Tennis Rules

Sitting here watching the Australian Open is an absolute joy. It makes me happy to see these athletes battle it out. They amaze me.

I love tennis. I don't know why, but I have always loved tennis. Even when I was young, and I was supposed to be single-minded on music, I wanted to be good at tennis. I wasn't good at it, but I played all summer long with my other friends who also were not particularly good at it. We used to love to go watch our friends who were good. Some of the tennis players at my high school were beautiful players. I was sure that I would be watching them on the big screen one day. The ones I'm thinking of got college scholarships.  They were really good, but they were not as good as the ones I'm watching on TV right now. Tennis is funny, in that, no matter how good you are, there is always someone who is a whole level better than you. If that isn't true today, it will be true before long. Even the best in the world can't help but hear the footsteps of those chasing them. The good news is that there is always somebody worse, too! In this country there are so many opportunities to play tennis. Everyone on our family can play tennis, which is great. Geoff played in college and I was always his biggest fan.

I live in Charleston, SC, now, the 2010 'Best Tennis Town in America.' There is so much tennis here. I love tennis. I really do, but seriously, it can be overwhelming. Get this: In the spring we have our adult league team tennis.  If you are over fifty, like me, you can also play seniors. My senior team went to state last spring. It was in Hilton Head. Nice.  In the early summer, there's mixed doubles (and senior mixed doubles.) Men and women on the same team. Very popular. Then comes the  'combo' and senior combo doubles league. This is where one plays with a partner of a different level. The two levels must add up to no more than the number of the league. My 8.5 combo team won our local and state competitions last summer. In March we will all go to Mobile, AL together to compete against other state winners from the Southern section. Normally the sectional champions go to nationals. I have lots of friends who have been to nationals, but I've never been to nationals. I've come so close...at least three times in the finals of sectionals. Hmmm....bucket list? I think so. After the combo season there are fall adult and senior leagues. Oh yeah, there is also a singles league in there somewhere, there's CALTA (Charleston Area Ladies Tennis Association), and there are tournaments throughout the year.  I am sure I have missed something.  I did. I forgot super seniors. 'Super seniors' league is for those over sixty. There may be Uber Seniors, but I'm not sure.... If we tennis-playing baby boomers have our way, there will be! Can you see how people become obsessed? I used to be obsessed. I admit it. I would lose sleep over upcoming or (even worse) previous matches. It is no fun to lie in bed trying to find the rewind button so you can have another chance at that one shot that seemingly cost you the match. Can you imagine what it must be like for these girls I'm watching right now in the Australian Open?

As with everything, tennis has it's ups and it's downs. Besides the cute tennis outfits, on the upside, it's good exercise and it's fun. If it weren't fun, I assure you I wouldn't love it. Fun is good. Is it always fun? Of course not. There are downsides, remember? Sometimes, because I have committed to one of these various team tennis opportunities, I have to go out and play tennis when I would rather not. I don't enjoy playing tennis as much when it's forty degrees or when it's ninety-five and humid as I do when it's seventy degrees.  Losing is definitely less fun than winning. But the older I get the more I truly appreciate the battle, and not just the outcome. The older I get the more injuries I seem to get too, but that's just part of it. Speaking of getting older, where else do you get rewarded for it? In league tennis, no matter how old you get, there's a place just for you. And those young whipper-snappers aren't invited into your league! Tennis is truly a sport for a lifetime.

Here is a picture from the day I had to say good-bye to some of my BFFs in Oklahoma. It was August, 2009. This was our senior team and we had just lost in the final match at sectionals. I lost my match. It was  hard. If my partner and I had won our match we would have gone to nationals. I was sad that we lost and I was sad that I had to say good-bye to these dear friends. I had already moved to Charleston, and had flown back to Oklahoma for the tournament.

That brings me to maybe the best thing about tennis. Friendships. I truly could go on and on with this part. In fact, just the thought makes my eyes burn from the flood of warm memories over the years. I recall faces and hugs too numerous to count. I smell sunscreen and menthol. I hear the sound of the ball coming off the strings. I hear the squeaking tennis shoes. I remember road trips, lessons, matches, parties, tournaments, victories and defeats. I spy wrist braces, elbow braces and knee braces. I taste the ice cold water and gatorade. I see outdoor courts, indoor courts, and clay courts. I think of my friends in tennis skirts, tank tops, hats and visors. I see us growing older together. We might be opponents one season and teammates the next. We start out as doubles partners and become prayer partners. We take our tennis seriously. We fight for every point. Sometimes we get mad at each other, but when push comes to shove, we take care of each other. Tennis has brought me some of my closest friends on the planet. 

So, to my 'old' team tennis buddies in Columbia and Tulsa, my 'tennis mom' friends, 'my girls' from Oklahoma Wesleyan, my 'Family Circle gang', and my newest tennis friends here in Charleston....

Much love. 

 

The Day the World Stopped

It was cold outside, but I was snuggled in my cozy bed in my beautiful old dorm room, if that is what you could call it. It was  more like large guest bedroom in an old mansion. Life was good. I was a freshman at Marietta College. I had managed to find the balance between practicing the piano for hours, getting my work done to make As and Bs in my classes, pledging Sigma Kappa, attending fraternity parties, supporting the football team, spending time with my boyfriend, and making the thirteen-mile drive back and forth from 'my house', where my parents were always there for me. I was one of those weird eighteen-year olds who actually loved and appreciated my parents. My mom and dad loved each other all the time. They still went on dates. My dad came home for lunch. My mom always tried to look beautiful for 'her Jimmy.' My dad was not a man of many words, but when he spoke everyone listened. He was wise. He was kind, but he was strict. Everybody who knew my dad had a deep respect for him. And I dare say that most had an inexplicable love for him, even if they didn't know him well. Those of us who were privileged enough to know him and be loved my him...well we were the luckiest people in the whole world. And we loved him beyond words. Dad always had my back. No matter what, I knew that. He gave me that sense of security that all little girls crave. I knew that I was loved. I was protected. I had everything I  needed, because he worked hard to be sure of that. He always slipped me a little extra cash when I would go out. When I was going on a date, he would slip me a twenty, wink, and say, "Here's your 'mad money'. If you get mad, you can always call a cab and come home."

So on that  morning, January 17th, 1975, my dad's fifty-third birthday, when I was awakened by my sister, Roxanne, and my dear friend, Jan, I smiled and said, "Hi! What are you doing here?" Nothing could have prepared me for the horrible, heart-smashing, nauseating answer. I still shake and cry at the thought of it. "Dad....", Roxanne said. "He....had a heart attack."

That was it. He was gone. He was fine one minute, and then he was gone. He was only fifty-two years old the day before, and, as was their custom on Thursdays, he and Mom had gone out for lunch.

 I remember screaming and crying and having a few people come give me hugs, but other than that I don't remember much. I don't remember the drive to Parkersburg. I don't remember walking into my house.

That day the world stopped.

Nothing made sense. Everything I saw was through the blurred vision of tears and confusion. I couldn't feel anything. I was numb. Except I remember feeling frustrated and angry at the rest of the world for going on. Why were people laughing and telling jokes? Why were they getting dressed up and going to parties? Why were they playing football? Singing?  The world had stopped. Didn't they know that?

 The funeral was a blur. People came in droves to honor my father. I was not surprised, but I still appreciate it to this day.

Everything changed in a flash. My young, beautiful, happy mother was a widow. She was devastated. I knew she needed for me to be strong. She had always been strong for me. It was my turn. I wanted so much to be strong for her. I also knew that I had to go back to school. In order to honor my dad, and all that he did for me, and all that he wanted for me, I had to go on. I had to learn how to answer people who asked me, 'Who's your daddy?' without falling apart. But the truth is, the next two years I made a lot of mistakes. In fact, if I could tear out a couple of pages from the annals of my life, I would probably choose those, because I was a mess.

But I made it. By the grace of God I made it. I mean that with all my heart. I didn't know it at the time, but God himself was watching over me with love. Little by little he drew me to himself. He revealed himself to me by bringing people into my life who knew him. He taught me how to study his Word. I learned to trust in Him, and I am full of joy because of His promises. He has promised me that because of Jesus, I am forgiven. I am His. Forever.  I know that I will not only see my daddy again someday, but I will be with him for all eternity.

My momma is 89 now. She still has not even looked twice at another man. She still dresses up and hopes to make 'her Jimmy' proud. With every day she feels a little older, and a little bit closer to receiving the promises. Someday the world is going to stop again, but I will know this time, that this world is not all there is.  I don't know exactly how it's going to be in heaven, but I know that it's going to be great.

'...Having believed, you were marked in him with a seal, the promised Holy Spirit, who is a deposit guaranteeing our inheritance until the redemption of those who are God's possession--to the praise of  his glory.' Ephesians 1:13-14

Do what you like. Like what you do.

There is something inspiring about a person who has a positive, enthusiastic attitude.

It is really lovely when you find someone who is positively passionate about their work. Right off the bat I'm thinking of you, Rod (Discipleship), Karla (teaching/loving others), PR (teaching tennis), JL (guiding fly-fishing) , Cassie (compassionate nursing) and Smitty (teaching downhill skiing.)

Here are a few stories that have inspired me lately:

Last year I called Southwest Airlines because I was having trouble booking a complicated trip online. It was expensive and I wanted to use some frequent flyer funds. The agent could have easily given me the deep sigh and the rigmarole, but she didn't. In fact, she said, 'I am sure I can help you. Give me your information and let's see how we can save you some money.' By the time she was finished, she had saved me over 900 dollars! Wow! What was cool was that she seemed almost as excited about it as I was. She loved her job.

 A couple weeks ago I had to call the Berkeley County Tax Office because when we got our property tax bill we almost fainted. I expected the worst, but the lady who helped me was amazing. She told me that we needed to fill out a form that she would mail me immediately and our tax bill would be much less. She was very helpful, and she seemed glad to do it. Yesterday we got a big refund check in the mail. Nice.

For the past five years our family has been blown away by the warmth and the, 'What can we do to make your day better,' attitude of the Roaring Fork Club staff in Basalt, Colorado and the Roaring Fork Mountain Club at Snowmass. They set the bar really high when it comes to service. Thank you, Teri, Jan, Cindy, Marian, Chris, Nancy, Amy, JL, Dede, Steve, David, Stephanie, Karen, Jim, (Ted, Kakie,) and so many others, for always making us feel special.

Here'a another example: Thanksgiving 2008. I worked 9AM-9PM in the ER. I went home, grabbed a snack, packed a bag, got in Geoff's little car and headed southeast at 11 PM. He needed his car in Fort Bragg, NC, and I promised to drive it to him. I drove 4 hours and slept for four hours. I still had sixteen hours to go, but when I got up I had two flat tires! I called Geoff and he told me that they leaked air sometimes, so I drove next door to the gas station, aired them up and hit the road. I kept checking them and they kept losing air, and by the time I got to East Memphis I was getting nervous. I was praying for the Lord to help me. I finally pulled into a tire store. When I walked in I saw that they were busy. It was Friday of Thanksgiving weekend, and I wondered if they would laugh at me for showing up without an appointment. A man asked if he could help me. I said, 'I hope so.' I briefly told him the story. He didn't miss a beat. He looked at one of his mechanics and said, 'Take that car down and put this lady's car up there right now.' I couldn't believe it. The tears welled up in my eyes and I squeaked out a 'thank you so much.' He checked the car out thoroughly, and refused to sell me more than two tires, because, he explained, 'the other two are fine, and I'm not going to sell you something you don't need.' He assured me that I would be safe all the way to Fort Bragg, and sent me on my way. As I was driving through Alabama I was reflecting on what he did for me: He made me feel like I was important and worth his time and effort. He listened to my problem and went to work to fix it. I realized that I, as an ER nurse, had the opportunity to do the same thing for my patients. This man from Tennessee inspired me to be better at my job.

Then there's Smitty. I mentioned Smitty in my first blog and promised there would be more to follow. Smitty has been a ski instructor for forty years. He is, in my opinion, a the poster boy for the slogan, 'Do what you like. Like what you do.' He loves to help folks learn to ski so they will love to ski. His enthusiasm is contagious. His wife tells him that it's a good thing he gets paid to do it, because he would do it for free. He smiles and agrees. When we ski with Smitty we smile a lot too.

Here's to all the Smittys out there!

Mountains and Valleys

Life, it seems, is a bit unpredictable. Sometimes we're on top of the mountain with a clear view. Other times we feel like we're stuck in the valley looking up at insurmountable obstacles.

Last year our family experienced some time in the valley. Geoff was in Afghanistan with the U.S. Army 2nd Battalion 503rd infantry, 173rd Airborne Brigade. Sean was waiting tables as he applied to law schools. Mike was getting his feet wet as the new Anesthesiology director at a new hospital in a new town. Mike and I were trying to sell property in Colorado so we could buy something in Charleston. (We rented for a year or so.)  My mom and Mike's mom, at ages 89 and 90, respectively,  were trying to adjust to their new surroundings here in Mount Pleasant.  And I, as wife, mother, daughter, and daughter-in-law, was busy being the prayer warrior, the cheerleader, the nurse, the chauffeur, the homemaker, the house hunter, and the gimpy tennis player.

And the Lord was with us through it all.

A blessing that I received as a result of Geoff's deployment was a whole new group of friends that I call my 'army girlfriends.' I doubt if the designers of Facebook could have imagined that their online social network would be an avenue of love and support between ladies who had never met, but all shared a common burden. Little by little we found each other...moms, wives, sisters, and girlfriends of men in the 173rd airborne Brigade who were deployed to Afghanistan. We were from South Carolina, Colorado, Mississippi, Texas, Georgia, Pennsylvania, West Virginia, Virginia, Ohio, Indiana, Alabama, New York, North Carolina, Utah.....you name it! We lifted each other up, held each other up, cried with each other, laughed with each other, and supported each other in ways that only we could. If one of us received good news, we shared it and did what we called, 'happy dances.' If bad news came, we shared that too. We cried for and with each other, and prayed for each other and for the guys. One of the moms put a prayer list together and sent us all a copy. One of the girls got engaged during the deployment. We all rejoiced. She and her soldier were married in December. We all celebrated. Some of us were rookies and others were veterans. Those with previous experience helped the rest of us navigate through one of the toughest assignments we will ever face. When Geoff returned to Italy a couple of the wives went out of their way to see that he had everything he needed.  This group of ladies will always have a special place in my heart.

Other big turnarounds:

In April Geoff came home for two weeks and some dear friends and family members came to see him and celebrate with us.

Not only did I make a lot of new friends here in the '2010 Best Tennis Town in America,' two of my teams made it to the state playoffs, and my 8.5 combo team won.  I finally got my wrist fixed in June, which really helped. Playing tennis a lot more fun when it doesn't hurt every time you hit the ball!

Last September, after almost two years on the market, the Colorado property sold, and we bought a new home on Daniel Island.

From time to time Geoff would call me on Skype and I would get to see his face. Those moments were more precious than anything money can buy. And then, finally, after eleven long months, Geoff left Afghanistan! He also got new orders: He'll be moving to Fort Polk, in Louisiana in April.

In December, Sean finished his first semester at Loyola Chicago School of Law. He loves law school, and he loves living in downtown Chicago.

Both boys came home for Christmas, and being together as a family was the only gift that really mattered. We enjoyed our time together in Charleston, but the ski trip was epic. We all agreed that it was one of the best weeks ever for our family.

On Friday, the last day of our ski trip, at the top of our last run, we all stopped just above Sneaky's glade, where the view is majestic beyond words. It was a moment full of awe, reverence, and thanksgiving. We didn't say much, except, 'Thank you, Lord'... four hearts in one accord. 

Nicknames

Do you like nicknames? That may depend on how that nickname makes you feel inside. I tend to like them. I tend to use them, and I like it when people call me a nickname. It makes me feel like we're buddies, not just acquaintances.
I have a lot of nicknames. My friend, Denise, reminded me this morning that I have one nickname that is used only by a very select group of friends. Even though it is an awkward little nickname, I love it, because I know they love me. It's 'Weenie.' Yep. Weenie. That's what they call me. It is actually a nickname in a nickname. It is short for Charleenieweenie. I like to end my correspondence with these girlfriends by signing, "Love, Weeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeenie." It's fun. Within our little group, who has attended the Family Circle Cup Tennis Tournament together for about 25 years now, we have a lot of nicknames: 'BonBon', 'DonDon', 'Herc', 'Jannipoo',' Little Kat', and 'Beezer'. Since BonBon and Jannipoo have recently become grandmothers, I have added the names NanaBon and Nannipoo to the list.  I'm not sure if they will stick or not. Not all nicknames stick, thankfully.
When I was a child, my sister and one of our close family friends nicknamed me, 'Spill it, Drop it, Break it.' I'm glad that didn't stick. However, I have told enough people that story that it sometimes surfaces, when appropriate. It's true. I can be a klutz. (They might have added, "Lose it" to the list, for accuracy.)
Nicknames that I have had or still have: 'Charlie' (my favorite), 'Chuck' (love it), Stinker (my daddy called me this and my husband uses it...how can I not love it?), Winker (It rhymes with stinker, and it is used only by my husband, Mike,) and, the latest one: 'Char', used by my friend Tammy and any new tennis friend to whom she introduces me.  I have had my first name, Helen, used as a nickname, by Mike's best friend, Steve. He calls me this when he thinks I'm being cranky. It's much better than what he calls Mike when he thinks Mike is being cranky. Ha ha. I may have nicknames that I'm not aware of...
That brings me to the difference between nicknames we use as endearing and those we use behind someone's back. I don't have a problem with nicknaming a complete stranger, as I am trying to capture the hilariousness of the moment. Like, 'Hey, check out, 'Elvis' over there".... But I do have a problem with nicknames that are used as a private little joke that is meant to harm someone else, as in,  "Here she comes, 'Miss Brownnoser', as your co-worker is walking towards your group. Not good.
Just sayin....
Back to the endearing  names. When I was little, I called my mother 'Mommy', and my father, 'Daddy'. When I become a teenager, I changed them to 'Mom' and 'Dad', for obvious reasons. I wanted to be cool. Now that my mother is 89 years old, she is 'Mama.' And even though my father is in heaven, he is most definitely  'Daddy' again. I don't care about cool now. I just want to call them the most endearing thing possible.
I love it when my kids call me Mom or Mama. I just love to hear their voices.
My kids got nicknames early in life. I called Sean 'Sean Bear' for a lot of reasons. I love teddy bears, for one. He loved Care Bears for another. (Sorry, Sean...the hazards of having a blogging mother!) I still call him Sean Bear, and he is fine with it, because he knows it's a term of endearment. Now that he is in law school, I sometimes refer to him as, 'Judge'. Not that he is opinionated, or anything... (Side note: Sean has now spent one third of his life in the Chicago area, and is a very passionate Chicago Bears fan.)
Geoff was a very active child. He bounced and jumped at every opportunity, reminding me of a kangaroo. Thus the nickname, 'Geofferoo', which was quickly shortened most of the time to, simply, 'Roo.' His name is actually, Geoffrey, which is what he was called until he was fourteen, at which time he gave himself the nickname, 'Geoff'.' We honored it, and that is what everyone calls him now. He chose to become our protector and has since spent eleven months in Afghanistan, so now I sometimes just call him, 'Hero.' I can get by with that, because he would never see himself as such.
Mike is my husband and his real name is Michael. He likes Mike better, but he doesn't mind when I call him Michael. I sometimes call him, 'Mikey,' but he isn't much in for nicknames. Some people aren't. If you are female, though,  he will likely call you, 'Hun', at some point, which means he likes you, so please don't get all feminist on him and be offended, for heaven's sake.
The member of our family with the most nicknames by far is our little dog, Rudy. He is a pomeranian, and he's the fluffiest, most animated, intelligent, and needy dog we have ever had. We got him from the Animal Rescue Foundation, who had named him, 'Rascal.' We changed it immediately to Rudy, but I call him a lot of things: 'Wiggidy-Wag', 'Fluffty-Puff', 'Cutie-Patootie', 'Rudy-Rude', 'McRudy', 'Bugaboo','Boomer-Spooner',  and others. While we are gone this week, we have a fun, energetic, young lady staying at the house with Rudy. She has given him a new nickname, 'Fizgig', after a character in a fantasy movie by Jim Henson called, 'The Dark Crystal.' She sent me a video clip of this little character and I laughed out loud.
A text from her yesterday: Squirrel-1, Fizgig-0.
Hilarious.

Love,
Charlene

a.k.a., Charlie, Chuck, Weenie, Helen, Char, Winker, Stinker, or Spill-it-Drop-it-Break-it

I blog!

This is my very first blog. The question begs: Why blog? There are probably as many reasons as there are bloggers. My reasons may vary from time to time. The truth is, there have been a lot of times in recent past that I have said, 'I should have a blog...'
I love to tell stories. I love to laugh at the everyday hilariousness of life.  It isn't always possible. Sometimes life just hurts too much, but when possible, I'll take smiles over frowns any day....even if those smiles are through tears.
Blogging is risky. When we blog we become an open book. I will assuredly write about my passions, and those may make some people uncomfortable. But this is my blog.  As I write, I invite you into my thoughts, my views, my joys, my burdens, my passions, and my heart.
A friend told me years ago that, "a joy shared is a joy multiplied and a burden shared is a burden divided."
Well, let's do some multiplication!
I am so happy right now. Our whole family is together in Colorado. We're in a cozy cabin at the Roaring Fork Club watching football. There is a warm fire in the fireplace. Note: family+football+fireplace= JOY!!! The past two days we have skied as a family (Geoff actually rides a snowboard.) Yesterday we skied with Smitty...oh how we love to ski with Smitty. More on Smitty later. For now, just know that it's impossible to have a bad day when you ski with Smitty. 
I didn't grow up skiing, and had no interest in learning. I can thank Mike for changing all of that, but that's a different blog.
Some highlights from our first three days on the slopes:
This morning as we were going up the lift, we all marveled at the frozen crystals glistening in the air through filtered sunshine. It was magical.
Yesterday we skied a very difficult run that had gotten the best of me two years ago. I kicked it's butt yesterday. Boo yah. (For those of you who know Snowmass...it was AMF.)
Sunday Mike and I saw some wispy clouds refract the light from the sun and turn all the colors of the rainbow. Amazing.
Yesterday Mike apparently forgot that Geoff is 26 years old and just got back from defending our country from the Taliban. He told Geoff to put sunscreen on his nose...and touched his nose....as if Geoff didn't know what his nose was. LOL. Sean and I fell out of our chairs laughing.
Geoff got his board stuck in the snow yesterday going through the trees. Sean laughed.  Sean fell over for no apparent reason. Geoff laughed.  I skied well and then fell down walking down the sidewalk. We all laughed...
Here's to laughter!

Charlene