This is Pi Day #035.c
Of course, if you’ve ever played a game that provides each player with a little pile of bits — meeples, houses, roads, trains, chips, cubes, whatever — and you HAVEN’T made a geometric pile in front of you on the table while you were waiting for your next turn… well, I don’t believe you.
This is Pi Day #035.b
Sadly, this actually happened.
And while I say “sadly” it might just be my age showing, and perhaps she was actually onto something. After all, it could be that someone out there might actually get some joy out of watching me lose at Settlers of Catan or Carcassonne.
This is Pi Day #035.a
Board game week continues and it has forced me to go digging through the cupboard to dust off all sorts of old gaming memories. Like many card-carrying geeks, we spent the better part of our pre-parenting years socializing with friends around a fistful of cards, trading wood for ore, munchkin-questing, or gathering purple trains to finally build that railroad between Duluth and Toronto and win the game.
Then the kids came along, and regular games nights became an annual games night where there was less gaming and more eating and doing those things that parents do. But somehow the legacy has re-blossomed in the fertile imaginations of our progeny and the spark of board game nerdyness has sprouted once again… if not exactly in the form we might have expected.
But hey… a game is a game is a game, right?
This is Pi Day #033.c
Of course, even after the running is done and all you’re longing for is the warm, comforting embrace of the indoors… someone invariably wants to take a photo.
But then who can resist… those puckered faces, the frost dangling from your hair and eyelashes, the looks of frozen bewilderment resembling nothing less than a half-crazed fitness buff who has spent the better part of an hour in temperatures fit for human nor beast.
Take a photo. Of course. No one is going to believe you otherwise.
This is Pi Day #033.b
After running fourteen klicks in the bitter cold over this past weekend, my mouth refused to cooperate with my brain.
In fact, there exists a state somewhere comfortably situated between chattering teeth and frostbitten skin where the mouth goes numb and one finds that talking becomes a chore of some difficulty only bested by the difficulty of trying to understand someone speaking in that condition.
Some folks might tell you that this state of affairs is far from unusual, but alas this past weekend my excuse had more to do with frozen cheeks and frozen lips and generally frozen face than anything more permanent.