The rain started about 1:30 this morning. I was lying in bed when I heard the tap,tap on the roof. My first thought was the weatherman was spot on with his timing. He also said it would stop in time for the Pat’s game. He prognosticated perfectly again because the rain has now stopped. An hour ago it was raining heavily, but now it is just damp and grey and windy, sort of an ugly day.

I am late in posting because I am suffering from sleeping sickness, at least that’s my excuse. I did go to bed really late, but I slept until 11:30: that was nine hours. It has been the same all week. I wonder if I missed a visit from Maleficent and her whole sleeping curse thing went right over my head. Right now I am the only creature stirring.

My father was a huge football fan. He also watched hockey, but never baseball or basketball unless one of us was visiting, and he’d turn on the game for us. I know he found baseball boring, but I don’t know why basketball. My father was a shouter at the TV. He moaned at fumbled turnovers and screamed at interceptions. He was a Giants fan until the Patriots were formed. He then transferred his allegiance to the home town team. He watched the one Super Bowl they made in his lifetime, in 1985, and it was a rout. The Bears beat the Pats 46-10. My father hardly screamed that game.

My dad would love the Pats now. He’d get a kick out of Belichick and his press conferences. He’d be yelling at the officials and their treatment of the Pats. He’d never go to the bathroom or the kitchen except during time outs.

I always miss my dad but most especially on days like today. We’d be watching the game together. My mother would join us but she knew absolutely nothing about football and a couple of times rooted for the wrong team. That was okay. At least she watched.

I’ll be here watching, and I’ll be yelling at a call or a poorly executed play, and I’ll definitely be moaning at a Pat’s fumble. I always think of it as channelling my dad.