My mother believes in the power of thought, among many other things, but this one is so strong that she’s instilled some of that into my brain. Which is why, when I wanted a job at the Canadian Embassy, I actually walked around the block every day for a few days, to send good vibes up to the third floor.

(I did get the job).

Unfortunately, it also works the other way. This morning, as I was packing my tiny suitcase, I went back and forth about packing/not packing my glasses and contact lenses. I decided to pack them and … (drum roll) … my bag didn’t make it to Oulu. Not yet, anyway. I wonder how long I can wear the same pair of contacts. (Please, no comments about how long I can wear the same pair of underwear).

They promised me that the bag would be on the next flight, landing about now. Or if not on that one, surely on the 1 am flight. And at the hotel at 5 am.

But who knows, “they” are tricky people. “They” also say we put a man on the moon. Really?

It started so innocently. My son and daughter had started this moving business – “Max Moving Men”, freely translated – and all I needed to do was lie on the bed while they would move our pillows and blankets from the bed to their storage.

My son took one end of the pillow, and my daughter the other as they carried everything to .. I don’t know where.

While I was lying there, they got tired of me and threw everything on top of me again. And then I moved my arm, and I heard how they ran away, screaming “monster!”

That sounded great so I got into it. They came back, I made a move, they ran away.

Then the pauses started to get longer. I heard them running towards the bedroom, and away from the bedroom, but not really into the bedroom. I thought they were just getting ready to meet the monster.

So I did the grown-up cheating thing: I looked. I peaked through a hole in my mountain of blankets and pillows, and I saw my son running past the bedroom, with a plastic helmet and a sword in his hand.

Just as I thought. They were preparing themselves for meeting the Monster.

I pulled the cover over me again and waited. I made a little breathing hole to myself, and waited. I heard the tapping of the tiny feet outside the bedroom, and laughed a little. Were they in for a surprise! This was a monster like none they’d ever seen!

And then the tapping stopped. I heard voices from far away, muffled voices, so I figured they were hiding. So I decided to wait them out and hide longer.

Ten minutes later, my wife came to tell me that she was going to the gym.

“What about the kids? What are they doing?” I said through my breathing hole.

“They’re reading in their little home in the bathroom,” she said.

“Oh.”

There’s something about Skype that makes phone calls longer than necessary. Maybe it’s the fact that it’s free. This is how it goes.

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Ever listened to a random 80s song in your iPod, and then have a random person hum that same song when you pause the music and put the iPod away?

For a second today, I thought I heard a guy hum this song at the gym when I came there listening to it. He wasn’t – but it got me thinking about the odds. Pretty high, right?

Hey you. You know who you are, even if I don’t, my secret friend. My new, secret, gym friend. Do you remember when our friendship began? Who knows, right? At first, it was all very random, very sporadic, but over the next few weeks a pattern began to take shape.

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I just got a letter from last week. In the envelope, there was a picture of me interviewing Henrik Lundqvist.

Risto: “What’s your name?”
HL: “Henke Lunkvist”
R: “What’s your favorite team?”
HL: “Ilves.”

I’ve been talking about winning with a lot of hockey players and coaches in the last two three weeks. The interesting thing is that winning isn’t the only thing for them. I find that comforting. When we kick the ball for the first time, or stand in the snow watching others play hockey, it’s not about winning, is it?

On that note, let’s walk down the Memory Lane, and see if we can’t find my first hockey sweater there. Keep reading it below, or here.

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My mother’s computer got screwy on her way from China to Stockholm. The keyboard went crazy, and when the Dell support didn’t reply in 20 hours, she was naturally left with only one option: to buy a Mac.

I wonder what she’ll do if her car doesn’t start when she gets to Finland.

Urban life is fast. It’s dog-eat-dog, and every man (and woman) for himself (or herself). And if you need proof, go to a gym. That’s where we become the animal that we are.

I know that, having spent more time at the gym than you’d think by looking at me. Inside me, though, there’s a ripped and strong man.

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It’s in the air. Everybody’s talking about the need for change. Few of us make a move. Snoopy is an inspiration.