Sundays in autumn are some of my favorite days, due to sport. I’ve been watching American football since I was fifteen years old, a life-long San Francisco 49ers fan. They haven’t always been the best team in the league, but I will root for them until I die.
Other teams wax and wane, although since 1987, I’ve been a de facto Green Bay Packers lover, due to my husband. Some very lean years for the Pack when I first met my spouse, but lately fortunes have turned.
But football isn’t all I love about my life (although on Sundays from September-early February, it’s a major contributor); I adore my husband, who is sitting beside me, changing the channels between two footie games and one baseball, SF Giants at Arizona Diamondbacks. Yesterday I took a road trip, keeping an eye on my young nephew. I love him too, but even being away from my house for a day and night made me realize what a creature of habit I am, especially when my butt isn’t parked in my computer chair, but resting on the sofa, the TV just feet away, the laptop underneath my fingers.
And that’s not even bringing the chocolate covered raisins into it.
My writing is fairly drama-packed, and at times dark. Bad things happen to my characters, although love usually trumps at the end. But a lot of tears are spilled in the interim, because sometimes life is hard. I’ve lived my share of bone-crushing tackles, but the last fourteen years have been pretty joyous. And in those years, I’ve learned that even the soul-sucking events won’t kill me. My heart’s been scattered across the length of a football field, but it’s a better muscle for the injury. I bet football players would say the same; no pain, no gain. It sounds trite, but from experience, it’s the solid truth.
Why I can sit here, appreciating my existence. I write and publish, which are precious, stunning gifts. I also am incredibly blessed with a terrific husband, a vastly improved 49ers team, a playoff-bound baseball team, chocolate covered raisins in the chocolate drawer (also where dip mixes are kept), kids who cook. My son bakes a mean homemade pizza, eldest daughter whips up fantastic Alfredo pasta with red peppers, and youngest daughter is making carne asada tacos this very evening. And, as I requested, she’ll clean up the kitchen afterwards. My football team plays tonight, and other than to use the loo, I am not moving from this sofa until it is time for bed.
And if my team loses the Handshake Bowl, no biggie! Many teams I dislike lost today, and life is the sum, not the parts. Some pieces might feel crippling at times, but I have so many blessings. And as long as the chocolate covered raisins hold out, how can I complain?