The Drop Shot

In honor of the U.S. Open Tennis Tournament returning to New York City this week – one of my all-time favorite sporting events to watch – I thought I’d take this opportunity to post about a significant tennis moment in my life. The “anniversary” of this event is coming up, but it really feels like it only happened yesterday. Unfortunately.

My wife and I have not played tennis since.

The incident if ever recounted, is done so in hushed tones.

The wife and I were playing tennis at least once a week. Never in a competitive way, mind you. We simply went out for an hour or so sticking to the baselines, volleying back and forth.

That is…until “The Drop Shot.”

It was an early weeknight when we took to the court. The temperature was 70F. No wind to speak of. No one playing on the court next to us…although there were a couple of guys playing on the court one removed from where we were, so periodically we had to serve as ball persons for each other’s play. Otherwise, absolutely perfect conditions for twilight tennis on a well-kept, public court.

We were about a half-hour into play when it occurred. Mind you, we always kept score even though our shared goal was to extend points, get some good exercise, and enjoy the outdoors.

My wife, a pretty good field hockey player back in her day, was actually beating me in this particular game. She had just returned my shot from deep in her far corner when I executed “The Drop Shot.”

To this day, my wife insists it was because I was losing and consciously wanted to win the point by hitting my shot to land just over the net. My claim to this day is my competitive mind and muscles simply converged in the moment, and I subconsciously went for a winning shot. It was without a doubt the greatest drop shot I’ve ever hit.

It was also my last.

My wife, reacting to my shortened stroke and immediately setting aside our mutual goal to take things easy, attempted to sprint all the way from the back court in a spectacularly athletic yet predictably futile fashion to reach the ball in time.

Futile intersected with fall.

My wife went down several feet from the net in a full-on, concrete face plant.

I thought she was dead.

Mind you I was gratified to have won the point, but I decided to check on my wife first before retrieving the ball. As I got to her, she was rolling onto her side and making low, unintelligible sounds…which indicated she was, a) alive and, b) able to move.

“You OK? What hurts?

“My hand.”

“Just your hand. Great!”

“Great? No, not great. It hurts. A lot. I think I BROKE it.”

This is when I switched into ultra-positive mode. Knowing my wife as I do, it would be important to assure her she was OK, and that hand of hers would be fine with some rest and TLC. She’s as tough a trooper as I know, but in accident situations with anyone I always feel it is important to deflate any thoughts of potentially more serious injuries. Getting stressed about what may or may be wrong certainly doesn’t make anyone feel any better.

It did seem like her hand did take the brunt of the impact with the court. This was a good thing, because her head was next in line if that hand had not been extended to break her fall. The question now…was the hand actually BROKEN?

I quickly got her to her feet and into our car so, if nothing else, to reassure those guys playing nearby a hearse would indeed not be required. There was some concern on my part they might have seen my wife’s plunge.

I drove her to a Wawa convenience store (one we don’t normally frequent) to get some much-needed ice for her injury. I left her in the car briefly, returning as quickly as I could with an ice-cold drink for her, ice for her hand…and a TV Guide.

“You thought about the TV Guide during THIS?”

“It’s next week’s edition. I got it early!”

Uh-oh. She’s not laughing anymore.

Moments later, as I was getting her cooled down and set-up in a more comfortable position for the drive home, I was trying to adjust the angle of her seat to make her a bit more comfortable…when I almost made her horizontal as the seat control got away from me.

She actually managed a laugh about that, watching me being flustered getting the seat corrected.

Good sign. Laughter really IS the best medicine.

Until the next day of course, when her hand looked like one of those cartoon character balloons in the Macy’s Thanksgiving Parade.

Off to the doctor. Then the hospital. Multiple X-rays. No break. Bad sprain. Two weeks of rest.

Since then…conversations of “The Drop Shot” usually go like this:

“You know you hit that shot on purpose.”

“I did not. I just reacted in the moment. It was simply instinct. You were so far away, and the shot was there for the taking. I never thought you’d actually try to go get it. I didn’t mean to almost kill you.”

“Well, you almost did.”

“Again, I’m sorry. You know, I really thought you were dead for a second there. I’ll never forget that sight. It was awful.”

“I still can’t believe you bought that TV Guide.”

“I got it early!”

“Idiot.”

🎾

 

Picture Courtesy iStock

Living In The Moment

I was cleaning off some excess grass from the lawn mower in the front yard a couple days ago when I saw a man and his dog walking on the other side of the street…headed in my direction. They were too far away to say hello, and I was headed back into the garage anyway to get some iced tea I had there.

It had been like mowing on the sun…should have just hired the landscaping crew who came to the door earlier (see above).

While I was in the garage cooling off, as this duo got closer I could hear the man singing to himself (or the dog?). He did not have ear buds or any player device – just him, his dog, and his song.  He was definitely enjoying his walk…this moment. However, his dog was periodically stopping to smell whatever dogs smell off to the sides of sidewalks. What struck me was how the man was singing his tune louder while the dog was walking ahead, but his song’s volume…and its progress…dropped off significantly every time the dog stopped.

I am confident in the brutal heat of the midday sun this man had forecasted to get back home sooner than later, but his dog clearly was operating on a different arrival schedule. I found it amusing how the loudness and pace of his song coincided with the forward movement of his dog. Yet, the man was so patient in ensuring the dog was safe at all times while “off-course,” and didn’t think to continue with either his desired decibel level or lyrical style until his dog was back in line and moving ahead.

I am positive I would never have noticed any of this if I hadn’t been actively trying to be in that moment. Over the last few years, I’m betting you have seen many self-help recommendations for all of us to try to live in the moment. Soak in as much of each day’s blessings as possible when we can find them…be aware of all of the sights, sounds, smells.

It has become a pet project of mine to consciously slow down, breathe, and try to appreciate special moments when I come across them. I don’t want to be as consumed with what is next on the to-do list, or worrying about what might or might not happen in the days ahead. For me, I have written my own healthy prescription to find, acknowledge and appreciate positive moments I come across daily.

Most definitely there are times we can’t possibly live within moments. Life comes at us with velocity, curves, and detours…quite unexpectedly at times. In those circumstances we have to look a bit ahead, look forward. Not just for ourselves, but sometimes for the benefit of others as well.

It was like the dog owner was doing just that, making sure both of them stayed together…living in their moment.

 

Picture Courtesy Universal Studios

Not A Dry Ice In The House

I once asked my wife to come up with a list of all the really dumb, idiotic, and stupid things I’ve done since she first met me.

That went on for a while.

For your amusement…a brief history of poor decision-making (in no particular order of stupidity):

The Tire

We got up one morning to find a car tire which was a little bit low on air. I eventually located the head of a small nail on the very edge of the tread. I insisted to my wife I could easily remove the nail, and the tire would be just fine until I could drive our vehicle to the shop. She protested, but to no avail.

A half-hour later, the spare tire had been installed and the now-completely-flat tire was resting in the trunk as I headed off for repairs.

The Ladder

I had the day off from work, but my wife did not. I really wanted to take a look at our gutter drains in one location to see if I could clean out some leaves before the next round of steady rain rolled in. I was confident there was some type of blockage up there. My wife insisted we should put it off until the end of the day so she could steady the ladder for me. I said I’d be just fine…not to worry…and off she went to work.

Later that morning, I exited the ladder from about a height of seventeen feet. Somehow, I was not injured. No, I didn’t tell her it happened when she got home…hell, I didn’t tell her for two years.

The Deck

We have lawn underneath our patio that requires mowing with a push mower. I needed to lower my head about a foot to avoid smacking it against the patio’s base. I insisted to my wife I’d always remember to avoid hitting my head with each pass.

At no point did I ever think I was going to black out, but it did leave a mark for a while…both times…OK, the two times she knows about.

The Cars

We had a horrible ice and snow storm one January. Our two automobiles were encased like fossils in the Ice Age. The morning the weather broke, I told my wife to stay warm inside while I ventured out in the tundra to clear them off. To expedite things, I used a snow brush from one of the cars to crack the ice off. Because it was quite cold, I decided to use the end of the scraper itself on the ice, not the brush.

Several friends felt we could go to insurance adjusters once we had our next hail storm, and they’d insure us for the dents on the hoods and trunks. Years later, the trade-in values reflected this morning in question.

The Codeine

I got so sick one day that by nightfall, my temperature was a robust 102. Fortunately, the doctor had evening hours that day and I was prescribed codeine syrup. I told my wife I was well aware of its effects, and if I had to get up in the middle of the night to use the facilities not to worry. I could certainly decide if I was OK to go to the bathroom.

She found me on the bathroom floor. She said she heard a thump – “did you fall?” I have tried to convince her ever since that night I simply got tired and decided to lay down. She remains to this day completely unconvinced.

The Movie

My wife wanted absolutely no parts of a movie called “Mortdecai.” She begged me to wait for it – if we had to see it at all – to come out on cable and didn’t want to spend any time and money on it at the theatre. I insisted we could both benefit from seeing what was promised to be a funny film.

We now have a name for the look my wife gives me when she’s thoroughly disgusted with me. It is known simply as the “Mortdecai Look.”

The Sticker

The Commonwealth of Pennsylvania requires owners of vehicles to renew their registrations annually. This used to involve – after payment – sending a sticker to owners to affix to the license plate in question. One day I arrived home first, and got the mail. The sticker had arrived and I decided I could manage the simple task of making our car legal for the twelve months ahead.

We found out just how serious the Commonwealth was regarding making sure their stickers stayed put…as we tried in vain to remove the newly-arrived sticker…which I had put on the wrong car. Pennsylvania has since eliminated the sticker aspect of registration renewal, but there is no truth to the rumor my actions helped lead to discontinuing the sticker requirement.

The Face

We had a Zero Turning Radius mower. When we bought it, the advice was given to us not to operate it in wet conditions, especially on uneven terrain. After a light rain one afternoon, I insisted to my wife it would be OK to mow. Not agreeing with the decision, she grudgingly came outside to do some gardening.

When she got to the large rose bush I had skidded into at the edge of our driveway, I tried my level best to assure her I was OK…even though my face felt like half the skin was gone. She gave me a once-over from head to toe…and calmly stated, “You’ll be fine.” Two years later, she admitted she thought those cuts would never heal.

The Rose Bushes

We had a couple other, smaller rose bushes that resided happily side by side for years thanks to my wife’s loving care. She was working weekdays at the time. I was not. Fall was nearing conclusion, and the rose bushes needed their annual trim (a technique I later learned was called “deadheading”). She took great pains to train me on exactly what needed to be done, but still didn’t feel confident in letting me fly solo. I defended myself vigorously, assuring her the rose bushes were in good hands.

After arriving home and reviewing my work, she didn’t talk to me for a couple of days. Surprisingly, the rose bushes were not dead. I might as well have been.

The Dry Ice

My wife’s parents sent us a gift from Omaha Steaks one Christmas. We had never gotten anything from the company before, but were impressed how frozen the food was considering how far it had travelled. After we got everything out of the big styrofoam cooler, all that remained was a large packet of dry ice. I noticed the label said “Do Not Touch.” Moments later, when my wife said she wanted to keep the cooler, I reached in and attempted to take out the packet.

Medical professionals compare injuries like I sustained as similar to burns, and often require medical attention. Fortunately, I was able to peel both of my hands off the dry ice. My wife told me to get it out of the house so I wouldn’t injure myself further, suggesting maybe I put gloves on this time around.

If anybody can identify with these or similar incidents, please outline your experiences in the comments. It’s always nice to know you’re not the only one who has made a poor decision…or ten…in life.

 

Picture Courtesy iStock

The Concrete Jungle

One of the great things about regularly visiting WordPress is you get to see some amazing posts featuring beautiful, spectacular photography of all types of trees, plants, flowers, and greenery.

This is NOT one of those posts.

I instead welcome you to a brief tour of some living things at our spot in the concrete jungle known as suburban Philadelphia.

First up, the ficus. This tree was a gift from my wife’s mother ten years ago. We had never taken possession of a ficus before and with our well-known, family reputation of being serial killers of anything green, this also started out like it would be DOA. We put a couple of Christmas ornaments on it the year we got it to dress it up a bit, figuring we’d surely put it out of its misery after the New Year…

However, post-Holidays we changed our minds and instead tried to provide enough food and encouragement to correct its downward trajectory. Today it looks like this…

It has even been cut back a couple of times. Regular readers of this space will note Snowy McSnowface off to the left. It also is doing well during its first summer here…no doubt getting encouragement from the ficus.

Second, the pepper plant. This gift was given to us by my mother eight years ago. Again, no familiarity. It started out slowly, but morphed over time to periodically produce many mini-peppers. We dry the seeds and repurpose them into the plant just to watch it take off again…

Third, the evergreen. We bought this tree for ourselves ten years ago after having carved out some planting space between two holly bushes in the front of the house. We decorated it for Christmas that first year. Here’s how it looked then…

And here is how it looks today…

Finally, last Christmas (in addition to the afore-mentioned Snowy) we bought a poinsettia plant. We have a long, shameful history of epic fails when it comes to this species, but we figured we’d work diligently post-Holidays to keep it alive and nurse it towards another Christmas. So far, so good…

Thanks for taking this tour of our “jungle.” I never thought we’d achieve green thumb status…but we’re thumbs up for these modest success stories.

 

Picture Courtesy iStock