September 3: Volleyball Season

Everyone at work is in a tizzy about it being football season. When autumn begins to dip her toe into our lives, I don't think of football. 

I welcome the crisp air that breeds impossibly blue skies with the kind of white puffy clouds that certainly inspired cotton candy.

I dream of visiting the apple orchards and the plethora of fun activities they include (corn pool, bouncy pillow, kittens in the barn to be nestled, and oodles of caramel apples and ice cream). 

My eyes seek the harmony of the changing leaves as the trees begin harboring their strength inward to withstand the winter. The squirrels become plush and feisty. The chrysanthemums until now taking up useless green space in my garden bloom their promise. The earth smells...dark and mysterious.

My greatest childhood thrill from autumn was volleyball season. I dreaded the start of the school year, but it was almost ok. Almost. Because we got to play volleyball. 

There has been no other activity in life where I would work my body so hard that a flight of stairs felt insurmountable and yet I begged for more. Every season my forearms would be black and blue (I'm an easy bruiser) as I conditioned them for play  My right inner knee had a massive bruise (I never figured out that turning my knee pad inward might have saved me that pain). My ankles had to be wrapped from all the twists I sustained.

It was glorious. Simply glorious. This photo was in our local paper. It was on the eve of my last volleyball game in high school (taken with the other seniors). That's me on the left. One of these girls died from cancer. One just had a baby. Life is a flipped coin. I'd hug them all again, if I could.

I didn't play in college. I cannot express to you how much I wish that I would have given it a try. I have few regrets. This is something I deeply regret. I didn't know then that events that caused bone deep joy weren't to be taken for granted. In youth, bliss seems to be on tap. The concept of dwindling doesn't come into play until later in life, and it sneaks in like a thief when we aren't looking. 

I haven't played a real volleyball game since the 90's. If it's possible for ears to miss the sound of sneakers squeaking on a gym floor, mine certainly do. Standing on the serving line, holding the ball and targeting the other team's weakest receiver. Feeling anticipation, anxiety, and team with every breath. Tossing the ball into the air and letting muscle memory guide your hand to thwack it with enthusiasm. Being a part of something that brought pride, work ethic, dedication, and enthusiasm. 

A new era has begun in my home. Aria has the opportunity to take a 5th and 6th grade volleyball clinic in town. It's led by the volleyball coach where she'll attend high school. He's an excellent coach and brings in players from freshman through senior to help the girls teach their own muscles the moves necessary to play the game.

I sat in the bleachers watching the first practice with a smile on my face for an hour and a half. 

This song was a part of our warm-up every day. It brings my heart joy.

U2 - Desire