OK, folks have been wondering why I haven't appeared in the blog lately, and I hear The Blogger is blaming me. He says I can't sit still in good light. So, here, whaddya say about this??? I'm sitting still, I'm well lit, and I'm looking cute. Howzabout tossing me one of those snack treats, huh? (and none of that Chinese mine run-off stuff, please)
We got a nice, and much-needed rain over the weekend. Here's a peek at where the local foliage stands...
A wet porch, viewed from the comfort of an Adirondack Chair and the protection of a porch umbrells.
One of Rosemary's co-workers lives about a mile down the street from us. Her husband got home the other day to find a BEAR under their porch. I had heard that bears were moving this way, but this is the closest sighting I'm aware off.
Big weekend in sports. You know, I just keep finding new levels in Federer's game. First, you notice his forehand. It's perfect. Then, quickly, you see that his backhand is sublime. While his serve is not dominating, it's very reliable, elegant, and more than adequate to the task. After a while, you notice, and this is hard, because, well, it's not obvious, that his footwork and court awareness is amazing. (see article clipped from the NYT below). THEN, as we saw in the semis and the finals, even when he's not playing to his full potential, and being pushed hard, he still manages to win in straight sets anyway (unless its against Nadal on clay). He's like Tiger in that sense. When he's in position to win, he does, no matter how well he's playing. But, shooting 63 on Sunday qualifies as playing rather decently. It was a tad inconvenient to have to switch back and forth between NBC and CBS all weekend, but I guess that's what a remote control is for.
My loyal readers have been also wondering if I was ever going to wash my car again, as they're jonsing for new CarwashCam abstracts. Here you go kids!!!!!
Our friends Rob and Hillary, currently stationed in Providence RI, had to put down their dog, Daisy, a few months back, as she was simply a menace to the neighborhood (and 'strange' houseguests, such as Yours Truly, who lost a chunk of finger to her.) They have now replaced her with the above cartoon dog, who may be named Eagle, but I'm awaiting verification on that. Rumor has it that this beast is a greyhound. More details as they become available.
And now, for the best, shortest piece of writing I have yet seen about Federer...
NEW YORK TIMES 9.8.07'
QUANTUM TENNIS
Down on the court it is Roger Federer versus Andy Roddick, 10:20 p.m. on Wednesday, men’s quarterfinals at the U. S. Open, early in a match that is never as close as the score. The players are still just becoming themselves. Roddick’s spasmodic serve is clocking 140 m.p.h. — the final, great twitch in a motion that is all twitch. Federer has not yet been Federer, but he is about to be. In the next few shots the game switches from tennis to quantum tennis. Roddick hits shots to where Federer isn’t, only to discover that by the time he has hit the ball, “isn’t” is in the past. Federer hits shots to where Roddick can’t be, which is an entirely different thing. And sometimes he hits them to where Roddick won’t be, which is a psychological assertion and more damaging to the opponent.
I try to imagine watching this match without seeing the ball going back and forth — seeing only the two men’s contrapuntal motion. One thing is instantly clear. Federer masters his opponent’s inertia. It’s as if Roddick is a weight on the end of a string and Federer is swinging him back and forth until he lets the string go and sends Roddick, who is playing at the top of his game, flat-footed into the far corners.
I have watched lots of televised Federer — every tennis fan has — but only now, live, do I understand. I’m surrounded by tennis reporters, and they are giggling. Federer hits an improbably perfect cross-court backhand, and laughter breaks out. Our expectations are outrageous, and seeing them met is somehow uproarious.
In the past couple of days, I’ve watched Djokovic, Monaco, Jankovic, Davydenko, Haas, both Williamses, and my favorite, Henin. The tennis has been wonderful, the athleticism extraordinary. And yet much of it has looked like a form of barely controlled rage. You can see it on the court now. Roddick explodes upon the ball. Debris flies in every direction. Federer’s motions look slight in comparison, and yet the ball seems to emanate from a single point with all of his focused energy behind it. It looks like sleight of hand.
And one other thing I notice, which is the void that Federer’s best shots leave behind them. Here it comes, a forehand I won’t even try to describe, except to say that it trails behind it the wish — an aching desire, really — to see it again. I don’t mean in instant replay or slow motion on the stadium screens or later, at home. I mean going back in time to see the shot as if you’d never seen it before. It’s the most unsophisticated desire you can imagine — to make the short voyage from hope to joy all over again.
VERLYN KLINKENBORG
