A few years ago I was in the Nashville area, traveling on Interstate 40. It was a trip that I didn't want to make, to get some training. I stopped at a rest area and I parked next to a new Mercedes and started toward the rest rooms. It's really a nice rest area, as much as a rest area can be nice. There's big shade trees, a nice lawn and all that.
Then I see this guy under a big tree. He's got a stick and he's reaching up with it, trying to bend a limb down to the point where he can reach it. Without thinking, I walk over, jump up and grab it for him. He grabs the limb and breaks off a twig with a couple of leaves on it. He says thanks and I say you're welcome.
I'm looking at the dude. He's in his fifties, superbly fit and a good-looking guy. His hair is longish and sandy blond/brown. He shows no expression when he talks. He's inscrutable, yet he seems like such a good guy, just reserved. Then I think, "Man, this is Bjorn Borg." He is the spittin' image of the tennis great. I felt like saying, "Hey, how's that back-hand you used to wear Connors out with?" I refrained.
In an example of curiosity getting the better of my manners, I asked what he wanted the leaves for. He said that when he traveled he always took home a plant specimen. So, I'm thinking, wow, the customs people would probably go ape over that. I mean, kudzu is an example of why this sort of thing is discouraged. Then he says that he thinks the tree is a chestnut oak.
"No", I said, "My house is surrounded by chestnut oaks and I assure you, this is not one of them."
We chat a bit. He says that he lives in Stockholm, Sweden. I asked him if the folks there are concerned about global warming. He says yes, very much so, because Stockholm is right on the ocean and the ocean level seems to be rising on their coast. I tell him about my pin oaks and dogwoods dying as though the climate zone is shifting to a more southerly one.
At length he climbs in his Mercedes and I climb into my truck and we go our respective ways. I tend to indulge my imagination on chance encounters but this guy sure looked like Borg. I really loved to watch him play back when I was playing doubles with my work buddies. The pity is, I'll never know who he was because I never asked. I've never been much of a groupie and I don't like to bother people. Really, what does it matter? He was a nice guy and a pleasure to chat with. Besides, six French Opens don't mean you know what a chestnut oak looks like.
From the place that is as far as you can get from Roland-Garros, I'm CE Wills.
Then I see this guy under a big tree. He's got a stick and he's reaching up with it, trying to bend a limb down to the point where he can reach it. Without thinking, I walk over, jump up and grab it for him. He grabs the limb and breaks off a twig with a couple of leaves on it. He says thanks and I say you're welcome.
I'm looking at the dude. He's in his fifties, superbly fit and a good-looking guy. His hair is longish and sandy blond/brown. He shows no expression when he talks. He's inscrutable, yet he seems like such a good guy, just reserved. Then I think, "Man, this is Bjorn Borg." He is the spittin' image of the tennis great. I felt like saying, "Hey, how's that back-hand you used to wear Connors out with?" I refrained.
In an example of curiosity getting the better of my manners, I asked what he wanted the leaves for. He said that when he traveled he always took home a plant specimen. So, I'm thinking, wow, the customs people would probably go ape over that. I mean, kudzu is an example of why this sort of thing is discouraged. Then he says that he thinks the tree is a chestnut oak.
"No", I said, "My house is surrounded by chestnut oaks and I assure you, this is not one of them."
We chat a bit. He says that he lives in Stockholm, Sweden. I asked him if the folks there are concerned about global warming. He says yes, very much so, because Stockholm is right on the ocean and the ocean level seems to be rising on their coast. I tell him about my pin oaks and dogwoods dying as though the climate zone is shifting to a more southerly one.
At length he climbs in his Mercedes and I climb into my truck and we go our respective ways. I tend to indulge my imagination on chance encounters but this guy sure looked like Borg. I really loved to watch him play back when I was playing doubles with my work buddies. The pity is, I'll never know who he was because I never asked. I've never been much of a groupie and I don't like to bother people. Really, what does it matter? He was a nice guy and a pleasure to chat with. Besides, six French Opens don't mean you know what a chestnut oak looks like.
From the place that is as far as you can get from Roland-Garros, I'm CE Wills.
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