I keep thinking about the movie we saw last week, Wedding Crashers: would I want life to be as easy as a romantic comedy? Not on your life! It’s the grit and grind that makes our moral fiber. But we are led to believe that the fantasy can be real. After visiting a rug-hooking supply store on the north shore of PEI, my friend Valerie and I went for a walk along the boardwalk of the local beach. Shortly into our walk we saw a large van pull up and unload one after another handsome man—ten in all. They grouped themselves together along the hillside and began taking photos. As we approached they asked us to take their picture so they could all be included. I said I would if I could take one with my camera as well. They were a group of friends visiting from Germany, who play tennis together in tournaments, and usually win.
It was a highlight of the day. And I could continue to write a romantic comedy from there, but I won’t. We just walked away with pleasant memories and a fun photo!
I am not actually much of a tennis player. Never was, although my dad and sister played. I like activity—dancing, swimming, walking, but have limited desire for team sports. While on PEI, along with the usual beach sports, Valerie and I went for a game of miniature golf. I made two hole-in-ones. I think it is a testament to my artistic training that I am good at that kind of game—with all the hand-eye training I have had. I’ve also won at billiards.
I recently finished reading an interesting memoir by Doris Kearns Goodwin titled Wait Till Next Year. “Next year” is THE YEAR the Dodgers will win the World Series Pennant. Her interest in baseball games began as a young girl, four years old. She, her family and friends followed the games through the many years of the Brooklyn Dodgers almost winning against the NY Giants.
Goodwin also tells of the local and world events happening at that time. she being just a few years younger than me, it was fascinating to connect again to the times before television, when radio was King, when people gathered around the radio and could see in their minds the activities portrayed. I remember all play stopping at 4 pm for the children in the neighborhood (it was Richmond, Virginia for me at that time) to go in and listen to our fifteen minute programs: The Lone Ranger, The Green Hornet, etc. And mothers ironing, as Goodwin’s mother did, to the noon hour soaps.
I saw my first television when I was about nine years old. It was at a friend’s house. We didn’t have one until I was about twelve or thirteen. It was all black and white then, no such thing as color. (I still love black and white movies.) At that time, the shows started at 7 pm and went on until 10 pm. We would gather around the set, watching I Love Lucy and The Ed Sullivan Show. Then the TV screen would show it’s familiar pattern and go blank until the next evening. It was a major family event, watching television. But I still had my radio programs and my 45 rpm record changer.
When I was in the sixth grade and one of the major World Series Games was playing, one of those famous competitions between the two New York teams, school stopped and we listened on the radio every afternoon. I was never, on my own, interested, but could easily get caught up in the enthusiasm generated by the radio announcer and the other children. We even had some betting going on (outside of class, of course). I don’t think I really cared who won, was just glad to have the regular school day interrupted.
I was not much of a baseball player. When we moved back to Bethesda after The War, my next door neighbors had a playgound in their backyard, with a tree-house, sandbox, and a flat space to play basketball, badminton or baseball. We had the swing set and monkey-bars. Often the games spilled out onto the street but there was little traffic on that road. As we got older the games changed to monopoly, then gin rummy and poker. But I think my favorite “game” was lying in the hammock in the summer with lemonade and a good book. Although I still love badminton, ping-pong, swimming and other gentler sports that I enjoyed when I was young, I was never a big game player. Once I caught a fly ball with my bare hands flat open, astonishing all the boys (and me, I must say) who were playing that game. In fact, they were so annoyed, they made sure I struck out when my turn came at bat. It was a lively suburban neighborhood, but not nearly as active as the one on Long Island described by Goodwin. But the book brought up a lot of memories for me. And a reminder of how much things have changed.
Posted by leya at September 6, 2005 07:29 PM