The Visible Woman...June 25, 2003

I always thought it would be so great to belong to a club like this. Maybe have a good game then use the gym or pool. Then grab a drink or meal. Play Bridge, too.

I can lead this life now. Really. Except. I have to spend the time. I need better fitness for the courts in this heat. And I don't have a regular partner for a game. And while I understand Bridge theoretically I don't have the ability to keep all the bidding and card play in my head. And these things take time and there needs to be time for other things. I have been reading a few Bridge columns, though, just in case.

Really, it's the life, though. I just have to figure out how to live it properly. I dreamed various versions of this life, with the tennis and the gym and the social aspects close to home.

Tonight we were going to defrost some fish but FFP decided he wanted to get out of the house. We went to Westwood for dinner. The bar and grill and dining room were pretty empty although the tennis courts and pool bubbled with people.

We ate in the bar and directly them to turn the TV first to aThe Simpsons rerun and then to a Who Wants to Be a Millionaire rerun. We talked to a woman who was sitting alone who actually did play Bridge although maybe not much anymore. She was drinking Manhattans and so we went from wine by the glass to having Manhattans for dessert. The woman was nice but became repetitive after several Manhattans, repeating the menu at a Memphis rib joint over and over ("a cheese plate with cheddar, pickles and bread and these ribs, that they will send you FedEx for football games). However, before becoming repetitive she filled us in on Mississippi geography and talked about Archie Manning who was her brother's roommate.

Yeah, I had an image of club life. I have a club life now (until the money runs out) but, of course, it's the old me hanging around the club. Nothing can give you the attitude of having grown up at the country club.

Wednesday, June 25, 2003

A Journal from Austin, Texas. A Project of LBFFP Stealth Publishing.
food	reading	writing	time	exercise	health and mood

tennis has always seemed so elegant to me...but not my execution of it, of course	fit for tennis Playing tennis at Westwood is a complex set of emotions and physical feelings. I always thought it would be so great to belong to a club like this. Maybe have a good game then use the gym or pool. Then grab a drink or meal. Play Bridge, too. I can lead this life now. Really. Except. I have to spend the time. I need better fitness for the courts in this heat. And I don't have a regular partner for a game. And while I understand Bridge theoretically I don't have the ability to keep all the bidding and card play in my head. And these things take time and there needs to be time for other things. I have been reading a few Bridge columns, though, just in case. Really, it's the life, though. I just have to figure out how to live it properly. I dreamed various versions of this life, with the tennis and the gym and the social aspects close to home. Tonight we were going to defrost some fish but FFP decided he wanted to get out of the house. We went to Westwood for dinner. The bar and grill and dining room were pretty empty although the tennis courts and pool bubbled with people. We ate in the bar and directly them to turn the TV first to aThe Simpsons rerun and then to a Who Wants to Be a Millionaire rerun. We talked to a woman who was sitting alone who actually did play Bridge although maybe not much anymore. She was drinking Manhattans and so we went from wine by the glass to having Manhattans for dessert. The woman was nice but became repetitive after several Manhattans, repeating the menu at a Memphis rib joint over and over ("a cheese plate with cheddar, pickles and bread and these ribs, that they will send you FedEx for football games). However, before becoming repetitive she filled us in on Mississippi geography and talked about Archie Manning who was her brother's roommate. Yeah, I had an image of club life. I have a club life now (until the money runs out) but, of course, it's the old me hanging around the club. Nothing can give you the attitude of having grown up at the country club.
JUST TYPING Swinging the racquet. Lifting the weight. Sweating. New Cap. Just wear grubby gray shorts. And TShirt. Instead of perky tennis wear. Or, at least, white shorts and shirt. One or two good strokes. Feel the fitness. Remember when this kind of club Was the impossible dream? The staff brings food, wine and cocktails. Yes, sir. No, sir. And a fixed gratuity.
		Food Diary. Large serving of tuna salad. Cheese (couple ounces), carrots, green onions. Glass of wine. Two small slices of wheat bread and butter. Half of Asian nachos appetizer. Salad with bib lettuce, radicchio, crab meat and hearts of palm with some kind of dressing. Manhattan. Piece of cheese. [See...cheese, cheese and more cheese. And alchohol, of course. No spinach today, though. I read you can get too much spinach. Not that that's why I didn't eat any today.]
		Time flies.... Spending most of the morning at the club does make time fly.

		Reading. Finish Peter the Great? No. I almost hate to give up reading this book. Peter is currently trying his son by Eudoxia for treason. This is a book I'd like to get a hardbound edition of and keep around as a reference. I listened to an abridged set of tapes of Massie's Nicholas and Alexandra once and, I think, saw a TV version. Maybe I should read that one in full. That's the trouble with reading...it makes you want to read a couple of dozen other things.
		Well, I wrote this journal entry. Leave me alone.
		Exercise Two hour tennis clinic. Upper body (chest, shoulders, back) exercises and ten minutes on the bike. I was tired but not exhausted.
	.	Having a few things work for a few minutes helps. I'm starting to worry about renting or selling the building. It would be nice to have that investment produce some income. I'm worried about my sister who seems to have declined during this hospitilization and is not responding well to PT/OT.