Curve balls

I believe my daughter was still in her hospital bed, still hooked up to her morphine pump, still dazed and confused after her surgery when my stepdaughter gave me a look.

"So, what are you going to write about now?"

At the time, I believe I indignantly said I had lots to write about. Lots of topics, lots of stories, lots of fodder for my little blog here.

But, go look. You haven't seen much of me, have you? Or heard much from me? I haven't had much to say or much to tell. And I don't know if that's because I've just been so worn out by recent events or my life is just that boring.

Probably a little bit of both.

If you're wondering, Lora Leigh is doing great. Her recovery has gone much smoother than anyone -- certainly I -- imagined it would. Although we had a few rough times, none of my nightmares came to fruition. Her scar is straight and healing beautifully. Her pain levels never reached what I feared they would. She is back to her normal, goofy self. And I tell all the moms-in-waiting in the Facebook groups, "The reality is not nearly as bad as your imagination."

The Coach's knee replacement surgery went fine as well, but his recovery has been much slower than he anticipated. He has a hard time getting and staying comfortable, and still has a pronounced limp. His attitude is great, though, and that helps him through.

Saturday was the 22nd anniversary of our first date -- a Saints-49ers game in the Superdome. He asked me to go, I told him I was already going with my mom, he sold the tickets, my mom invited someone else, I told him I could go and he spent days trying to get his tickets back. When we got to the crowd surrounding the Dome, I slipped my hand in the crook of his arm and felt -- something. We both did. Later, he excused himself.

"Bring me back some chocolate," I told him.
"What kind?" he replied.
"Surprise me," I said.
He came back with one of every kind of chocolate they had.  And I knew he was the guy for me.

And me? I'm just a little freelancing fool, covering high school football and volleyball games for both The New Orleans Advocate and Sportsnola.com.  I haven't written any great works, but I've kept busy and made the car payments. I guess that's all that matters.

Yesterday, September 30, 2014, marked two years since I was laid-off by the then-great Times-Picayune newspaper. Today, October 1, 2014, would have been my 28th anniversary at the paper. Any day now I would have gotten my little invitation to drive to New Orleans for a free cup of coffee in the cafeteria  and a meeting with the human resources head.

Instead, I sat in my little home office,  surrounded by my favorite things and writing about the annual Hahnville-Destrehan football rivalry and procrastinating. I hate doing football capsules.

Oh, I miss it sometimes -- getting dressed in real clothes and not just yoga pants, the friends in the office who knew everything going on in my life, being part of a team. I'm sort of a housewife now. I don't go anywhere after my daily walk.  I rarely wear long pants. Sometimes I shower and dress and put makeup on and say, "OK. Where can I go?" Sometimes I go to the Dollar General, which is just across the street from my house. Sometimes I go to Big Lots.

It gets a little lonely sometimes.

But I look back on the last two years and have to wonder: Did all this happen for a reason? Did I get moved from sports to crime so that I would come to hate it so much that I wouldn't be so devastated when it all came to an end? Did I lose my job so that I would be able to take in Jane the Mother-in-Law two weeks later? Did she pass on so that I could devote my attention to my daughter and my husband when they needed me? Would I have been able to do all that for them with a full-time job? Probably not.

Strange how life throws you curve balls sometimes. Strange how, sometimes, they're the pitch you're supposed to hit. At least they make for good stories.