Beginners and Ageism

 

This morning was another pickleball one. A neighboring senior center offered a clinic two weeks ago in the gym of a defunct school and even though my friend and I have already been playing for a few years, we went to check out the venue and perhaps meet more people to play with.

          As it turned out, I felt as though I had a doctorate in the game, while most everyone else was pretty much in pre-school. But today, like last week, we broke into groups to play and everyone improved tremendously with practice. Of our group of 6, 4 played and for the first game my friend and I stayed by the edge of play to point out which balls were out, and whose turn it was to serve.

 The one guy in our group – slim, mid-60s? - apparently never had played a sport of any description – ever. His hand-eye coordination proved that, but his enthusiasm made up for it. His partner, who looks like she runs marathons, perhaps 50 something, is going to shape up into a good player. On the other side of the court, one woman – late 60s?- began unable to return the ball but then learned to judge distance and speed, and gained confidence as the game wore on. Her partner, a very pretty 50-something and an incredibly nice, bubbly sort, was obviously a seasoned tennis player. She’s going to be a force to be reckoned with in no time.

So much fun. It didn’t hurt that I’m modestly skilled but with lots of experience, making me feel like a professional. Not bad for the ego.

 

As I wrote yesterday, we were fortunate then to play with people not too far advanced from our level and we had a good day.

However, my friend reminded me today of a comment we heard then as we exited our court. A man was sitting, waiting to play, and as we walked by, he said, “Bingo at 11!”

I was too dense to get it. Was he talking about a dog? Someone he knew?

I just walked on by.

My friend however, realized this was an ageism crack and stopped to reply, “Was that a joke or an insult?”

He back-pedaled like his life depended on it. “Oh, no! Um ah, um ah. . .I’ve played Bingo. I’m in my 60s. . . .yada, yada.”

Arrogant slimeball. 

He better hope he’s playing pickleball when he’s my age.

Hedonism and Reunion

 (Not to leave readers hanging, no - my hair guy is not retiring. He just no longer wanted to pay the fees to the credit card processing service. Phew)

The End is Nigh

 

          Years ago, I did what you’re supposed to do when looking for a hairdresser: I turned to the well-turned out lady in my class at the YMCA and asked her where she got her hair done.

Shopping and heat

        We're having a few things done to the kitchen and in the process I remembered I've always disliked the lights that hang over our kitchen bar. 

Editorial

 

I left my English classroom over a decade ago, but long before that I was feeling the effects of this new-fangled internet.

Back Woes

 

At 3 a.m., after climbing out of bed to slather CBD cream on my right side, while I waited for it to (hopefully) do something, I had time to ponder. Wouldn’t it be nice if our bodies provided some kind of early warning system before misery hits?

Growing and Viewing

 

This fella was outside the window as I wrote.   

Sunday was a bit aimless, although I did get a few things done.

  

        It began with my usual yoga class, which passes in stages - Denial (this is killing my knee, why am I here?), Acceptance (okay, at least this pose doesn’t hurt), Relief (I can do this, glad I came, happy it’s over).

Flowery Fourth

 

The two of us spent the Fourth at our son’s in Providence, R.I.

Independence

 

          Independence is a wonderful thing in its many forms.