Three Things from Edmonton podcast - Episode 71: the oilers, what the actual puck?!, solitaire

Happy end of the week, friends. I don’t recommend ignoring the horrific news of the past week. I just think it is still somehow worth the effort of noticing what we notice that makes us happy or grateful, remembering it, recording it. Here’s my list from a tough week.

                                          

1. The oilers 

The spit and sizzle of a couple of breakfast eggs frying in olive oil in a small pan in the kitchen last week was a good sound. I haven’t given enough thought to olive oil. We are oil-rich at our house. There’s stir-fry oil, canola oil and peanut oil. We have olive oil for cooking and olive oil for finishing. I know the difference because Auntie Shelagh has attached a piece of green tape to each bottle, and, in black Sharpie, printed the words “cooking” or “finishing” so I don’t mix them up and use the $30 bottle of Lorenzo to fry my greasy spoon eggs. To hear Shelagh tell it, there is a terroir to olive oil that communicates with my taste buds in a way regular butter doesn’t have the words for. 



“Butter is made from milk, I guess, and salt, that’s basically what it is,” she said. “And olive oil is made from olives. Maybe you like that earthy taste. You can taste green, especially in olive oil, can’t you? Take some of the finishing oil on a spoon and taste it. It tastes like summer. Smell it, too. So yummy. It tastes good. Fats taste good. And they are a carrier for spices that you infuse your food with. I don’t know where my phone is.” 


I didn’t know where her phone was either but did take her up on her call to taste the finishing oil and, yes, she was right, it was summer in a spoon. But not just the taste of summer. Somehow the voice of summer too, or the voice of the land from which the olives came, the land pouring forth in one of its native tongues.  




2. What the actual puck?!  


There is a felicity to Connor McDavid’s relationship with the puck. Not just the puck that he is shooting or passing or stickhandling, but the puck that he is with. McDavid is with the puck in a different way. 


“It’s a combination of vision, speed and control, right? And it was at the blue line, so he had to stay onside, too. Not many people have the talent to do that.”


That is our son Alex’s assessment of McDavidian harmony. Alex and I were talking about a particular play in Game 3 against Calgary when the Oilers captain composed what would be, if he were a pop singer, an unforgettable little hook in a song.

 

The puck came to McDavid at the Calgary blue line. He received the puck with his back to the Calgary defenceman, who, like the rest of us watching, was ready for him to chip the puck into the zone along the boards and then see him race it down in the corner, routine dump-and-chase hockey exhibit 1,000,001. One in a million, McDavid spun back to the centre of the ice, back to danger, actually, because away from the security of the boards, chipped the puck ahead, but, remarkably, not onto his stick, but back toward the beaten defender in a way that meant his own body, McDavid’s, that is, shielded the puck from any attackers on the open side of the ice. McDavid authored this virtuoso move while staying onside thanks to a charming soccer-style dribble stepover of the puck. After this little skip, he dished the puck for a goal.


It is quite true that this play happened on a particular night at a particular time of the game against a particular opponent, but it’s also true that it happened across time. Connor McDavid was playing against the game itself, against its limits and constraints and creating, in a very tight space, where there is seemingly no way out, a way out, with style.




3. Solitaire 

My grandmother on my mom’s side (Jean Bilyk was her name) has been dead for years, but that doesn’t stop her from whispering to me while I play solitaire. Being under house arrest for possession of Covid, I’ve been playing a lot of solitaire lately, so, I’ve been hanging out at the dining room table with my grandma, who played the game with a bit of mischief. Here’s the question: when you get to the point in a game of solitaire where there are fewer than seven columns of cards in front of you, is it permissible to start a new column with a card lower in value than a king or does it have to be a king? 



The issue of the king issue is common. In a game last week, I was down to no cards in my hand and, on the table, five columns of cards, four of which were topped by the kings and one that went down from a red 8 to a red 2. The only two cards on the table not turned over were on top of this red 8 column. Again, the question: can I get to those un-turned cards by moving the entire 8-2 column into its own column, or is the game over? My mother would say no, it’s king or nothing. My grandmother would move the column. Natch, for naturally, she would say with a smile in her eyes. This time, I went with my grandma's move, and, well, wouldn’t you know it, I won the game, built up the pile of aces, used all the cards, cheated, maybe, and stole a few minutes with her. 



Thanks for being out there, friends. 

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