My only snarky comment about this afternoon…okay, okay, i’m likely to be unable to resist and make a couple more before this super bowl (no caps because it ain’t) is when i first came in for the evening, the game was about six minutes old. The color commentator described the 49er back as “running downhill.” i have bitched about this terribly bad description since the field is level for a long time. And then i wondered has anyone heard one of these talking heads say a runner “ran uphill?”

i came in to be social. Maureen is interested in the game, but she wants to watch the commercials – she has mixed reviews thus far.

When it began, i went outside, not sure i would return until the game was over. i am, admittedly, a curmudgeon who disdains hype of which this super bowl extravaganza is about 95% hype. Hey, it’s everyone’s thing. The deal of the hour we have to watch. i have dedicated Chiefs and 49er fans on both sides of my family. i’m happy for them. i’m happy for all the folks who are stuffing themselves with food and drink at the parties. After all, i remember when the NFL championship ended in early December. There was one college bowl game, the Gator Bowl, on New Year’s Eve, and four, in order, the Sugar Bowl, the Cotton Bowl, the Rose Bowl, and the Orange Bowl — note not one had a company name in their title — on New Year’s Day. It was just as much an incredible array of food and drink across the country. So i’m not claiming it was better. But it wasn’t as commercial. AND it was over on January First.

Outside, i sat down with martin and patio heater, and a book, a marvelous book. Shortly after i settled in, i heard this rustle in the sky. Winging low was a raven — it has taken me a long time for me to differentiate between a raven and a crow. i’ve finally figured it out. The wingbeat was impressive. i don’t think i’ve heard it before. Then i wondered how Edgar Allan ascribed “Nevermore,” such a beautiful lyrical word, to the “caw” of a raven.

i took my moment and connected the raven to Poe and felt connected, peaceful.

While the event of the day was beginning, i turned to my book. i have some surprises for several friends, so i won’t reveal all about this book, but i will quote a passage from the southwest Pacific 125 years ago:

When I came to a Samoan village, the chief did not ask the price of gin, or say “How will you pay for roast pig?” but “Dollar, dollar,” said he; “white man know only dollar.

“Never mind dollar. The tapo has prepared ava; let us drink and rejoice.” The tapo is the virgin hostess of the village; in this instance it was Taloa, daughter of the chief. “Our taro is good; let us eat. On the tree there is fruit. Let the day go by; why should we mourn over that? There are millions of days coming. The breadfruit is yellow in the sun, and from the cloth-tree is Taloa’s gown. Our house, which is good, cost but the labor of building it, and there is no lock on the door.”

So, i sat there in the Southwest corner, wishing i could have visited the Southwest Pacific two score and a century ago where the world was pacific and the wild, enjoyable, commercial event was raging inside.

Now, i’m not immune. i am watching the end, the playoff is about to begin. But i do wish the world was a little bit different where we could “never mind dollar” and have “Our house, which is good, cost but the labor of building it, and there is no lock on the door.”