Happy Anniversary "Double Life" !

A year ago today, I began my foray into bloggery. My optimistic intention had been to post once or twice a week. I didn’t always do that (the month of December is non-existent though I caught up in January). Aside from that lapse, I wrote between 3 and 6 times a month – close enough to my goal to satisfy me.
Along the way I experienced writer’s block and the occasional surprise of sitting down to write one thing and ending up with a different story. I also suffered the necessary pains of editing. As I once wrote to a journalist friend “Sometimes editing is easy and sometimes it’s like cutting off a finger.”
In my desire for accuracy, I learned some fascinating facts about the different events, holidays and customs I described. I feel richer for that.
The most unexpected revelation in my year of blogging was becoming aware of the intricate weave of my Third Culture Kid-ness – especially when I described holidays which evoked not only childhood, adolescent and adult memories for me but my childhood country, my adolescent country, my adult country – and my passport country.
Bloggers, like all authors, hope -- to paraphrase Ray Kinsella in "Field of Dreams" -- "If you write it, readers will come". Here, too, I made a number of discoveries. Friends I thought would eagerly peruse every word within hours of my posting have proved lackadaisical and sometimes downright resistant. My two most faithful readers – the only people besides me who have read every post – are my best friend from childhood (you can always count on your childhood friends ) and a French friend from choir whom I didn’t even tell about my blog for months because I wasn’t sure she read English well enough to enjoy it. Françoise not only reads every post but sends me comments in an e-mail afterwards.
I have a small but international following. People from 20 different countries have clicked on at least one of my blog posts – including countries where I know no one.


Some arrive accidentally. I chuckled when I discovered that my blog post about French school vacations, which I humorously gave a Latin title, has been on page two of a google search ever since – as students seek help with their Latin homework. Sorry guys. Yesterday, I had a hit from the town where I spent my childhood – Oakville Ontario – where I no longer know anyone. I discovered the person’s google search words were “Margaret Sproat Oakville piano teacher”. My blog comes up as number 10 in that search even though I do not know and do not mention Margaret Sproat. I did, however mention taking piano lessons in one of my posts. And I mentioned Oakville in at least one other. I hope my accidental reader managed to connect with the piano teacher.
"What now?" I hear you ask. I’ve decided that my blogging experience has been worthwhile enough that I’d like to commit to another year. I still have things to share. And, no doubt, new events will crop up in the next 12 months. I hope you will commit to another year, too.
On to more adventures!

Tennis Anyone?

The day the Festival de Cannes ended, my next harbinger of summer began -- the French Open, which the French simply call Roland Garros, after the venue where it is played.


I was first introduced to tennis through books. Various British authors wrote books where child protagonists played tennis. People in Agatha Christie novels were always organizing tennis parties. In a teen romance novel whose title and author are long forgotten the young heroine, having beaten all her rivals, walks out of Wimbledon as her name is being called to start the Women’s Singles Final and into the arms of the boy she loves. Even at the time I thought that highly unlikely!
When we moved to Jamaica, I got a chance to learn to play tennis at school -- until my long-suffering games mistress gently suggested I try something else that required less eye-hand co-ordination. I never got to play a match or understand the scoring until many years later, when I spent a rainy weekend visiting friends near Poitiers in west central France. Their local tennis club was having an indoor tournament and, since it was too wet to do anything else, we stayed there all weekend cheering the players. My friends, knocked out in the first round of mixed doubles, were happy to answer all my questions and, by the end of the weekend, I was able to watch a match with some understanding of what was happening.
Two or three years later, home with a broken leg all spring, I watched every game of every match of Roland Garros on TV. I was hooked.



The next year I tried to get a ticket to a day’s play. In vain. Roland Garros tickets are put on sale in December and January to members of tennis clubs. You must give your membership number and the official number of your club when you reserve your tickets. General Admission sales begin in February. In those pre-internet days, it was almost impossible. If you sent your request for tickets in too early, it was ignored. If you applied too late, there might not be a seat. One year, disappointed again, I was told that there was a charity event the day before the Tournament started. All you had to do was show up, stand in line, pay a modest entry fee and you could see a series of exhibition matches. For several years, I happily did this and saw all the top tennis players of the early 80s

Eventually, I got tired of getting up early, taking an hour-long metro ride and standing in line for several hours in order to spend the day surrounded by people I didn’t know. Some events should be enjoyed in the company of friends and none of mine were interested.
So, for the last twenty years or so, I’ve had my own private seat.


Sure I miss the atmosphere and the excitement of the crowd.


But I can attend every match for free – even the Finals. I never get sunburned and, if there is a rain delay I don’t get wet.
The internet has made buying tickets easier and every year, I think that maybe next year I’ll go again in person. All I have to do is be at my computer the morning of February 2nd, my credit card at the ready, dreaming of summer.