I’ve blogged before about how I have recently taken up tennis, and how it has become a bit of an obsession. I’m a little frustrated, at present, with my lack of skills. I just want to be great at tennis, is that too much to ask? I don’t mean Venus and Serena great. Just great enough to have people not feel suicidal when they realize that they’re stuck with me as their partner in doubles.
I occasionally play with a doubles group that consists of women who are all better players than me. They’ve been playing longer. They’re better athletes. They have better skills. When it comes time to partner up, I have to gaze off into the horizon and pretend that I’m all absorbed in the beauty of the nearby dumpsters, so as not go through the squirming agony of watching the women try to shove their way over to the other side of the net. The good sport who is last to move away, always bravely chirps, “Okay, Ann and I will be partners then!” And of course, she braces herself for a battering by our opponents.
Tennis is a gentleman’s sport, thank God. It’s just not polite to whack your partner on the back of the head with your racket when she hits a volley right into the net, again. Instead, my dear, patient partners always begin the game with encouraging words like, “Nice try!” or “That’s a tough shot!” (this last, said through gritted teeth, after the ball lands squarely in my racket and, in a fit of astonished excitement, I send it soaring over our opponents, over the base line, over the fence and into the parking lot).
Right now, we’re sort of between seasons. In the summer, we play outdoors, but the rest of the year, we play in an indoor tennis court. The fall season starts in a week, and in preparation, I have been taking private lessons from a man named Val Stoiana. Val is a genius. He fixed my forehand swing (my backhand has always been stronger) and taught me how to put more spin on my serve IN ONE LESSON! He yells at me, and insists I do better. He’s from an eastern European country and teaches by drilling, not coddling. I can’t get enough.
I know I’m late to the party, but I want to become better at learning. Working with the Little Britches kids, and observing my own kids over the years, has made me become very interested in the way we process information and gain new skills. I have a lot of excess energy and my mind tends to wander. I’ve noticed that my kids’ friends who are the best students, with the highest SAT scores, are not necessarily the brightest bulbs. They just are just able to receive, process and then retain information in what seems to be a relatively effortless and systematic way. Their minds don’t wander the way mine does. Somebody will be explaining to me how to hold a tennis racket and my mind will wander right off the court and into the next week, when I have a dinner planned with an old friend, and haven’t quite figured out what I will wear.
But Val has turned out to be a perfect coach for me. He keeps me in the moment by sending balls at me again and again and again – forehand, backhand, forehand, forehand then an overhead lob. There’s no time to fret about my book, about kids, about next week’s dinner. Just hit the ball. In the sweet spot. Again. Again. Again.
Have fun Ann! I found with tennis practice makes perfect…I use to play with a group of 8 women in Bahrain and we played 4 times a week…I started to get pretty good… over the years it has slipped and now with a 9 year old I cannot get to do it as much..this year was horrid, did not get to play much at all, bet they will be scrambling to be your partner in no time!
bet ya look dead cute in your lil skirt too! LoL
I used to play tennis with my daughter who is quite good.. she called it catch since I was never able to quite master the fact that the racket was not a baseball bat. I’ve since given up.
Ann:
Great job!. Your writing, I do not know about your other stuff.
You are too cute. I missed your previous entry on tennis and assumed you were good at it. You are so nice to share your vulnerable side with your readers and it makes you so endearing.
OMG, junior high dodgeball flashback…being picked last…balls coming at me again and again and again!
I always assumed you were a great tennis player. Your writing, as usual is so funny and self-deprecating. You really made me laugh. I can just hear him yelling at you in his accent.
I’ve never been athletic, but I’m extremely competitive in whatever I do. I’m like you, I want to be great at things, and I get very frustrated when I’m not. When I used to play mini golf in my 20′s, I’d get so mad because I wanted to win, and I sucked at it! lolol Same thing with bowling. I wanted strikes dammit, and rarely even got spares.
Sounds like you have the perfect coach, and I think you’ll be a pro in no time, and will be the one picked first for doubles.
I also have trouble concentrating on things. I’m thinking of all the things I have to do, all the things I forgot to do. Where did I put that post-it note of things of things I was supposed to do???? Damn, I lost that note too, time to make another one, which I’ll lose as well. My brain won’t shut up, which is why I suck at meditation!
I think your mind wanders because you are such a creative person. The wandering eye that takes it all in. As I have said before you have a gift for taking the everyday things and tuning into them so expressively. You pick up on things not everyone does. This is so clear in your funny little stories of your day to day life. I still do believe you would be a fantasic poetry teacher. As for your tennis game, practice makes perfect, hang in there.
Three words … early racket prep!
And, a little tidbit … Less than a mile from our house is the site where tennis was played for the very first time in the United States, when Mary Outerbridge brought nets, rackets, etc. from Bermuda to Staten Island in 1874 (when our place was a brand-new house!). She started the Staten Island Lawn Tennis and Cricket Club. There are still tennis courts in what is now Walker Park, along with a cricket mat, one of the few in NYC. In the sixties, there was only one other, in the Bronx, but I’d guess that the influx of Caribbean immigrants to the city has spawned a few more, most likely in Brooklyn. As a kid, I was fascinated by the whole cricket scene, with players in whites, and women in full-length white dresses serving tea. They had full silver service and linen tablecloths under the shade trees!
Good luck with the indoor season!
Two words …Uncle Sull?
(He lives in Staten Island and that’s why I’m wondering if he’s the anonymous commenter)
You love to figure out who the anonymous ones are dont you
They kill me, those anonymous commenters. Yet… I love them for their shy grace, their coquettish playfulness. I know them not, and never will…
I’m pretty sure the last one was Uncle Sull.
Thanks for the laugh; always good to know others have the same insecurities; even when they appear to be always confident. I think it is fine to just be okay at a sport; being too competitive takes the fun out of playing with friends.
I always have trouble staying on task; my sister and refer to it as “something shiny” that takes away from what we are doing; it is a family trait we all laugh at.
Have fun; it is a sport !
I think Tracey and I may be closer in spirit on the tennis court. When I get frustrated with my play (i.e., constantly) I just grip the racquet tighter and tighter until I have totally paralyzed my forearm and it hurts for days. Strangely enough, it doesn’t help my game, either. And my husband likes to play target practice, alternately hitting my forehead and my ankles as hard as he can. He’s not a cruel man, but he’s just a competitive as I am.
Still, on those rare occasions when you are hitting well and consistently, there is nothing like it, is there? Such a release. When I was going through a very painful divorce (years ago) my overhead smash was without parallel and downright dangerous.
Wondering what I am going to be for Holloween, as it is coming. And what will you do/be?. It should be fun to see what people do on Facebook.
I think the anonimous peoples are funny because they want to be read, but they do not want you to know who they are. I guess it is okay.
Yes, indeed, Uncle Sull is the anonymous commenter! I usually forget to fill out the form before sending. Now, I’ve checked the box that will remember me, so there won’t be any doubt about who’s tossing some of the bombs and tidbits!
Welcome back Uncle Sull! We love your bombs and tidbits. We also love stirring you up a bit
Hi Uncle Sull!!!!!
Uncle Sull:
. And yes, it is an annoying thing to have to fill out your name and your mail address every time you want to say something and as a consequence, easy to forget.
But we love you!. I mean, I do not think for a second that Ann just wants all in agreement about stuff; I think she likes other points of view too!
I know I am full of ‘principle’, so please, make necessary adjustments…:)
A tennis haiku for Ann (her words, my mind):
Forehand. Now backhand.
Hit the ball in the sweet spot.
Again. And again.
Alan,
Kudos on the Ann Haiku. Well done
Here’s mine to describe my experience with tennis:
Your eyes’ on the ball
It is coming straight for you
For Chrissake, duck…duck!
Catherine
OMG, Ann, I just read your Sarah Palin tweets. Sooo good!! I’m a total Twitter-phobe, but I’m glad I signed up now.
Ann I like your determination. I give you a lot of credit for taking lessons and really trying to be better at the game. You will no doubt improve your skills and those girls will kill to have you as their partner!
You always make me laugh, Ann. Tennis is harder than it looks. I took lessons many years ago, but quit playing after doing an embarrassing and painful body-slide across the concrete in which I removed most of the skin from my right arm. Now I consider it a spectator sport.
Lupe, I love that you’re already planning your Halloween costume. I don’t really participate now that the kids are older. And hate Halloween parties. People feel so much more comfortable being jerks when they’re in a costume. ANd drunk.
Catherine, you kill me. lololol
After reading Catherine’s post about your tweets on Sarah Palin I just had to sign up for twitter (Catherine’s my sister from another mother after all!). Don’t panic everyone, I’m not twittering, I just have an account so that I can follow (stalk???) Ann on twitter on their website.
The Sarah Palin tweets are hilarious, very witty. I do have to ask what the heck this one is about though:
‘re kitten/knife. When they stop suckling on your earlobe. And can balance on the back of your broom. Just personal experience.’
Um, I don’t even know what to make of that. lololol
Tracy, some of the tweets are responses to other tweets. That was a response to @badbanana (he’s funny, follow him). He had tweeted something about getting a new kitten and when can you teach them to carry knives. Hmmm. Doesn’t seem so funny now. I guess you had to be there
Gack! Isn’t it awful that no matter how old we get, we still feel like the fat clumsy kid that gets picked last for kick ball in grade school.
Want to share what we played at while little.
It was a wondrous world, it felt that way. My mother would comb our hair, parted in the middle and two long braids to the sides. Dressed and fed, (she made our clothing) we were alowed to the patio area in the tenemment housing building.
There was jumping rope, whereby you had to be quick on your feet, the tempo changed, the song changed, the steps changed depending on what you were jumping at. We had our own songs. You could land on one foot, switch between, or the other foot. You could land on both feet. You may have to stay up longer so that the rope would go around twice, you may have to step twice as the rope would take longer to go around. If you screwed up, you did not get to jump but rather do the ‘roping’ (reason why it was so challenging to jump because the ‘ropers’ were pissed off as they had messed up!.
We played with bonis, which are the pins with the lovely round glass tops, the kinds of blues, reds, yellows, a combination of them… magentas, alizarim crimsons, cobalt blues… you name it, they existed. The best part was go buy some with mother (and there was not much money for stuff). But to see the lovely creatures in your hand, was beautiful.
The game involved making a mound of fine sand, burying the bonis inside, and taking turns throw a special smooth stone we also collected, into the mound and see how many bonis you won!. If you tried to cheat, you were OUT. (like if you threw your stone sideways so the whole mound would go, AND all the bonis show up and won them all, kind of a thing).
To hold the bonis in our posession, we would fold newspaper pages, into exact rectangles, making it into an accordeon-like fold(s) and then flattening it into one strip. We did two of those (laborious and requiring lots of dexterity). And then we would intertwine the two trips into a neat square, the edges being the SPOT where we would display our pretty bonis!. I love that game!!. Too bad I grew up, huh?.
We also made outfits for our dolls. Not that I felt too motherly towards the stiff plastic dolls, but my mother taught me how to make a shirt. Never mind that at first I just took a square of fabric, made two holes for the arms and stuck it on the doll, stitching the back with large ugly stitches in some sort of colored thread I found. When my mother saw that she said it was pretty god, YET, there was a better way: I graduated to stitching one square to two rectangles, WITH an opening for the arms and back to the ugly stiching in the back. That was wonderful too, my mother said, BUT there was still a better way…
Conclusion? is that I can sew from looking at a dress, into a pattern in my head and so on. But those were the beginnings.
I also learned how to crochet from a teacher named Senorita Teresa. She could crochet with the finest of the threads and really fast. She would make these rosettes from heaven itself. I would watch her (at school) as if transfixed. Today I can crochet JUST like she did, Senorita Teresa, wherever you are!.
And we had no behaviour problems at all. We got up, we had breakfast, we were taken to the park or played outside with other children, we played rope jumping, we made doll dresses, we came in for lunch (that mother just made), we were allowed outside some more. We went to church, we went to confession, I could not figure out what I was guilty of because the preacher said I was born in sin. Could not make sense out of the guy (priest). What is the point of praying, I would ask, if I already did something wrong like being born in sin?. And he would say:”repentance”. “But I do not remember what I did”. The priest would say that I was crucifying Christ by doubting his word. Since I could not figure out what he was referring to, I would decide to go out and play some more. Then I refused the confession bit ~ was 11 ~.
And that, you did what you were told, and we had no problems with concentration or attitude or behaviour, we did not run away, we asked before we went out, we knew we did not have much money and that others were better off, but left it at that, kind of like accepting the weather patterns. Out of growing up in a large city, I was early able to maneuver the bus and underground system like it was nothing, handbags and high heels and all, rain or shine. I think you learn well what you are exposed to.
Do NOT let the tenis experts influence your learning curve, Ann. Allow them to display their greatness, learn from it and enjoy the game. We all get in (whatever the skill) at different times, that is all!.
Wow, Lupe, what a vivid picture you paint. Remind us again where you grew up…I know it was in Spain but not sure where. These bonis – I can’t quite picture them, I don’t think we had that kind of game, but I LOVED jump rope when I was a kid. Also, we played hopscotch endlessly in the playground at one of my childhood schools. I was terrified in the confessional. Your mother sounds so lovely.
Yes, Lupe, can you find a picture on the net anywhere that shows what this bonis looks like, sure sounds interesting.
We had marbles and made a game out of that, throwing little glass balls into a pothole dug in the earth. Your bonis reminds a bit of that.
Oh the days of the confessional, such a cruel thing to put a child thru!!
: )
Lupe, I love what you wrote. It seems that times were a lot simpler when we were younger. I, too, learned how to sew and crochet when I was younger…in the third grade. Now I wish I had time to do both. It is wonderful to create something out of nothing … thread… fabric… lace… yarn… needles… When my daughter was in prekindergarten I made her her first two ballet skirts/wraps. She loved them and told everyone in the class that I made them just for her!!!
I grew up in New York City and I too was able to make my way through the subway and buses and streets at a very young age. My children have not had that kind of experience. In many ways they have had a very sheltered life; which isn’t good. We live in CT and the only transportation they have is the school bus or a car. They are too young to drive. They can’t walk anywhere except to our mailbox or to a neighbor’s house. My husband and I take them down to NYC a lot and we hope those visits open up their eyes a bit. Oh, by the way, my husband’s family lives in Orense, Spain.
Christine
My fondest childhood memory is of a shiny, midnight blue cape my mother hand made for me. It was just a thin piece of silk-like material with strips that allowed me to tie it on. I could tie it around my waist and twirl and dance and be a prima ballerina. I could walk and watch it flow behind me like a fancy evening gown. I could tie it around my shoulders and be Cinderella at the ball with her cape draped around her. I could tie it around my neck and be Supergirl. I could tie it around my head and be a nun! I could drag it along the carpet and pretend it was a flowing river. It was the simplest little garment, but it was worth more than gold to me.
Thank you Lupe for helping me remember.
These are MY bonis
)
http://www.barcelonaphotoblog.com/2009/09/bobbin-lace-pins.html
They are used to make lace. Latter on I learned to make lace!! and my then husband was convinced I was out of my mind to spend time doing just that. We were in Vermont.
See? Different strokes (skills) for different folks. Or something like that.
And Ann, yes my mom was nice
Ann
I am including some youtube video on lace making!. You see, while trying to figure out how did this work, or could it?? you had NO time for discontent or mischief. And it is a lovely thing when indeed, you KNOW how to work it.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=OL5EZqc6peY
And here is another one!
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=uKPDGJsNZo8&feature=related
Okay so this one is in German..
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=DgpdRJyYDuk&feature=related
THIS ONE comes from near Orense.. (Galicia)
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Z5Hy4H-esVc&feature=related
Food for thought.. or something
As a 3.5 tennis player who took up the game when I was in my mid 30s, playing with folks better than you will make you a better player. Finding a good coach is also fantastic, especially one who drills you over and over while pointing out what you’re doing wrong. I’ve been to some pros who do the drills but then compliment me on how good I am. I don’t want to hear that. I want to hear, “move your feet….you’re late meeting the ball…step into it…keep moving.” Don’t worry about your partners, Ann. The better players will love the challenge of pairing with a “weaker” player. It makes the victory that much sweeter.
When I was a child, I was sent to “day camp” (vs. overnight camp) in the summertime. It was at my school, well, my brother’s school, actually, which was located across the street from mine. A big, classical-looking edifice with lots of room indoors and lots of facilities outdoors. I didn’t really want to go to day camp. I just wanted to ride horses, but there weren’t any horses at this urban school-cum-summer day camp. Bummer. I had begun to learn to ride when I was 9. So, grudgingly, I went to camp during the week in July and August and continued my riding lessons on the weekends. We played games – softball, volleyball, and other sort of neat sports like archery and, yes, tennis. I didn’t mind tennis. I actually became fairly good at it for a kid, but I really didn’t want to be at day camp at all. I just wanted to ride horses, but there weren’t any horses at this urban private school-cum-summer day camp. Bummer. I had begun to learn to ride when I was 9, so about the same time that I was forced into summer camphood. So, grudgingly, I went to camp on weekdays in July and August and continued my riding lessons on the weekends. I lived for the weekends. So, Ann, knock yourself out at tennis if you must, but keep one thing in mind. Lots of people can play tennis, but only some of us can actually ride and we’ll likely be doing that long after the tennis players have succumbed to some tennis-induced, stress-related joint injury. I’ll take the horses any day.
Oops – sorry for the repetition (and I’m supposed to be an editor – yikes), but you get the drift. Tally ho!