Thursday

July 26, 2001

on and on

I'm not remembering any dreams when I get up. Another day.

Work is uneventful. I take the parents to Texas French Bread. They say they don't want too much. So I give them each a cup of soup and a big sandwich to share. They seem to enjoy it. Dad has finished one book out of the last pile and started a new one. It was Twist at the End. He says it was a twist but he figured it out. Dad's hand is bruised around his thumb. He's always brusing, but this looks worse than usual. "I fell and caught myself," he says. Mom has bandaids where the dermatologist burned off little skin cancers. She says she needs a haircut, that she hasn't been to the beauty shop since she fell and cut her head. I comment that that they look like they get up and have a fist fight every day. They talk about a church friend who fell when his dog took off, wrapping his feet in the leash. They have been giving him rides from and to church. They say they've invited friends over to play games this night. Mom has fixed a seam on some pants for me.

After work, we eat some leftover salmon, some cheese. I read the paper. FFP had network TV going in the kitchen when I came in. But there was some show featuring a woman who could blow bubble gum bubbles with her nose. Disgusting. Enough to put you off TV for a week.

We put on our shorts and go to Westwood. It's a couple of minutes after eight when we are set up on our practice court. There are no lights and the other players are using the lighted courts to play real games. FFP practices serving, I hit balls back and he tries strokes. If he misses, I feed him a few. As darkness approaches, I try pounding a few into the wall. I'm hopelessly fat and out of shape. And not just for tennis.

In spite of this acknowledgement of my girth, I sit around at home reading papers and watching old ER and Mash reruns.

venison with cherries and a Chambord sauce, another Four Seasons dish

Feeling more and more like retiring. And concentrating every day on being the best I can be physically and mentally, but without rushing so much. But...the big question is: why can't I do a better job of it while working?