One Long Ridiculously Windy Day

A parent/coach mentioned that it had been one long ridiculously windy day. I thought that sounded like the title of a Winnie the Pooh story, and said so. I made the attempt at whimsical humor during daughter's final tennis match of the day. The resulting laughter was of the subdued and polite type, like when the weird uncle says something strange and potentially offensive, but no one is quite sure what he meant. But it was true; it had been one long ridiculously windy day. The wind blew continuously. It was a cold, steady wind with just enough intensity to penetrate to the underpants of the soul. Even the sun could not bear the wind, remaining wrapped in a blanket of clouds. 

The day had began early, as days are wont to do. Actually, the day began at the same time as usual for days (I have no control over such things...yet.), but I had become aware of the day much earlier than I had cared to do so. Daughter had a tennis tournament in Parma, a "a compact and thriving metro-village," according the the link. I'm not sure what the standards are to qualify for "metro-village" status; I would guess that it falls rather toward the opposite end of the hierarchy from that of an ecumenopolis. I began the day--my part of it--with a plain cake doughnut (my favorite kind), and my wife (also my favorite in the respective category...so far). The former was soft and delicious, while the latter was good company at the breakfast. By 10:00 a.m, four hours later, that doughnut had ceased to fill the hollow emptiness inside me. I went in search of comestibles. Sort of. Sort of "went," I mean. Because I didn't actually physically leave at that time. You'll see why.

I chose Boy's Better Burgers. Google informed me that it was about a 16 minute walk from my location, and that the establishment would not open until 11:00 a.m. So I waited. (See?) After daughter's second match (of the tennis rather than the striking variety), I began my walk. I arrived a little before noon at the burger place. A somber stillness rested upon the establishment. A sign in the window indicated that it would not open until 2:00 p.m. on this date. Either Google had capriciously withheld that important bit of information, or Google does not know everything.

Much weakened by hunger and the elements, but with the determination of Henry Morton Stanley, I continued my search. Eventually, I found, not Dr. Livingston, but Peg Leg Bistro. An elderly couple was seated at one of the small round tables. The knight and lady of that modest round table were clad in the finery associated with a funeral or a church service. I never heard them speak a single word while I was there. The waitress brought them a plate of something, but they still didn't speak. After I got my order, I took it back to the tennis courts to share with wife and daughter. 

Later, daughter and her doubles partner won the championship in their category at the tournament...which meant that we would be delighted to wait for all of the other matches to conclude so that she could be part of the medal award ceremony. Apparently "ceremony" possesses broad enough meaning to encompass a cheerful woman standing behind a cardboard box resting on a bench, calling out names (it's the woman who does the calling, not the bench or the cardboard box), and handing medals to those who respond. 

But the day wasn't about the medals, or the ridiculous soul-chilling wind, or doughnuts, or any of that. The tennis players, the kids who played all day in the unrelenting blast beneath a somber sky, gave the day meaning. Players like daughter's teammate who played for third place; she quickly found herself behind at four games to none. She pulled her game together and clawed her way back to a tie; she pulled a game ahead; her determined opponent tied the score; finally, she tasted victory, all the more sweet for having stumbled at the start. Players like the  teammate who played for first in her single's category; she gave all she had, but the sum of her efforts could not equal the ciphering of her more experienced opponent. Her effort was no less noble and praiseworthy, even though she found it not as sweet.

It was one long ridiculously windy day, but it was worth it.