Southish

Longwood entrance that lifts my spirits without fail

On the first day of my second summer at Longwood, I sat inside at a big round table with someone I knew and others I didn't. Without prompting, each shared the ailment impinging upon their game. Others had sympathy and advice, doctor recommendations. Around it went.  I was probably dealing with my recurring foot problem exacerbated by paddle, and it was both reassuring to be amongst others with similar challenges, while also shocking to know that this was where we were. A time when good health becomes a blessing. And at least a part-time job.  I suppose the fact that we're erect and determined to beat these physical challenges makes us stronger, at least mentally. The video of the oldest world champion tennis player, whose secret to continuing play into his nineties is not letting injuries slow him down, has been on my mind a lot (sorry, can't find it). As has the documentary about the Blue Zone, which was fascinating. Loma Linda, California? Who knew.

Early on in France, I noticed my left, non-dominant shoulder could no longer stay in its regular position when sleeping belly flop style, something I attributed at the time to the Ikea Asbygda 1 1/2 inch mattress. Or maybe it was the 9 inch high square pillow. But I put concern aside, thinking my Boston-based down accoutrements, nice mattress and most talented chiropractor, would heal all. But not much changed, and then I found a friend having the same issue with her non-dominant shoulder. How odd. It wasn't anything serious, but with every discomfort that makes itself known, the approach must be that of a thin end of a pernicious wedge to be aggressively neutralized. I happened to be listening to one of my favorite podcasts on Zoe again, about Omega-3 Fatty Acids and their importance. And Mr. Fatty Acid Researcher mentioned that stiff joints are caused by inflammation (not of the joint, but of one's body) and that Omega 3 can bring that down, but you need to ingest the equivalent of 1000mg a day.  That's a lot of salmon.  

Sometimes my head is like a cooped up dog that has finally broken the leash, wildly running around and into traffic. The most odious and repetitive example is when I'm about to receive serve from someone. The server throws the ball up and I involuntarily begin to think about the mechanics of how I actually grip the racquet and how my swing works, as an extension of my body. Things quickly get existential and invariably, the ball does not land in that rather large rectangle on the other side of the net. Sigh. In The Inner Game of Tennis by W. Timothy Gallwey, the author talks about how if we were to think about the mechanics of turning on a light switch, we'd be paralyzed, and with hitting a forehand, it's the same. That mischievous head of mine also causes havoc some times when I'm about to eat fish. Without my asking, a picture of a happy trout or tuna, swimming through the water appears.And then it's dead and I'm eating that muscle. I hate it when this happens, it wigs me out, despite my general enjoyment of fish. But I wanted to try to eat one of the SMASH fishes mentioned in the podcast (Salmon, Mackerel, Anchovies, Sardines and Herring) but for valid reasons don't trust Whole Foods, which I call Amazon, further than I can throw my car. So I decided to embrace my inner Aunt Agatha from Travels with my Aunt, whose favorite expression was "It's not the destination, it's the journey",  and have a boondoggle one Saturday after playing some rousing doubles. 

It's always interesting to go to an unfamiliar places, so Fall River, which along with New Bedford, has plenty of beautiful granite warehouses, was a welcome destination.  It's not a long drive to Portugalia, the Portuguese equivalent, albeit on a smaller scale, of Eataly, to peruse their extensive collection of tinned fish that will take years to get through. After a fine espresso in their cafe that also serves delicious looking cakes, I had a wander through the housewares, passed the bacalao room, contemplated but didn't buy a Porto soap, resisted olives, olive oil and bread, on a mission as I was. Because the choice of fish was so overwhelming, I narrowed things down first to sardines, then sardines with tomato, then sardines with tomato and picante, and then to those with pretty designs. Had to! To complement the eating sardines, it seemed right to have a bowl with them painted on as well. 

New kitchen friend

Tried the Nuri, rated them a 7.

The cadence of work, tennis, porch at Longwood on a summer evening or weekend would be very hard to beat and I thank the Gods every time I'm there. .But as soon as I was in Fall River and saw people wearing bathing suit coverups when doing their business, Beach Season appeared!  Paula had just been talking about a great visit to Middletown and Hetty was about to start two weeks at her house in Westport, and then there was her friend who lives in Padanaram. It was all in my head and I suddenly realized I had been missing out..

So instead of going home after the big sardine purchase, the car headed south to the Norman Bird Sanctuary in Middletown.  It was nice to be back there as, in my twenties, without giving away names or links to their profiles, I spent quite a bit of a time with a bunch of wild and crazy guys at a beautiful house right next to this sanctuary. The only bird I ever saw was at the Red Parrot on Thames St., where one night a group of us consumed so many shots that the bar ran out of glasses. But that was many moons ago, and this time, it was serenity and natural beauty I was seeking. Quite soon after heading on a trail, I made friends with a doe and her two beautifully spotted fawns, who let me come within 2 feet of them before they scampered off gracefully and not too urgently.  There were few other people, something floral was blooming and many different flying friends were starting to sing for their evening supper. It was a lovely and gentle place. 

Pond goop, Norman Bird Sanctuary

Sweet little path, Norman Bird Sanctuary

Third beach vibe

Not far after the bird sanctuary was an unpopulated (and more important, unregulated. Parking was $45!) beach that was winding down from a day of seaside entertainment, though the waves continued on. There were still kids playing and it was a great reminder of how well a beach suits toddlers. Their interactions with the water and nature, ability to yell or run, busyness that comes from digging holes, making canals, castles, pretending they're terns running up and back as waves come in and go out, and my favorite, digging rocks up, rinsing them and then putting them put back in the sand. Were I a parent again, I'd spend much time on the beach, at least for those first few years. 

Then the sun was getting low and  I was hungry and there was nowhere to go but A Market, a place that holds a lot of memories, for the Asian Quinoa Salad. It was a quick stop with not much time to reminisce, and then on the way back, almost a stop at First Beach to enjoy the silvery water at sunset, but there was a line of cars waiting to get in the parking lot, so, I opened all the windows to enjoy that sea air while I could, then headed up 24 North to the hot and smelly city.