Addie and Dustin's wedding reception

On Friday, Jane and I went to Addie and Dustin's wedding reception at Mikeys (mi•key's), which is a great space right down the street from Elsa's.

Addie looked gorgeous in her dress, just like in their surprise Florida wedding.

She and Dustin are a perfect match: both of them are fun and adventurous. The first time I met Dustin, he was wearing a teal t-shirt and parachute pants — at my 80s-themed birthday party. This is a guy who really knows how to go for it in life. Who else could get Addie to go on two dates in one night? Theirs is one of those "We knew it right away" love stories.

Dustin’s brother Jordan, who had worn a mesh half-shirt and acid-washed jeans to the party, regaled me with post-party stories. The gist: He had gone to a few bars and people were not friendly, but he hitched a few rides to ultimately end up in Walker's Point. Thumbs up!

And now back to the reception: The boys and Addie had constructed a photo booth, complete with props. This provided much entertainment as the Kalmbach girls (Addie, Serene, Kristin, Jane, me, Lindsay, and Alison) crammed our way in. It will be interesting to see if the sword or goggles made it into any of the shots.

Later I sampled the crostinis, crudites, and cakes. Yes, cakes. So many cakes, they didn’t all fit in the picture. I ate two pieces (a welcome respite from my anti-sugar campaign, which is a story for another time).

Fun night, fun people. Cheers, Addie and Dustin!

Turning on a dime

My friend Mary often says, "Life can turn on a dime." I agree. Things can change quickly, in any direction.

But the dime itself, how often do you think about it?

At my tennis lesson today, Tom had me practice my serves. Which I needed lots of work on — they were terrible on Saturday. ("What's with the Zembinski arm?" my friends asked. "Really?" Dianne said after I double-faulted for the zillionth time. The serves were not good.)

So Tom walked away and came back with...

A dime.

He put it under the tip of my ring finger while I held my racquet. My fingers had been flying off the grip when I served.

Not anymore! My serve has turned on a dime. (And with a dime.)

Sure, I could bend my legs more and swing harder and control the toss better. But hanging on to the racquet is a good start.

Thanks, Tom!

Oh no, Papa, not the batteries!

Papaya ripped open packs of batteries, scattering some in the kitchen and playing with others in her special place in the living room. (It doesn't look like she ate any. Phew.)

When it comes to chewing and shredding, Pops is something of a DieHard herself.

But Papa, enough with the super-charged playtime.

Good to be back

I haven't been blogging or playing tennis lately, and I've really missed both.

Yesterday on court 3, Rick, John, Carl, and Fred were playing doubles. One of them said, "You're here for a comeback!"

It was a warm welcome as Tom K. and I walked onto court 4 — he wisely kept me away from the "show courts." This was my first time playing tennis since injuring my arm in February.

A comeback suggests a good result, and I wouldn't say that things were quite so grand. Tom tried to fix my backhand grip, letting me know what he could and could not live with. At one point, he asked what I was thinking about as I was hitting. "Just trying to get the ball back." Such modest goals.

But my K-Swiss with nubby laces, the smell of not-quite-new tennis balls, seeing my Tuesday night group (whom I play with only once a month anyway) — all of it seemed new. And all of it was great.

Like coming home.