Earlier in the year, I was thinking of going to the Baltimore tournament. I like that tournament. It's close to me, cozy, well-run. I know most of the people there. Even while on sabbatical, I considered going, just because it was so close. Eventually I decided against it.

For the last few weeks, I've thought about visiting on Saturday night, joining the after-hours session, but after Em's difficult afternoon there was no way I'd leave her alone.

Late Saturday night I was reading the newspaper online and came across an article about a stretch of highway near Baltimore that had to be closed for several hours because of multiple (I think the number was 92) car crashes during a few minutes of intense rain. I found myself thinking, "well, good thing I didn't try to go to the play session; I'd have been trapped in that traffic all night."

And now I read on my Scrabble list that the director of the tournament, one I particularly like, passed away on Sunday night, soon after the completion of the tournament. And I'm regretting that I couldn't be there. I will miss him.

I watch people play scrabble online sometimes, and there is this funny little meme that goes around, like a scrabble idea virus. It's something like this: The player makes a move, what they feel to be the correct play. They draw their replacement tiles. And then they say: "Oh, that must not have been the right move; look what happened." Maybe their opponent made a huge play that was only made possible by their last play. Or maybe they drew UUYY. But the truth is that sometimes the correct play doesn't lead to great things. Chance is always a part. The other player is always there. But the correct play is the correct play.

The choices I made were the correct choices, but they weren't correct because of the eventual outcome. The accidents and traffic didn't confirm that my choices were good, and the director's death didn't negate my choices. It was right for me to stay home with Em. That's all.