I think I've got the care bug...

What's happened to me? I'm honestly unsure. I got back from a 3-11pm shift last night completely charged up. And then today I wrote the organiser of a work trip in March - to take students to a Cardiff Devils' game! - about the possibility of helping out - despite the fact that it's a 4pm-midnight shift, and I'm already down for an 8am-3pm shift that day. Whether I'd regret it on the day is an open question, but that I'm even contemplating it... It's, well, mind-boggling.

I'm completely unused to thinking about work this way.

And it isn't just work. More generally, I find myself wishing I had more time to volunteer. There are so many great organisations and causes right here in Gloucestershire, like The Butterfly Garden, that I still haven't given time to. And I do still have some free time. But, the thing is, I know myself: I need time to recoup; otherwise, those folks I'm trying to help simply won't get my best. I'm hoping my stamina will increase as I get used to this lifestyle, but the fact is that I've spent decades sitting around at work, and then at home on my own pursuits; it's a work in progress.

Then there's other time that is free, to a point. But those evenings - and every second weekend - are, well, really important to me. I've made a lot of mistakes in my personal life, but if I had to pin down the biggest, it'd be failing to properly invest in my relationships. Back then, it wasn't about any causes I was supporting - it shames me to say that, up until a few years ago, I was living entirely selfishly - but that tension is the same; and I don't want to lose sight of what's most important to me, hands down.

Phew. That got a bit heavy. Sorry 'bout that.

Another concern is that my current roster of charities really represent squeaky wheels, of a sort. In a nutshell, they responded quickly and often to my early offers of help. They're all great, and so I'm now struggling with the idea that I should probably step back from a few - particularly some of the weekly commitments - so that I can devote time to other causes. It's particularly difficult because the motivation is mostly selfish: I want to try new things. I landed my current job that way, and a big part of me wonders what else is out there that I might like and be good at; it'll likely be related to social care, but, my goodness, what a breadth of roles that covers, even with my limited understanding.

In summary, I need to either a) prioritise where I really want to help, or b) get my mind and body fit, so I can spend those days off more effectively, or c) clone myself... Or d) all of the above.

Under-weather distractions

I found another treasure at Moss Books this weekend, on one of my short forays from under this oppressive cold and its stomach-bug buddy (not to mention the rain): a collection of Oor Wullie and The Broons comic strips from 1936 – 2006. The dialogue is a bit of a struggle, but the stories range from cute to poignant; the latter a pleasant surprise (for me) from something that ran regularly in The Sunday Post (until I read about the paper's sentimental nature, anyway). I think the layout of Oor Wullie is my favourite part so far, however: each strip starts with the sly main character squat on an overturned pail – any of a variety of expressions on his face – and each finishes with the same, or something subtly different. This trademark is emphasized on the back of the dust-jacket, with some twenty of Wullie's faces displayed in a grid of portraits, helpful one-word captions beneath them.

Thankfully there's been plenty of football (a.k.a. soccer) to distract me from my housebound state this weekend – was worried I had the dreaded flu for a bit; they won't even accept you at clinics (what they call surgeries) here right now if you have a fever. My favourite, by far, was the derby (pronounced 'darby', even when the English commentators are working a German Bundesliga game, I've discovered this morning) between Swansea and Cardiff City as those clubs compete for the first real shot at a Welsh promotion to the English Premier League in many, many years. These derbies are fierce competitions between local rivals, as best I can tell, and, without exception, are surrounded by some of the most vocal (and truly in its singing sense!) fan support I've ever witnessed at a sporting event; I hope to see something approaching it live someday (with the protection of earplugs, of course). Swansea won this one 3 – 2 in front of their hometown crowd, scoring more goals than they'd managed in any other match this season, in what really could've been a win for either club.

The Ottawa Senators did their city proud

It doesn’t get much better than Game 7 in the Eastern Conference final, especially for a city that hasn’t seen the third round of the Stanley Cup playoffs since 1927. I’d been to about half a dozen Senators games prior to last night, but nothing could prepare me for the Corel Centre at playoff time. Well, I’m getting ahead of myself here, so I’ll back up a few days.

Watching Games 5 and 6 was some of the most emotionally-draining hours I’ve had in years. It takes me back to the 25413 overtime games Montréal had to play to win the Cup in 1993 (but I was younger then; my heart could take it, and kids never really think their team is going to lose anyway). With the headline, “Looking for a miracle,” flying through my head, I watched the Senators stay alive on Monday night, and Bob Cole couldn’t have said it any better: “If you’re a hockey fan, you gotta be having the shivers right now. This guy’s just a kid, folks.” Spezza scored a beautiful goal and assisted on the game winner.

Then it was off to New Jersey. I’ll be honest: I didn’t watch Games 3 or 4, and I was intimidated by look of their ice on Wednesday night; it just looked bigger, international even. And then there was the Devils' record! How could we compete with that?

After hitting the goal post and the crossbar in the third period, Alfredsson’s post in overtime almost killed me. I mean, it was hard enough watching that second period, after what Grapes called a “no contest” first period, but now Lady Luck had abandoned them too? When Phillips put it in the net, I couldn’t believe my eyes. Brodeur and I had the same thought, looking to the referee, expecting (hoping, in Brodeur’s case, I'm sure) that it wouldn’t count. And how about the look on the guys’ faces; that’s what the game’s all about, a big pile of ecstatic guys, alive for another day. They did us proud that night; no one can take that away from them.

So it was back to Ottawa for Game 7 last night. My wife surprised the hell out of me by getting us tickets (before Game 6, making that victory all the more exciting), so I could barely sit still yesterday. I picked at my supper in the pub, and the shuttle ride out to the Corel Centre was filled with much thigh pounding, spontaneous laughter and fist pumping. My wife loved it, of course. She knew I'd be happy to be going, but this enthusiasm was a pleasant surprise.

“Is this better than the Tool shows?” she asked.

“Better than the Ottawa show by far, but the Toronto show was my first one, so no, it was a bit better than this.”

Then we were driving past the Kanata sign, and there were a bunch of kids hanging out, waving Senators flags. What a moment! That’s what hockey’s all about: Dreams.

The Corel Centre was an island in a sea of people. There were tents out front, jugglers, television crews, police in fancy mobile homes, tens of thousands of people in Senators garb, and us. When we came out on the 300 level, I had to stop; I'd never seen the place packed (and packed it was; 18500 in attendance, I found out later). We went up to our seats and got our towels – I’d forgotten about the towels, so that put an even bigger grin on my face.

I was so mesmerized by the view that I didn’t even notice my wife spitting on my face. Some coworkers that we met there had coloured pencils (like you’d see at Halloween), and apparently they work better on wet skin. In no time, our faces were screaming, “Go Sens go!” along with our throats.

The anthems were incredible. I get goose bumps just listening to them at home. Here, in the middle of it all, I was singing my lungs out, and waving my towel around ‘til my shoulder ached. That, combined with Arvedson’s goal in the first few minutes, did my voice in. When Magnus scored, I yelled and yelled. I barely paused for breath. My wife said I looked like a baby being born. Well, what can I say? I was excited. A few minutes later, I was trying to tell the woman sitting next to me that it was Spezza who just got hit with a high stick, but only wheezing honks came out.

Unfortunately, the rest of the period and much of the next saw the Senators sitting back. I wasn’t really sure they wanted it. But before the second period was out, they started coming on again, and they tied it up early in the third. I don’t need to tell you how it ended, but as the last regulation minutes in the series were ticking away, you knew it had to end like that for one of these two teams; they were so evenly matched.

I really had a great time. I mean, I missed a lot of face-offs, and it was hard to take in all the play when the cameraman’s eye wasn’t directing me, but sitting at home couldn't hold a candle to the throbbing cheers and tens of thousands of whirling towels when the Senators scored.

They played a great game, and they had a great run at the Cup. As one of the ushers said to me as we were leaving, “[I'll] save it for next year.”

John L. Jarvis is a writer working out of Ottawa. He can be reached at john_l_jarvis@hotmail.com.