I’ve just relocated to Brooklyn, the next step in my search for a sense of place and home. I am forever searching, my romantic comedy mind convinced that there’s some place that will ground me and cement me to a community forever. Haven’t found my heart’s home yet, but haven’t given up hope.
The irony of my endless search culminated in the unlikely combination of Superbowl teams this year. We knew the Raiders wouldn’t make it, Oakland having been my home of many, many years, but when San Francisco lost to New York in the playoffs, I knew my California days were really over. Let me note at this point, that I don’t give a hoot about football, but the teams listed all over the news and internet over past weeks have been the teams of my homes. I couldn’t ignore that I thought they were fighting for my future. And California had just lost me in this race.
So, the true test was between New England, the place of my birth and my home for the last 1.5 years, and New York, my newest home and maybe where I will spend the future.
It was a good game, wasn’t it? I really felt like both teams wanted to win, to win for me, obviously. With such a tight score throughout, I watched, rapt in the dual unfolding in front of me. Clearly, whoever won this game was going to reveal where my true home lies. There was a lot on the line.
While Tom Brady threw many a pass at my destiny, New England didn’t hold on tightly enough. New York won. In my life, and in football, New York came out on top. I had already known the outcome, I guess, since I left New England behind last month, and should have wagered accordingly. It was the only time I’ve ever known how a bet would turn out. A missed opportunity there, sure, but maybe it’s better that way. The Cosmos can still send me their messages about the future, however ridiculous the medium.
We made the largest BLT I’ve ever seen, with crispy strips of bacon, herbed, garlic aioli and the freshest tomatoes you can find in NYC in the winter (they were still not good enough). My friend Liza came with individual jars of three-meat chili, Jenna and Mitch made football shaped deviled eggs and french onion dip, because Superbowl is really just an excuse to eat chips and dip for dinner. That, and apparently, a contest that decides my fate. Go Giants?