Three Things from Edmonton podcast - Episode 65: lottery, long Covid walk, final word

 


“Andrew said to me, ‘Mom, have you played Wordle?’ and I said, no, don’t talk to me about Wordle! Every morning I get up and it’s just <bing, bing, bing, bing, bing> on my phone because all of my siblings have started to play, and they all share their results and then they all like everybody sharing their results, so I said, no, I’m not doing Wordle…”

That was my sister-in-law Kathy recounting the story of her son making the case for Wordle, which she brushed off, but, then, changed her mind about. Good thing. Five-lettered Kathy is a natural at the game. A couple of weeks ago, she solved the puzzle in one try. Last week, she followed that up with what for her must have been a demoralizing, two-guess triumph, which she’s done a few times.

“The day I got it in one guess, I put my word in, it was green, green, green, green, green. Oh, this is a good game, I like this. It’s like winning the lottery," Kathy said.
H-A-P-P-Y end of the week, y’all. Here are three things that delivered some happiness or gratitude this week.

1. Lottery

When Kathy said winning Wordle in one is like winning the lottery, she was spelling out the fact that plucking one five-letter word out of the 2,315 solution words is a shot in the dark. The skill, she says, is in reasoning out the answer from the list of remaining options after a first try. Wordle teaches you that being completely wrong on your first guess is also, looking back, a bit of fortune. Knowing the direction you are not going is a first step in successfully not ending up there. It’s a bit of a win, too.


I won the lottery doesn’t imply that everything in the world is the result of cruel chance, though it may appear that way watching the news and seeing what fellow human beings are being dealt. The saying is an admission of humility. It means my own efforts are not sufficient to account for the fortune I enjoy, whether in love or life or health or homeland, or in world or Wordle. It means saving a passing thought for what is gifted—like a lottery result is gifted—in the game of Wordle. Imagine letters reverting to or always having been just circles and lines. Imagine no longer relying without a thought on the alphabet technology behind my eyes. First things first: I can read. To thank those who made that happen, my grandparents, my parents, my Grade 1 teacher, Mrs. Loschak, the librarians at the Highlands branch on 118 Avenue—my Wordle word tomorrow will be, with a nod to Kathy, L-U-C-K-Y.



2. Long Covid walk

From the latest Covid wave, I will, knock on dining room table wood, emerge standing. And, legs willing, moving. The pandemic shortened my work commute to 19 steps, the distance between bedroom and computer. Add another 8 steps to the counter for lunch, the occasional 12 to retrieve a front door delivery, 13 to the toilet, 33 to the downstairs couch with maybe 6 or 7 more to find the remote, a whopping 41 steps to get the carts to the lane on garbage and recycling day, and the recent picture of me starts to take shape. It’s been a still life. I ground to a halt with a neck injury in December that kept me off my bicycle.


Slowly, though, I have learned what I still can do while the pain and the stationary-ness sort themselves out. I can walk. I can walk for an hour. Last week, I walked for more than two hours, threading my way from the Italian Centre on 95 Street back home to Parkview. It’s not my Miles for Millions form from the 1970s, but 14,000 steps is 14,000 steps, and enough space and time for things to reveal themselves. I saw a paperback dictionary broken in half. I saw traffic lights as red, orange and green planets governing the movement of the automobile bodies below. On the 102 Avenue shared use path, Ed from OTTO and his children pedalled by. We talked about their family dog.


This will sound straightforward. On that walk, I got to know my legs again. I felt that my legs and my skull were parts of the same outfit, moving through space, under the expansive sky with its clouds like thought balloons.


3. Final word

The final word this week goes to Brenda Powell. I didn’t know her. I enjoyed her obituary. My friend Fitz is hooked on the obits. He sends his favourites along as a reminder of what we can still do in the face of the fact that time runs out and we perish. We can write good obituaries. Auntie Shelagh, too. She reviews the obits on the weekend and reads the best ones out loud. Of Brenda Powell and her surviving husband, Len, it is written:

“Even after dementia robbed them both of their vitality and bearings, she went on directing their lives and he, in his gentle, loving way, obliged, always a little in awe, like all of us, of her commanding spirit.”

What a command of the comma to introduce a gentle and loving back-and-forthness. The sentence feels like partners dancing. It has the rhythm of give and receive. It is a life sentence. Rest in peace, Mrs. Powell.

Have a good weekend and week ahead, everyone.


🎧 Three Things podcast, episode 65, features sound from Kathy, from my walk, from Ed from OTTO and from Auntie Shelagh: https://podcasts.apple.com/.../three.../id1550538856... [5:21]
Original music is from Edmonton pianist and composer Brendan McGrath. End bells are courtesy the top metal sculptor from the O’Leary Class of ‘82, Slavo Cech.







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