded by the game that you love.  As fans, we are missing out on the game that we love.

I’ve been a true Canadian hockey fan my entire life.  I spent my childhood Winter days at a small rink in an Alberta prairie town.  I learned how to skate on a shoveled-off pond.  I had Dale Hawerchuk posters on my wall in Grade 4 and Pavel Bure jerseys in my closet in Grade 9.  I go to see a few games a year.  I bring my kids.  I watch hockey highlights religiously.  If the local team is playing at Home when I’m on vacation, I go to the game.  I’ve been to multiple NHL arenas and several Stanley Cup playoff games.  I’ve been to World Juniors and World Championships, and I’ve watched more grassroots, small-town hockey than I can remember.  But you’re losing me.

My interest is fading.  My love for the game is dwindling.  My annoyance and frustration and apathy are growing.  I don’t care who’s right and I don’t care who’s wrong.  Find a way to fix it.  Because every day that the lockout continues is another day that born-and-bred fans like myself grow further from the sense of Canadian pride, patriotism, and belonging that hockey brings to us.

Make me feel encouraged and supportive that my son wants to be a hockey player when he grows up.

Sincerely,

Ashley Worobec

Fostering a love of hockey with my first-born at 6 weeks old.  Leafs vs Oilers, March/2009.

It’s More than a Piano

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I am now the proud owner of my late Grandmother’s piano.  It arrived from Alberta last week on a huge moving truck, wrapped and protected in a big blue tarp.  Oh, the stories it could tell…

My maternal Grandma got this piano when she was just a young girl living on the Alberta prairie.  Our best guess is that it was built in the 1920’s/30’s, meaning it’s nearly ninety years old.  The fact that it now belongs to me overwhelms me, and it’s a gift I do not take lightly.  I’ve known I would be the eventual recipient of this piano since my Grandma died in 1998, but to have this cherished piece of my family’s history in my dining room seems surreal.

It’s more than a piano.

It’s the huge sacrifices my Grandma’s immigrant family had to make to purchase it.

It’s the countless hours of practicing and playing she did to become proficient.

It’s the love of piano music that she passed on to her daughters.

It’s my childhood memories of sitting on the piano bench next to her, hearing her play, and eventually joining her in duets.

It’s my Grandpa sitting in the red armchair beside the piano, listening to the music with a peaceful smile on his face.

It’s the smell of lefse cooling and buns baking.

It’s the sound of my cousins laughing and the doorbell ringing.

It’s the ten years of piano lessons I took growing up, and the opportunity to resurrect my ability to play.

It’s the multitude of decisions and choices that were made to lead the path of my life from Alberta to Ontario.

It’s a chance for my children to be able to touch a piece of a woman they never met, but who would’ve been so happy to meet them.

It’s the familiarity of home; a connection to my past and a bridge to my future.

It’s the ability for me to look at that piano every day and feel my Grandma’s love.

The piano in 1960, at a sing-a-long at my Aunt’s 13th birthday.

The piano begins its journey from Sundre, AB…

Leaving the cold dry air of Alberta!

Patiently waiting once we got the call that the piano was in Mississauga, en route…

Here it comes!

BOTH kids are in awe!

Checking out the moving truck.

The 4th generation to play this piano!

And the piano lives on, in its new home!

Time to Think

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Tooth #6 just popped through, and #7 and #8 are on their way!

My baby girl is teething.  This is providing me with lots of awake time in the dark hours of the night as I comfort her. Last night’s party-in-the-crib lasted from 11:30pm-1:30am and it gave me time to think.

I thought about how much I love the way she smells; the scent of her freshly-bathed hair, her squishy little neck, and her chubby-bubby cheeks.

I thought about the excess of Halloween candy that I polished off over the past few days.  I thought about how my willpower needs to grow as the holiday treat season approaches.

I thought about how quickly my daughter is growing and how much I will miss this baby stage; cradling her little head in one hand and bum in the other, her big new-tooth smile, and her slobbery little hands.

I thought about my husband in our bedroom, listening to the monitor and ready to take a turn on baby duty.

I thought about how much laundry I have to do, and how I always use cold water when doing laundry with regular hot-water laundry soap and my clothes turn out clean and fresh, with less energy used.

I thought about how I was sitting with my girl in the rocking chair like we were watching football on TV, except we were watching her nightlight’s shadows in the blackness of her bedroom.  I thought about how she’s the best rocking chair companion.

I thought about the sleep I was missing out on.

I thought about the time change, and how inconvenient it can be for parents of young children.  I thought about how ‘Fall back’ meant an extra hour of sleep as a teenager and an extra hour out with friends as a University student.

I thought about how lucky we were to avoid the devastation of Hurricane Sandy last week, and the local weather warnings that ended up being overblown and excessive in my area.  I thought about those in New York and New Jersey still reeling from her impact, picking up the pieces of their lives.

I thought about what a good decision New York made to cancel Sunday’s marathon.  I thought about how many New Yorker’s were still without water and power.  I thought about what message it would send to have marathon water stations throughout NYC and a power-generated finish line in Central Park.

I thought about the patients I saw last week, who were geared up and injury-free, ready to race.  I thought about the great job Hamilton’s Road2Hope marathon did in opening up extra entry spots.  I thought about entering the lottery for next year’s NYC marathon.

I thought about the Sandra Boynton books I read to my son at bedtime.  I thought about ‘Moo, Baa, La, La, La’, ‘Horns to Toes and In Between’, and ‘But Not the Hippopotamus’.

I thought about what we’ll have for dinner the next day.  I thought about the juggling act my husband and I were going to have to perform to fit in four gym days each in the coming week.

I thought about the huge cup of coffee I was going to have in the morning.

I thought about how there’s no place else I’d rather be.