It was a weekend of opportunities lost, and opportunities won. I’d originally planned to enjoy a couple of fat fish from a secluded lake, a campfire under the stars and perhaps an adventure or two.
Came Friday and a downpour, with indications of that continuing for another day or two.
Trip cancelled.
I’d also overlooked the fact that it was Father’s Day on Sunday . . . not that it is high on my radar; my sons have their own children to fete them.
And there isn’t a Grandfather’s Day that I’m aware of – the marketing wizards who promote other such “days” probably realize bottles of good single malt scotch are out of the price range of grandkids.
However, the weekend wasn’t quite the bust I’d anticipated because on Saturday morning I received a call from a daughter-in-law pointing out my eldest granddaughter was playing ball Saturday afternoon and wondered if I’d like to take in the action.
I arrived just as the game began, joined the family in the stands and watched first-base-playing Taylor make a couple of outs.
I also learned that this wasn’t “just a game” but the final of a tournament of 12-year-olds vying for rights to participate in the provincial championships.
That heightened the interest.
The game see-sawed back and forth through the innings, and in the fifth it was a tie. That held through the sixth and, in the seventh, with Taylor’s team having last bats, it got downright exciting.
The first girl was struck out, with my granddaughter on deck. A swing and a miss on the first ball, the second one pinged off the bat and Taylor made it to second.
Her best buddy on the team was up next, and she got a base hit to right field. With wild cheers from the stands, Taylor’s long legs took her from second to home and the game, the tournament and the provincial playoffs were in the bag.
Seeing the thrilled smile on her face, and the excitement of her teammates, showing off their “Number 1” medals beats fishing any time.
So I guess there is a “Grandfather’s Day” after all. And there won’t be any camping plans for the weekend Taylor’s Abbotsford Outlaws challenge for a provincial trophy.
* * *
Last week I wrote about the lack of, or perhaps disregard for, communication that results in foolish acts (for example, the dumping of chicken manure on a homeless site) that seems pervasive in our city.
I began with an example of painting lines on the roadway past my house the day before the asphalt (and lines) was ground up and new pavement laid.
For the record, the city doesn’t take over maintenance of the roads of what was formerly “Sumas Mountain” until July 8 of this year: expiration date of the five-year agreement by the province to provide such roadwork following amalgamation of the “unorganized territory” of the mountain with the city.
Therefore, and comforting I’m sure to the municipal bureaucracy, the left hand not knowing what the right is doing isn’t necessarily the exclusive domain of city hall.
markrushton@abbynews.com