Tortoise or the hare

Final packing. A flurry or "where is this?" and "who got that?". Last night we went to the RAAM meeting where all the athletes were introduced. India, Italy, Ireland, Russia, Canada and many more. Everyone is so excited. One thing I did notice from my age perspective .... There were a lot of old people competing! Older than me!  Hmmmmm I might need to rethink this. 

The bikes rolled down to the vehicles this morning. Like horses led to the race track. Jacquie will ride more than one. I've always thought cyclists looked like jockeys in their brightly colored kits. 

Beautiful Jacquie with her blonde pigtails is moving to the starting gate.

Its Hard to Write 100 Words A Day

ok, ok, ok....so I can't write 100 words a day, but I'd like to. Life has a way of crowding in, kids have demands, even my dog looks at me needing something. I can only give so much, and then I need to retreat to my "cocoon" and recharge. Sometimes, that cocoon is on a tennis court, and sometimes its just wandering around the mall with nothing particular in mind. When my kids were babies, I would go to the grocery store late at night when they were asleep and Bruce was home to watch them and push that cart up and down the aisles. It brought great peace to me.

When things are really stressed to the ultimate breaking point, I will announce to my family "I am going into my room...don't anybody bug me" I lay in my bed, with pillows on my head, and chill. And then, when I was ready to face the human race again, I would throw off my protective cocoon layer by layer and face life again. Refreshed. Restored and Ready.

100 Words or Ice Cream

Last night, I had a huge choice to make. Do I write my 100 words column or do I have a bowl of ice cream with Sol and Bernice.
Hmmmm. I like to write alot, and enjoy my daily typing. Hmmmm. I like ice cream, and especially eatting in their kitchen. I choose ice cream!

Its like the saying goes "Eat dessert first". Most of the times that I go over there, which is about once a week, I eat their ice cream as my dinner. Don't tell my kids. I'm forever telling them to eat healthy, snack or fruits. You know....the things your mother told you growing up.

There is something so peaceful for me. Sitting around a kitchen table is the ultimate resting place. Its where I would sit for hours talking to my dad. He didn't make much sense at the end of his Alzheimer's journey, but I enjoyed the time, nonetheless. Its the place I miss most with my mom. We both got up in the early mornings, and when I would visit, we would meet there before anyone else woke up and spend time, working on the newspapers crossword puzzles and jumbles.

Its the one thing I miss in my house here. A table in the kitchen.

He's gone...he's back

My son, Jake graduated from school last summer, with dreams of going to art school and becoming a documentary filmmaker in third world countries. His good buddy and he were all fired up and moving an hour away. We stocked his furnished apartment with all the necessities. TV, movies, a few towels and bedding. We even bought him a coffee pot, even though he hates coffee. It was his idea, I think he wanted to look grownup.

He worked real hard all semester, and got great grades. I worked for days cleaning out his room. I didn't know dust bunnies could be so tall! I got used to having him gone. It really wasn't that hard. He was ready to be on his own, and what I didn't know didn't bother me.

He's back now, and decided to forego the filmmaking career to something else. He wants to attend the community college until he's further into his life. Now I have to get used to having him home. Well, its not that hard having him home, its just the video games are back, and the noise travels on our tile floors.

I love Jake, and so glad he can move in and out so easily. Right now he's here, but one of these days he'll move on again.
I think I'll keep the coffeepot handy.

Playing with the big girls

First match in the 4.5 tennis league. Playing with the big girls. I love the challenge. I love the pace. I love to hit the ball hard. Alli and I had great time today. She is a leftie and when I return serve from the deuce site, deep in the court, more times than not, I set her up for a put-a-way shot. Its makes my day, every time that happens.

We have the normal chatter "Come on, we can do it" and "this one's ours". I love it when I look at her and say "be the ball, Alli, be the ball" Today, to help the mojo, I was blowing kisses on the tennis balls, stroking my racquet as if it was a puppy dog. I will do anything to make the shot better. If I could just move my feet a little more, then it would take care of alot of my mistakes.

Alli came back from a wonderful tennis camp run by gorgeous guys. I saw the pictures. They were gorgeous. At one point, when she was struggling with her serve, she said something about all the money she spent from the pro improving her serve. I walked up to her slowly and said "Forget the pro, think about the gorgeous guy from New Zealand." I believe in visualizing. This prompt from me definitely relax her and she got most of her serves in after that.

I have realized playing tennis, that when I start to "try and get the ball in" while serving, usually ends in a double fault. Changing the rhythm in a panic helps noone, and doesn't put points on the board.

Tomorrow I play again, not with Alli but Carla. I will resort to kissing tennis balls if I need to.

Wade

Todays my dad's birthday. He would have been 90 years old. He only made it to 88. I have his picture above my computer. I still having trouble remembering him from the days before Alzheimer's took him slowly away. I can see him with his head leaning back in one of his big laughs. I can see him when he looked at me wondering who I was.

Today, on TV, they had a news story on Alzheimer's and how they will soon have a breakthrough. Every time I forget something, dread fills my heart. I'm sure, well at least I hope I'm sure that its just the normal aging for a women that has too much on her plate. Mom, artist, wife, tennis player, volunteer, clown, taxi driver!

I want to remember first my dad for his whisker rubs, and shoulder rides, for letting me drive his car when I was just 13. I want to remember first sitting at the local bar and drinking root beer with the drunks as my dad stood behind the counter. I want to remember first riding my bike to the car garage where he worked and watched in amazement as he worked on cars, and later his same enthusiasm as he grew orchids.

That's what I want to remember first. My dad.

Two on a Bench

After a very hard day of being around a bunch of clowns, I was tired. Tired of being funny, tired of learning new things, tired of meeting new people. I came home to a houseful of teenagers. Boy and girls. Some I knew, some I didn't. I gave all the boys the third degree. Who are you, how do you know my daughter. I felt right at ease looking them in the eye, and giving them my "I see everything" look. I just came from clown camp, I could see these things.

My daughter wanted to know when I was leaving again. Again? I just got home. Ok, ok, I'll disappear for awhile, after I announced to the group that I didn't want any illegal activity going on while I was gone.

I headed over to the mall and sat on a bench and watched people go by. Normal people. No one with clown makeup or funny shoes, although the styles coming out in the fall aren't far from this look. A nice little old lady with ice cream in her hand headed towards the bench "Please," I said. "Join me". The next hour rushed by as we shared a bit about ourselves.

Gerry, with her husband, who was a colonel in the army traveled all over the world. He served two stints in Vietnam. She told me stories of how she worked with the wounded soldiers, holding their hands and wiping their brows. She now volunteers her time sending care packages overseas. Her husband died a few years ago, and she wants to honor him and continue caring for our heroes overseas.

I told her I was a volunteer for hospice, and some of my stories. I told her about losing my mom this past year, and how I was able to be there when she died. Our stories overlapped in our caring for others. At one point, I looked at her and said. "Just look at us, two people worn out from a days work, sitting on this bench. I think two angels just met."

I hope I run in to her again. She really was an angel.