I never stopped. Is there a reward for a crazy plunge from one thing to another until you have no more muscle left in you?
The morning was hardly exhilarating. I cleaned the condo. Unremarkable.
But after, it was all about the outdoors. I took out my freshly spiffed up bike and pedaled over to Ed’s farmette. A 2009 first. Very brown out there, on the path, sure, but still, mightn’t one imagine that we’re at the cusp of something brighter? (Never mind that there still are patches of snow from the previous season.)
It doesn’t end there. I attacked Ed’s raspberry patch. And the bamboo patch. And the flower beds we tried to create last year in between fields of weed.
Ed was in his element. Give him some fallen brush and spent raspberry stalks and he’ll bring out his ancient John Deere and ride like a person who never can fathom his luck at living here, rather than, say, in New York.
The afternoon fades. We take out Wal-Mart tennis gear and head for the local park.
Your back hand? It needs a little effort.
(Earlier, we watched U-Tubes with backhand tutorials. Obviously it didn’t help me. Or, is it that it’s my second day out on the courts?)
My serve puts the ball right where it’s easy. So, why aren’t you rallying to the task?
And thus we play until dusk.
When my legs, arms, neck, and back can't take it anymore, we call it quits, get huge burritos at Chipotle's and go home.