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 |  of a tennis player, hiker, writer |
 A bird in the bath. well, just before.  On court 1. Lookin' to own.  In Jax, enjoyin' some solid juniors tennis.  I love my new phone cam.  * Clears throat * “Um, Robin here, your friendly neighborhood MC(Mistress of Ceremonies). Welcome to my blog. In it you’ll find my rants, ramblings and random updates on everything ME... …and since I’m the typo queen and master of misspelling, these will be present in most, if not all my posts.”  A few of my better entries - all quick reads: |
| While cleaning the birdcages this morning Aubry popped into my head. He loves the birds, especially Sweetie, and I could hear him as though he stood right beside me, as my yellow-gloved hand scrubbed the inside of Sweetie’s cage, with an old rag, doused in some cleaning agent. “Aunt Robbie,” he says. He has always called me Aunt Robbie. The words giving me an emotional hug. He is the only person on Earth to call me such. “Does Sweetie drive a car?” He was four when he asked me this question. I smiled and was immediately reminded when Autumn thought our Doberman, Nick could drive a car. During Christmas, we used to buy presents for the kids, wrapping them and addressing them FROM the pets we had at the time. Autumn wanted to know exactly how Nick went to go pick our her presents. ‘Does he put his paws on the steering wheel? She had asked me, while holding her arms up like she was driving the car herself. “No. Aubry.” I say, bringing myself back to the present. (In reality, this ‘present is really a year ago. But as it were that is what happened. Am I making any sense?) Then, my mind jumped to this past Christmas. I asked Sweetie, who is a getting better everyday talker, “Do you miss Aubry?” This past December, Auby wanted Sweetie to go everywhere with him. So we let the bird out while he ate, had him perched on a chair next to Aubry. We would decide on a special snack for Sweetie and the two of them would eat their food. Often times, it was how Renee was able to bribe Aubry into eating his vegetables. Renee took pictures of this. I need to ask her to mail me one. Sweetie didn’t answer me. He usually only answers questions or commands with a ‘no’. If he doesn’t want to do them. Like if I reach my hand inside and say “Step up.” Which means, do you want to come out of your cage? He’ll gently bite my finger and say, “No.” if he doesn’t wan to. Or, step up on me if he does. When I am finished cleaning his cage I say to him, “Step up.” He does. I take him to the kitchen and place him on the chair where he ate with Aubry. I chat with him in low cooing tones. His eyes dart around the room. He shifts his balance from foot to foot. He is happy. When its time for me to move on. I reach my hand over to his chest. Step up” I say again. I’ve got to get back to birdcage scrubbing. “No.” He says. And nips my finger. I don't want to finish cleaning. Whose feathers can I nip? |
| So what if I can’t write it down. I feel it in my soul. The restlessness. The satisfied promise just inches from my grasp. I can taste the salty rim on my l thirsty lips. But I have yet to swallow the soul quenching liquid. I am revved up. But not in the way I have begun to think of being revved up. I feel like I am about to explode. Some creative force is stirring in the depths of my being. Churning with excitement. Secretly, it’s plotting for an escape. It’s unidentifiable silhouette whispers in my ear. My fingers wander upon its inspiring skin, delicately massaging its tender birth. I am afraid and vulnerable. What if I fail to measure up? What if I am just a vassal too weak and shallow for such greatness? What if I crumble beneath its vast expectations? Or, what if I begin to build a foundation, with beautiful form, but relinquish my attempts to self-doubt, uncertainty, stupidity, no follow-through (like my book contest) I fill my mind with corrupted thoughts meant to destroy my creative force. I look at others and KNOW I can’t measure up. I beg to myself just for the chance to try. |
| Is it just me? Or is everyone having trouble maneuvering around the site? Every time I click on the envelope to email, or someone’s brief case, my screen freezes up and I have to close out of the site. I was having trouble the other day as well. Bonnie and I walked two laps around the park. We were going to walk to Joshua Cup and get coffee but her son is down from Cincinnati for spring break. They are going to eat breakfast, so she didn’t have time for coffee and chatting. I so needed coffee and chatting too. My shoulder, elbow and fingers are hurting. I’m planning on putting my TENS unit on in a bit. Right now, the thought of stretching my arm over my shoulder to apply the patch makes me cringe with agony. Plus, the last few times I wore it, it made my skin hurt. Not burn, but feel kinda sorta raw. Not good. At least its Friday, even if I do have way too much stuff to do this weekend. Too bad its not fun stuff either. |
| Here it is March 17th – oh BTW, Happy St. Patrick’s Day – and it’s like thirty-four with the wind chill. The cold seems to have exponentially gotten colder because just two days ago, no make that three; it was creeping up to eighty degrees! The drastic vacillation makes the actual feel hotter or colder than it really is. I could have worn shorts on Monday. So, the high schools went on. Lots of my friends were showed up so it was nice. Brad, -Mr. Pops Up In a Few Fantasies-, walks in and I say, “Didn’t you get the memo? You were supposed to bring food.” He glances around, and replies, Well, it’s in my car. But I see you’ve designated courts 1 & 2 for match play –which are wet, and 11& 12 for practice, they are dry. So, I don’t know.” He shakes his head in disbelief and squeezes a nice hug my way. “Did Robbie tell you I gave him his hat?” He had left a hat signed by Brian Vahaly at my tennis center over three months ago. Robbie’s a ten-year-old feisty little tennis player. His older brother plays high school tennis. I had emailed Brad and his wife about the hat, so they could pick it up. Apparently, it wasn’t that important. “Did he hit himself over the head with it?” I shoot him a confused look. “Well, this morning, I get a call from the school, saying Robbie had lost his balance and fell backwards, on concrete, hurting his head. It was bleeding. So I rush over to the school, make sure everything is all right. Then, A couple hours later, I get a call – during a lunch meeting – saying he had bumped into a pole. He wasn’t watching were he was going. So, when I pick him up this afternoon, I say ‘don’t touch anything.” His teacher says, to me, she says, ‘Robbie said, he didn’t have the luck of the Irish with him. No Irish eyes smiled on him today.” Also, someone brought his puppy. I forgot what kind it was, but it was all white, had ears that stood up like a German Shepard’s and was very adorable. Of course, I played with him. Walked around, showing him to all the parents, and players. The girls cooed. The father of the puppy owner speaks with an accent and I thought he said the dog’s name was Gecko. But it turns ourt, his name is Rocko. Later, while we are waiting for Autumn to pick us up, Laney is chatting with Steve. I am in the office, wrapping up some last minute stuff. I should be cleaning, but I do everything under the sun to avoid the C word especially when it is followed by the letters L, E, A, N. So, I hear them, laughing and being a tab bit too loud. But by now, all the players have left so it doesn’t really matter. “Robin,’ Steve calls out. “Your daughter just called me old.” He’s using his tattletale tone. Laney is fifteen and Steve is nineteen. I’m surprised she thinks he’s old. I walk out of my office door. “She asked me, ‘Did they even HAVE cell phones when you were in high school?’ I’m laughing now. “How old do you think he is?” “Well, now,” she stammers, between laughs. I interrupt her. ‘No, how old did you think he was?” “I don’t know, about twenty-five.” I giggle. Wishing I was twenty-five again. I walk back into my office only to return to the counter again. “Well?” I ask Steve, “Did you?” He laughs. “You probably had those huge cell phones.” I show with my hands a make-believe cell phone about the size of a computer monitor. “Yeah. It was big. One of those Saved By the Bell cell phones.” I remember my first cell phone. It was big and heavy. As I’m walking back to my computer I hear Steve say, to Laney, “I thought I would never be called OLD until I was like, thirty." "Wait until you ARE thirty." I mutter to myself. |
| Renee called. I’ve been worried about her. She hasn’t returned my emails, or phone calls. She sounded depressed the last time I spoke to her. She’s been busy at work, she tells me. I am happy. The Alaska job doesn’t sound like it will pan out for her. Sorry. This news brings a smile to my face. (Although, she adds, its not dead yet. I still may get it, but I doubt it.) I don’t ask details. I don’t want to know. I want her on this side of the country. I’d absolutely die if she moved. That far way, I mean. It’s bad enough she lives in WV. Where, if I’m lucky, I get to go once a year. She always comes down for Christmas though. Yesterday sucked. The weather was horrible, my arm hurt, and my s/f attitude was lost in a cesspool of physical agony and mental pessimism. Today, the weather stinks, but at least – so far anyway – my pain level has dropped to about a 2.5. It feels like heaven, not being at a 6. My SFA(super fantastic attitude) still needs hosing down, carrying residual grime from yesterday’s steep decline. I probably should put club music on. However, at this moment, I’m not sure how receptive I’d be to such a drastic cleansing of upbeatness. I should give it a shot, I can always change my mind. My work card is shoving itself into my face. UGH. I hope it dries out around here. We have three schools coming this afternoon. Laney plays away. She woke up this morning w/ a sore throat. I hope she does okay. |
| YAY! Laney won!!!!! Of course, I’m so proud of her. She lost the first set 3 – 6 and came back to win 6-2, 6-1. |
| I wrote that stupid entry last night, and I feel better. It’s like need to blow your nose - you feel better when you can finally breathe. (I know, wonderful visual there.) I came in late cuz I had my annual checkup. Another beautiful image there. But at least I’m healthy. So I get out early and ask Autumn to run by Subway before I go back to work. I forgot to bring lunch this morning. “Oh my gosh! Mom. I totally saw a drag queen taxidriver. Yep. I did.” I smile. She’s got awed shock in her voice. It’s funny. She really needs to get out more. “Yeah, he, she, whatever, looks like that…um…person at Hard Rock Café..” This was the host – slash – hostess who served her and her friend on their trip to Ski Invasion in Gatlinburg. I hadn’t really heard the HRC story, but I got the general idea. Then, she adds, “Well, what he, she would look like in like thirty years.” Then, she can’t stand it, she picks up the phone to call her best friend. The one who was at HRC w/ her. I hear the one-sided conversation. “Oh my gosh. M.! Yeah, his, her hair was bleached and plastered. Looks just like the Café dude. Girl. Whatever. Yep. Adam’s apple and all.” Pause. M. must be responding. “I know. I know.” More waiting. “Well, yep, thirty years from now. He was talking. With a man’s voice, all scratchy from like five packs of cigarettes a day. Yellow teeth. And, it’s the Café dude, chick with the homeless look.” She then begins do describe the outfit this um, guy was wearing. Pants too short, old, faded, poor job of make –up. Still want to finish this, but my lunch break is over. |
| Since when did 'woot-woot' mean 'cool' and where the hell was I when this happened? Don't even answer that. |
| Well, I am so totally disappointed in myself for not continuing on with my book. I keep trying to replay the positive aspects of participating for as long as I did. But it doesn’t help. It’s been three weeks since I got eliminated and I’m jus now able to write about it. Rather than focus on the positive, my mind replays the negative. No follow through. I knew you couldn’t do it. What an idiot you ere for thinking you could. Now what? To make matters worse, I’ve lost my creative muse. My common sense tells me this is normal. Not to worry. You’ve been sick, I keep saying. But it’s no good. I keep beating myself up. About it. Not being able to focus on anything creative. So, I thought I’d go for a walk, try and find my creative muse. See if I can discover where its been hiding. “Stop being stupid.” I tell myself. “What kind of idiot goes looking for her muse?” “I do.” I shoot back. I’m grabbing my pink sweater before I can argue with myself anymore. “You’ll see.” I whisper to myself. “No where. Your muse is gone. On an undetermined leave of absence. In fact, she may have gone AWOL.” I smile anyway. In spite of my negativity. “Super fantastic.” I’m arguing in. Now, I’m worried. What is it they say about people who talk to themselves? I don’t even want to know. I slam the front door. “Let me have twenty minutes.” My feet stomp down the dirt driveway, ignoring Luna and Dakota, hanging their huge paws on the backyard chain link fence. Just wanting a pat on the head. Now, I’m talking out loud. To no one. Further underscoring my idiocy. I can’t help it. Something’s gotta get done. This muse has to be found. “I’m sorry.” I mutter. “I know I cut you off, when I didn’t meet the book deadline. I was busy. With the tournament. Don’t you remember?” No answer. “And then, I got sick. But I wrote that poem this past Saturday. Doesn’t that count for something?”” Still there is silence. “C’mon cut me some slack. I even have a doctor’s excuse” No response. “Do I need to make a copy?” “No.” “What? Did you say something? Again, nothing. I”I heard you.” I protest. Now, I’m begging. I’m pretty good at begging, having had cough cough something years to practice. It’s not pretty, well, unless, OH NEVERMIND. Anyway. I finally made up with my muse. But she’s still mad. She isn’t shy about letting me know it either. I’ve written a few private journal entries trying to make things right with her. I so love it when words flow from my fingertips onto the keyboard and stories are created. Then posted, read and reviewed and rated. I feel so whole. So complete. So alive. So super fantastic. I miss my muse. |
| I feel like crap. I am coughing and my stomach feels nauseated. I know, what a lovely visual. Plus, to make matters worse, I’m bagging my tennis lesson today. As much as I want to get out there, my lungs would scream in pain if I did. I need my lungs today. So, I’ll appease them and stay away from the courts. But I’m not happy about it. |
| its in my lungs now. i'm trying to pretend its not. maybe it will go away. |
| Yesterday, I screwed up at work. And now, this morning at five forty-five AM, I awoke to the thought that I had forgotten to take the single sticks out of my office and leave them behind the counter. OMG. How could I do this? And more importanltly, how was I going to fix it. I jumped out of bed. No luxury of the ritual Saturday morning leisurely wakeing up, no stretching, no laying around thinking creative thoughts for my blog entry, or other entries. No dozing back to sleep. Straight like a shot I was up and moving. ‘Adam!” I thought. I’ll call Adam. Thank goodness Adam will be working at my tennis center today. Thank goodness he lives south of me and has to pass right by my house on his way in to the tennis center. What a blessing this is for me. I punched ‘Find” into my phone. He is the first name on the list and I click the key to dial his number. He answers, with a wide-awake tone. “Hello.” “It’s Robin.” I say, my throat sore and scratchy. “I screwed up.” I jump right in. I forgot to take the single sticks out of the locked closet. The after school group didn’t leave till almost right at six and I was busy trying to clean things up.” This is all true. But the bottom line is, I should NOT have forgotten something so important. “Can you stop by my house on your way in? To pick up the keys? “ “Yeah. Sure. No problem.” I love Adam. A deep sigh of relief escapes from my lips. “Thank you soooooo much.” Boy. Was I lucky? Well, I’m still sick, which so totally stinks on the weekend. But at least I can take a nap later today. I hope I can get some writing done. |
| How are are you now? No matter what; you're still the baby. |
| I am tired of being sick. And it’s only been three days. Plus, I’m restless. I can’t seem to focus on anything. My mind wandering for more pleasant thoughts –other than invoices, website updates, facility checks. I’m also too distracted to write. What happened? I wonder. The words swimming around in a whirlpool too engaged in centripetal forces to exit long enough to make it to the keyboard. I feel them, whizzing by. I reach for them. My fingers grasp air and dust. My eyes glaze over. I give up, or is it in? Maybe its up; but I want it to be IN. |
| My bones feel cold. My body doesn’t want to move, and my throat burns deep in the back every time I swallow. But I feel happy. Laney didn’t win her match – I excepted as much, but she played well. I was proud of her tremendous effort. She lost the first set 2-6. The first two games should have been hers. She was up Ad-IN only to loose the first game, then in the second, forty-love and lost that game too. These two quick losses contributed to the fast decline of her mental game. Then, in the second set, both girls were on serve, and fighting hard; each game going to deuce several times. The points were long, baseline-to-baseline. Laney kept her opponent on the run hitting deep crosscourt shots neither of the girls seemed to want to risk any net action. She won 6-4. The third set looked to belong to her opponent. Still playing long points, Laney wasn’t giving up but she wasn’t on her game as much as she was in the second set. Laney was down 2-5. ‘This is it.” I thought. But she next two games belonged to her. She lost 4-6. I’m off to bed soon. I wish I could call in sick tomorrow but we have a Sectional – nine state tournament being held at my tennis center over the weekend. I have to take care of a lot of last minute details. |
| So Autumn calls and instead of saying ‘Hello mom. How are you?’ she say, “So, don’t you want to buy me lunch?” Before I can answer she adds, “Sure ya do.” “I need to pick up some meds at the pharmacy.” I say, “Then we can go eat. As long as its vegetables.” I just got back. I need this distraction, to help me focus. My throat hurts so bad – from allergies – I can’t stand it. I wanna go home. Laney plays here this afternoon. I’ll have five high schools here and it will be nuts. Hopefully, my meds will have kicked in and I’ll feel better. I bought some soy chocolate ice cream while I was out. (So far, its not working.) Switchfoot is on the CD player and I’ll be working on website updates. My fav activity next to writing. My lunch card just ran out. |
| I began writing this offline. It’s already seven forty six in the evening and things still bad things keep happening. Can I go to bed now? Take two aspirin and call you in the morning? What happened? What did I do to piss off the Power’s that be? What? Was it Dump on Robin Day? And nobody told me? To add insult to injury, I think I have poison oak or something. I’m highly allergic to it and get it every now and then. Now, just happened to be then. Why didn’t I mark my calendar? And stay in bed sick today? I’m really gonna have to work on that. My daily planner and all. If I write the events of today – all of them. I can’t post this. And for now, it’s my intention to post. So, I’ll step around a few things, being vague. I’m usually not one to write about negative experiences as I have many of them, my chronic pain for starters. But other huge things in my life are not pretty. Is avoiding these subjects cheating myself? Would I be a better writer for having written about them? Yes. I do cheat myself. Even if, once a week I write in my offline, or private online journal. So anyway, the things I can type in this posted to the world blog are censored.  Plumbing. Ya never know how important running water is to the comforting existence of your daily life until you are forced to drink bottle water, and watch your laundry pile waist high, well, I’m exaggerating, knee high or take a trip to the laundry matt. Ugh Smooth silky skin. THAT DOESN’T ITCH OR IS NOT COVERED IN A RASH. Yeah. I think most of you can relate to this. The itchy rash is sooo annoying. It underlies everything I am doing, seeing, feeling. Unfortunately, it’s a prime focus here. A full time job with benefits. This comes in handy when you want to do things like, send your kids to private school, buy them a car, go on an occasional vacation. Especially when you want to buy a laptop computer, go to the dermatologist for poison oak. Yeah, gotta have a full time job with benefits to make unnecessary purchases like laptops, and even soy mocha lattes, or buy tickets to The Phantom of the Opera. So today, these things have been threatened, or outright taken away from me. Plus, a major issue with my daughter and her school – which I can’t go into for my respect of her and lack of privacy on her personal issues. So here I sit, sipping on my one shot of rum, wanting to shoot it and get another. Benadryl is on my To Do List before bed. So I really don’t need any more alcohol. But resisting the temptation is difficult. Now, it’s eight forty-two. Laney and I have been chatting on and off while she studies. She has been pretty open about what has gone on this morning. I thought she’d bee a brat. Autumn has asked to take her to dinner. What a wonderful gesture at such an emotionally trying time. I’m proud of Autumn for this. And of Laney’s openness. I hope we get through this. Ultimately, she is my biggest concern. Over the plumbing as I know the leak will be repaired, even if it costs lots of money. My poison oak? The rash will be gone within a week or so. My job? If lost, I will find another. (right now, my facility will probably be closed one day a week. Very long story here.) It’s just difficult, dealing with life’s curveballs while trying to work towards a solution with my daughter. Finding my super fantastic attitude is paramount. |
| It’s tough raising a fifteen year old girl. All that teenage drama, mixed with my 'needs two cups of caffeine (one coffee and one green tea)' before I can think coherently, leaves for lots of morning time arguing. This morning, I asked Laney, “Do they have a piano at Taylor’s” She spend most of Saturday w/ Taylor; his sister had a birthday party. She shook her head yes to the piano q. “Did you play it?” I asked, knowing that she had but trying to make conversation anyway. “No mom.” She said, with a snotty tone. “I just stared at it.” Her eyes glaring. How could I be such an idiot? For a split second, I felt like backhanding her. I bit my tongue and resisted the temptation to throw my mom card around. “Well, did they like it…” she crinkled her nose and squinted her eyes with confusion. “…I mean, did they like watching you…stare at their piano?” Trying to get her off her mom is a stupid idiot track, my attempt failing. The corners of her mouth flinched with a suppressed grin. "Did they ask you how long have you been staring at pianos?” A full fledged smile crosses her lips. “Or what about ‘Oh my God, Laney. No one’s ever stared at our piano the way you do.’? Did they say that to you?” A laugh! I got a laugh. And now when she gets out of the Avalanche, to go to school, I can say “I love you. Have a nice day.” and really mean it. |
| Well, my tournament is finally over. Most everyone had a great time and they were complimentary of my efforts to organize. I’m back at Tattnll today, where it’s quiet and even today, when the weather is beautiful – but windy- only a few players are here. I enrolled the USA 1-2-3 class to learn my two handed, since Carl seems to busy to teach it to me. Scott, the new pro will do the class. I already spoke to him Friday and he says he can teach it to me. I’m very excited about getting back on the court. I hope my compressed nerves won’t hinder my tennis. Yesterday, Autumn tells me she is moving out early. March 15th. Shaun will wait two more weeks until April 1. She wants me to visit her. How sweet. |
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