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FOUR SEASONS BREEZE | NOVEMBER 2024 59 By the time this missive sees the light of day, our national election will be nigh in the offing, and with the denouement of the interminable trek this has been, so will begin the passage into history (however tectonic) of the clamor of disaffection many people have all taken toward one another. What heretofore has likely been no more than hushed rumors of dissent between friends, whispered disapproval of neighbors, or kerfuff le among family members — of late writ so large and loud — will go the way of the Dodo. Signs will be removed from lawns. Flags will fade; bunting packed away. Hats of contentious stitch and dye will begin their inexorable journeys into fray-dom and memento. And here you may be thinking, "Just hold on, there, bucko! This is not the room full of 500-pound gorillas you're supposed to be talking about! It's the Breeze. Keep it breezy." Well, dear reader, even silly songs can have meaning, can't they? Witness the photos from last month's Oldlympics. See the smiles? Surely there're Dems and Repubs and Indies in that fine looking group. Surely they don't all like pineapple on their pizza. How can they be standing so tightly packed and still be happy? Are they actors? Has it been doctored in post? Is it AI? My fellow 'Season-aires, whether we whack around a 40-some- odd holed plastic whiff le, volley a felty fresh two-ouncer over more halcyon courts, spin a diminutive white poly nugget across a table, or chop at a smaller, less vigorous cousin sphere in the hidden enclave next to the shuff leboard slide-o-ramas, when all is said and done, we ARE STILL all friends and neighbors and communal family members. You may think your happiness comes from contesting the movement of a ball or puck, from the tossing of a bag of dry corn at a distant maw, from hurling a sliotar or sinking a putt or catching a pelota in your cesta, but I'm here to say it doesn't. Not really. Check out the pics again. Husbands, wives, neighbors, friends, acquaintances, Four Season-ainians … countrymen. In the coming days (if you haven't yet) vote. Then, after the confusion and decision, contention and resolution, furor and peaceful progress, sally forth on your chosen field of contest. Find yourself a group to join. Celebrate our home, which smooths over petty interpersonal barbs with the joy of community, of hope, and peace. It's going to be a beautiful day. Come on out and play! ~ Mike McGrath, mjmsmailbox@yahoo.com Pickleball By the time this missive sees the light of day, our national election will be nigh in the offing, Your friends and neighbors participating in the Oldlympics Pickleball tournament. A great day of fun, sportsmanship, and camaraderie. Winners of the Oldlympics Tournament - Front row (L- R): Yana Whittinghill (Bronze), Carol Ward (Gold), Karen Belcher (Gold), Shelley Allard (Silver), Dianne Martinez (Bronze), Pat Williams (Silver), Tom DePaola (Silver) — Back row, R to L: Dan Edwards (Bronze), Tom Conigliaro (Gold), Jimmy Conner (Silver), Bernie Albanese (Gold), David Burchartz (Bronze).