Something Is Wrong With Me

I’ve been playing competitive team tennis for 30 years now. Whew…that’s an awful long time, isn’t it? But here’s the thing; something is wrong with me.what's wrong with meNow don’t get me wrong. I’m not dying. At least I don’t think so. I am behind on scheduling my annual checkup though, so until that happens, I can’t say definitively that I’m not dying.get my checkupAnyway, I digress…for those of you who know me, you won’t argue that something is wrong with me. I don’t mean I see dead people or anything. But wouldn’t that be awesome? I’d love to visit with my family who’ve passed on, maybe even meet Mark Twain, Jane Goodall or Einstein. Scratch that last one; I probably wouldn’t understand a word he’s saying. There I go digressing again…

Say what?!

Say what?!

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Significant Other

I published this post a couple years ago. Since I’m currently with my non-matchmaking friends in Nashville, I thought you might enjoy reading why I’m thankful for that…(No offense, matchmaking friends.) So no, this trip I won’t be coming home with an up and coming country music star…

You’ve gotta love my tennis friends. Now that I’m single, they’ve been madly trying to hook me up at tennis tournaments with just about anything in shorts.

Tennis Friends

Tennis Friends

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Senior Tennis Warriors

JT, me, Patty and Shelley at Nationals

JT, me, Patty and Shelley at Nationals

My friends’ tennis team is back from Nationals in Surprise, Arizona. The surprise is that the place is a pit. No offense to anyone from Surprise or anyone living in Surprise, but seriously, what goes on there? Well, I’ll tell you. Absolutely nothing, that’s what. But I digress… Continue reading

Say it Isn’t So

It is with profound sadness that I announce the passing of a very special friend; a friend that has been there for me the past 13 years, through both great and difficult times.

Although my friend could be frustrating and, on occasion, disappointing, I’m sure it was usually my fault. When life got busy, I tended to be neglectful. I admit I sometimes left him behind – usually in my trunk. Continue reading