domingo

I still get e-mails from my church in Northern Ireland and one of my favorite recent missives led with this announcement:  "Sunday evening service will be moved up because of the World Cup Final."

In honor of the World Cup final my sister and I went to the local Taco Mac (also known as The Happiest Place on Earth, Outside the Perimeter) to enjoy the international hoopla with my Spanish colleague MQ. He proudly sported his Spain jersey and we learned early on that we were in a pro-Netherlands room (orange scarves and all).

But overall, most people there didn't seem to give a rip. We were at the bar, firmly at the soccer football altar, and to my left were two men who, when asked for their World Cup allegiance, stated they were there to watch baseball. The good news is, one was a die-hard White Sox fan  and the other was so cute I think he caught me staring at least twice.

We make no pretense: we're World Cup novices. We are the equivalent of the mom who cannot spell NFL coming into the living room on Super Bowl Sunday. So we knew to keep our mouths shut (or, more accurately, filled with nachos and weisbier) and just sigh when the Dutch coach and his scarf were shown on the television.

The European chic of the Dutch coach notwithstanding, we rooted for Spain. There are many legitimate reasons for this, primary among them MQ's 6-year-old son, who is actually in Spain right now with his grandparents. He is a darling child and tremendous fan and I wanted Spain to win so he could remember this summer for the rest of his life.

We watched in rapt attention. MQ explained some of the pointers to the cute guy, who was lured into the game. It sped by, and when Spain scored in extra time, MQ closed his eyes and thrust both arms into the air. We all cheered. The Dutch fans booed. When the game was over, MQ's wife called on his cell and he put it on speaker so we could hear them singing across the ocean. It was after 11 p.m. there and they planned to stay up all night celebrating.

My sister and I were off to our next adventure, seeing Tommy Womack at Eddie's Attic in Decatur (also known as The Happiest Place on Earth, Inside the Perimeter). The last time I saw Tommy was in Belfast, at the Errigle Inn, and I have seen him perform in many cities. I have seen him in every location where I've lived with the exception of Peoria. I think I enjoyed tonight more than any other show, just because he won over the small crowd so completely, my sister absolutely loved it, and I might have forgotten quite how clever he is.

After the show we talked with him a short while and I nicked the handwritten set list. It's nice to have a memento from a great show like that. We were completely sated, so we skipped the next act, who was not known to us (no offense to him, but we wanted to leave on a high).

My sister wanted to see "Toy Story 3" so we braved the nearby DeKalb Mall, which is not the happiest place on earth but a bit of an urban adventure. We loved the movie and recounted the best parts during the long drive home. You know it's a good day when you ask one another, "What was your favorite part of today?" and both of you agree you cannot decide — all of it was that enjoyable.