IF YOU’RE WONDERING WHAT THAT SOUND WAS AS YOU OPENED this post, it’s the creak, creak, pop of Miss Jo’s knees, shoulders and right elbow.
After years of not playing tennis, Miss Jo has picked up a racket. Jeff, who’d never had the fun of an overhand smash or winning match point, now serves and volleys like it’s nobody’s business.
It’s amazing how two gently worn Prince and Head rackets bought for $5 each at the Salvation Army on Valencia Street, a can of $3 balls and public San Francisco tennis courts a block from their house could bring such summer bliss.
Since moving to SF in 2005, Miss Jo and Jeff’s main exercise has been walking through the City, up and down— sometimes hours at a time. Just Monday, Miss Jo walked 5 miles round trip to buy fixings for salsa and guacamole in the heart of the mostly flat Mission District @ 24th and Mission streets, which is like taking a quick trip to Mexico and Central America.
The two Js are equally transported playing tennis on one of two courts in Glen Canyon Park, where the air smells like a piny throat lozenge when breezes cuts through the Blue Gum Eucalyptus and Monterrey Pine trees.
A sweaty summer game of tennis reminds Miss Jo of being a kid in Dallas volleying with her teen-age older sister, Melissa B., often with their mutual friend, Karen. In the blistering heat, they’d wear shorts, swimsuit tops, sneakers and baby oil. No hats or sunglasses. Sun block ? It wasn’t invented.
After cooling off in the community pool, they’d play another match. On and on. All summer.
In San Francisco, there’s no pool to jump into nearby, but playing tennis again has turned into a kind of time travel, and perfect as part of the two Js’ summer staycation.
One Comment
Ah, I remember the Tennis Days. Do you still do that little hop when you hit the ball?