I'm not a Hokie.

Normally, I can't stand the Hokies. I can't stand the way they dominate the sports pages despite being five hours away, while my beloved 'Heels (closer by a solid hour) have to fight for page space with three-legged hamster races. I can't stand the Hokies in the same manner I can't stand the Cowboys and the Yankees. These are the teams people say they are "their" teams when, in fact, they have no team. I can't stand the Hokies from August until November, and now, most importantly, from November until March.

Last Monday changed that for me. Some of it anyway. When I heard of the days events, to say I was shocked would be an understatement. I stopped working to call my sister in PA, a stay-at-home mom, to get the latest. Thirty-two dead. Another eighteen wounded. That was me once. Different school, but still the same. Who the hell expects 9mm rounds to be flying at nine o'clock on a Monday morning? Intially, I had heard that Cho had lined them up in a lab and shot them one by one, execution-style. I felt only marginally better to find out this was false.

My wife is a Hokie ('98). She's taking this hard. I can't imagine having all my college memories coated by all this. She called me at lunch the rest of the week in order to give me updates. We had continuous coverage at home until our oldest had nightmares. Thankfully, none of the casualties were folks she knew or she'd have been a right mess. She did ask me to go with her to the Memorial Service at Mt. Trashmore Friday night, and being the supportive husband I am, I agreed. I had a maroon t-shirt under my work shirt that day, but she thought I needed more. She ran to the closet, and returned with a Hokiebird hat which she nestled upon my thinning locks. My Carolina Blue blood rankled at the headgear, but no, I said, for tonight, to remember those killed and to support my wife, I'd wear the hat, and like it. We stood with some folks my wife knew and listened to the half-dozen or so speakers, and as the names of the deceased were read before a moment of silence. Afterwards,when the bagpipe started in with Amazing Grace, you could here people losing it all around you, my wife and her friends included. And there, in that crowd, with those people, I was a Hokie, too.

Jesus buys me a pizza

The implausible happened. I agreed to work on a Sunday. There's a garden tour in Alanton next week and naturally, we're behind schedule. The client is nice as can be. She waved as she left for church this morning. She returned just after I brought the second load of mulch, and called me over to the side. "We had a party after Church today," she whispered, "and we ordered too much food. I have five pizzas in my refrigerator. Would you or your guys like to take some home?"

Yes. Yes we would. Of course I couldn't figure out why this was a state secret and she needed to whisper, but what the hay. I sent four to the hacienda with my crew, and took one home for dinner for Jenn and the boys. This should rack up a few more brownie points.

Jesus knew I liked Italian sausage.

Occasionally, I do some good...

So I was talking to Andy last week. Cancer Andy. He's actually had some decently good news. The tumor is contained in his pancreas. The radiation seems to be having some effect. His new doc has told him the statistics don't apply, as he's young and strong. He still has his hair. We're talking about how he found out and how he felt--shocked, hopeless, etc...

Andy:"...until I talked to you."
Me: "Me? Why?"
Andy: "'Cause everyone else treated me like I'm already gone. Telling me they're sorry and that's rough and all that. You--you walk up and say, 'F-U-C-K, Andy. Someone told me you were a horse, a machine. Go kick this S-H-I-T in the A-S-S.' That made me think I had a chance. I nearly cried like a girl. But don't you tell anyone! "

Note: Andy doesn't curse, so he spells it out...?