As usual, my chronicling seriously lags the events described. It was last month that our Olympic curling teams--officially based right here, though not every member hails from this town--battled it out in the Turin Games. We followed the action at home, even if it wasn't live. It's now a matter of record that the Johnson Rink didn't quite make the medal round, while Team Fenson scored the bronze: First US medal in the sport since it went Olympic not too many years ago. One of our guys, Scott Baird, already took the cake as the oldest Winter Olympian ever at 54; since I turned 49 during the Games, I can't claim to be that much younger!

One result, not so dependent on the outcome, was free publicity for our normally obscure little city. It's alleged, however, that our local authorities seem not to have grasped the opportunity to exploit the situation.

I wasn't involved in any of the hoopla attending our returning Olympians. The first weekend in March, though, I volunteered for a gig at the Curling Club (or, as our sometime PM called it, the "1st...Church of the Sacred Broom"). It happens to be a place where my parents used to hang out regularly, though I didn't. The occasion was a closing(?) ceremony for a regional(?) championship/playoff bonspiel. Well, no one but the boss & I showed up with our pipes; my fellow less-competent piper was on hand but evidently didn't feel up to playing. He pointed out US skip Cassie Johnson among spectators nearby--& he ought to know, having just attended the Turin Games himself. Anyhow, we waited for Team Fenson to finish an ongoing match; winning, they qualified for a greater contest elsewhere. Finally we two pipers--who were individually introduced to the crowd--& our single "drummer girl", who was not, played a procession of curlers onto the ice. Our leader didn't trust his shoes on that surface, so we went out on a narrow carpeted strip next to it. Unfortunately I missed some cues & failed to stop in time when we cut off halfway throught this regular set!