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Nostalgia: Full of them, remembering

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It was a late hockey game — too late, I thought, for an 11-year-old kid.

It was a good game, though: we won; the kid, my grandson, was dancing with happiness afterwards. It was one of their best, he said. And there was a plus: an hour alone with my son, uninterrupted except for occasional cheers of "Go, Chase!" My son was full of his week — his new business, thoughts for his own boys, ideas about home renovations, his gray-blue eyes sparkling with plans. I'll always remember those eyes; a good writer could fill sentences describing them.

It was the kind of night that defines Canadians; when I left the arena, it was ultracold, the driving was slippery. Snowflakes like lace surrounded the car, isolating me from the outside world. Alone, celebrating the two-part gift of being able to watch my grandson and be with his dad at the same time — not quite a hat trick, but close. Remembering other games, tournaments, practices with my son (How many? Hundreds, I bet, maybe more.) Simultaneously in the present and the past.

I was also able to choose my own radio station in the car — stations, plural. Saturday nights on Canadian radio, it appears, lend themselves to the music of our lives. I found Chicago first (not the city,........

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