longwood

On this grey and chilly day when I'm texting back and forth about whether to cancel our 10 am game or not, I will likely begin to move life back inside walls to make lists, find sweaters and clear out underneath the sink. But I want to hark back to the weather honeymoon of the last month, which seemed to magically go on and on and now, two days later, seems so long ago. 

But ti's not only the weather. Leaving the parking lot and entering the grounds is stepping into a fantasy of lush flora that surrounds, immediatley bringing blood pressure down and helping to lose the cares of the day. As well as being varied and healthy, everything from the courts to the pathways to planters to bushes, window boxes and hanging plants, is carefully thought out and perfectly maintained, providing a sense that all is right with the world, at least this world.

Prior to joining Longwood, I had heard members talk about their play per dollar and how it was too high. Perhaps they were pulled away by adventures in far away lands, stifled by wet, unplayable grass, or sidelined with an injury? Whatever the reason, I couldn't understand finding oneself in that position with such a welcoming playground, there to enjoy. During my first year there, my PPD must have been one of the lowest, delirious as I was to have not only 44 courts, but unlimited people of a standard way higher than mine, motivating me daily to work on my game. 

But somehow this summer, I found myself, if not actually doing the PPD calculation, feeling sheepish about the number of times I'd been over there. First it was the dreaded neuroma in my foot, likely the result of that first year's enthusiasm, then July's extreme heat, both of which led me in other directions. So when I looked at the calendar the Friday before Labor Day weekend and saw nothing on it, I knew that a deep breath, laundry, a field ripened tomato and plenty of sunshine on the grass would make for the right combination of things to breed utter contentment. Instead of just going to play and leaving, I without plans aimed to camp out for much of the weekend. And that is what I did. 

Pool bag, tennis bag, book, water bottle. Swim, tennis, chat, more chat, BLT extra crispy bacon (because as Debby used to say, I'm a bacon-eating vegetarian) on WW with no mayo and a pickle instead of chips, read, swim, tennis, iced tea and salty nuts, feet up on the porch railing, lemon water, chat. 

Something happened that weekend that made me love this club something fierce. OK, the weather didn't hurt and continued not to for a very long time. Goldilocks perfect. Even my humble request to have the clouds move over the sun while I was serving was sometimes fulfilled. But there are other things. Our tennis hosts, who allow us to show up without a game and get on the court quickly. And Championship Weekend, where those of us who weren't in finals sat on that most wondrous porch and cheered for our friends, watching others so talented they made the US Open, which was happening at the same time, seem an unnecessary distraction. As a friend said, when we're all gathered up there, a magic happens. A simple and fulfilled pleasure similar to the joy of the ice cream line.

When the email came about Davis Cup in mid-September, I thought only about the opportunity to meet more people, somehow forgetting about my reliably subpar play in any kind of competition. But it didn't matter. As a member of the Japan team, I was part of mixed, women's and "leftover" doubles against people older and younger, with more and less experience than me, but all in it for the play. We laughed, patted each other on the back, yelled GOBATO, which someone on the French team told us is Japanese for Vamos, but is nowhere in The Google. Guess the Frenchies got the last laugh on that one. 

As I get to know more people, I've come to appreciate my fellow members, hailing from so very many different places, having a wide array of life experiences, not to mention backhands, yet all sharing a profound love of the game. The man standing in a tux on a side court intently watching a match? He'd rushed over when his BSO concert was done so that he could watch his friend's tournament match, didn't even have time to drop his oboe at home. 

That first year, it was a great place to play tennis. But now, Longwood has become somewhere that part of my life takes place. I'm prfoundly grateful for that and don't think I'll be needing to worry about my PPD in the future.


Go Japan!