I'm Not Sorry

 

Today is the 42nd anniversary of the Borg/McEnroe tiebreaker.  Some say it was the best conclusion ever to a tennis match.  The lead went back in forth in heart stopping closeness. Okay, I’ll tell you.  Borge won 18-16. I watched every minute and I’m not sorry.

Not sorry?  Why would I say that?  I was a house guest at friends’ beachfront cabin in Michigan.  I was called politely, and then, in rising levels of impatience, for dinner.  Surely it was going to conclude in a minute.  No.  Both players showed their endless skill and determination. My guest status was sealed.  

Borge played only one slam after that and retired very young.  McEnroe still laments his decision.

I’m watching Wimbledon  now.  They’ve changed the rules so tiebreakers have to end at 10 points.  If my hosts were still part of my life, I would not have the opportunity to be so rude.

Hot Dogs Forever

 

Sammie's Hot Dog Stand was on the corner of Cornelia and Broadway, just a few steps from my apartment.  It was just a cart on the sidewalk, but Sammie had all of the Chicago-Style fixins'.  I was a simple mustard and onions girl.  Years later, I learned that Sammie had been able to retire and move to Florida.  The American Dream.

Doug Sohn, the gourmet hot dog king, was able to penetrate Chicago-Style tradition.  He is still missed by his devoted followers.

For my birthday, my friend Myles promised me a jumbo kosher hot dog fired up on his grill.  Delicious!

And, of course, there is nothing more satisfying than a hot dog at the ballpark while watching a White Sox winner!

Happy 4th everyone.

On Father's Day

 

When A Father Dies Young

If I could have my father with me again for one day, how old would I be? Young, I think.  Sitting on his lap or holding hands young?  I think teenage years.  I hope he would be a dad who would encourage his daughter to be her own person.  To seek her own accomplishments and fate.  He would have had to be a rare man to be of that mind, but there were a few of them back then, so it's not impossible.

In the one photo I have of us together, he is wearing a snappy hat and good suit.  He looks satisfied.  Secure enough to let his children know when he is proud of them.  From time to time.

An absent father keeps your dream life close.  Imagination keeps it going.  Removed from disappointment, an absent father lives on as the "good listener."  Not the real father I ache to have had, but still an influence.

The mind has room for everything.

This is from my book Joan Chandler Today.

Washed Away

 

Are you familiar with the concept of "sports-washing?"  (Not to be confused with sports watching.)  The idea is that sports is deliberately promoted by the "powers that be" to distract us from the social and economic practices that would most serve our really important interests.

It goes back to the idea of "bread and circuses."  If the we have just enough to eat, and can be continually entertained, we won't revolt no matter how unfair the conditions of our lives.

So here I am, being "washed" over and over by the NBA playoffs. (Big game tonight!)  I am really clean.  Or, am I?

All Heart

 

I'm here again to report on another absolutely thrilling event in sports; an all out display of excellence and heart that keeps me (and hopefully, you) away from the edge of despair in these crazy times.

It was only the quarter final at the French Open, but Nadal and Djokovic treated it like another round in the epic matches we've grown to love from "the big three." (Federer is still on the sidelines.)

Is there any sport more valiant than Grand Slam tennis?  Exposed alone.  Matches that extend for hour after hour.    

Nadal was down, but never out.  Djokovic was the "bad guy" and expected to win.  

Have I piqued your interest enough to check on the result?

Breaking Good

I am proud to report that I have broken a bad habit.  I have given up watching cable news.  For those who sympathize, I don't have to explain why.  For those who sympathize and are still watching, let me know if something new and important happens.  

My nicotine patch for getting me through the withdrawal is the NBA playoffs.  On a whole, they have been spectacular!  Of course, everyone loved it when the Celtics swept the hated Nets.  And, of course, everyone here hated it when those Celtics beat the Bulls. But now, the Celtics are embroiled in an epic showdown with the Bucks.  Some say it's too close to call. I predict the Bucks will prevail.  Giannis will not be denied.

If you hear about the outcome on cable, it's okay to call me.   I'll probably already know, but I put that in the category of important news.

 

Giving it Away

 

It started when I got the idea that maybe I should sell my condo and move into one of those places for seniors where you get your meals, and other amenities.  Immediately I equated moving with getting rid of my excess stuff.  I thought I had done that already several years ago.  In fact I prided myself on my “minimal” surroundings.

Now I felt a pile of unessential objects weighing me down.  Everyday I gathered enough to fill a large plastic bag and lugged it down to the trunk of my car.  Every few days I dropped the bags off at the Salvation Army.

I also started wanting to give away my things to the people in my life. When thinking of them, I imagined what they would like of mine.  When my friendly neighbor from across the hall said he loved to cook, I invited him over to pick out cooking utensils that he could use.

After considering it closely, I decided not to move after all.  I concentrated on fixing up my place.  But the desire to give away my possessions hasn’t left.  It started in the context of moving, but now?  What is it really about? 

Am I spreading around memories of me? Am I getting ready to not be around anymore?  

Maybe it's just that I like the idea of gifting my way through old age.