Thursday, July 19, 2018

Big League

You know how in movies about a boxing match or maybe a horse race, after all the bets are in, they bring out the competitor that no one had planned on and all expectations go out the window?
          That’s called a ringer.

          After playing in this new golf league on 5 dates, I had acquired enough scores for the organizers to determine my handicap. I’m still a little fuzzy on the whole concept of handicaps, I mean, why can’t your score just be your score. But apparently the handicap is used to balance scores of the great players and the mediocre players, or the god-awful players like me.
In theory, I could play Tiger Woods if my handicap were factored in. There’s a terrifying thought.
          The lower the handicap, the better the golfer. Let’s just say that my handicap is roughly four times greater than most. Not good.
          Except –
          I arrived today to learn that my group last week came in second in last week’s tournament and I received 3 crisp one-dollar bills as a result.
          Hmmm  . . .? I thought. But then things got busy and we all stormed off to the course.
          At the end of today, it turned out my group had again placed second in the tournament. I had played a little less abysmally than last week, but nothing special.
          Then one of my group came up and thanked me and the other shoe fell.
          Guess what? I could actually be in hot demand, because when you factor my gigunda handicap in, it drops all the other scores in the group through some whacko golf magic.
          I’m the ringer!

Sunday, July 15, 2018

Tortes and Whales

Yesterday evening we made the fatal error of watching last week’s episode of The Great British Baking Show. . .tortes.

Friday, July 13, 2018

I am who I am - Really

I have no idea why I thought retirement would provide a force shield against bureaucracy, but there was a definite rupture today.

Wednesday, July 11, 2018

Quiet Epidemic

Today’s return to my water aerobics BFFs connected in a small way to Tuesday’s exercise class at a neighboring Senior Center. 

Sunday, July 8, 2018


Halleluiah, the weather has broken. Mamie’s out from under the bed – most of the time – and our porch no longer resembles the punishment box in Cool Hand Luke.

Friday, July 6, 2018

13 Pound Power Struggle

     It’s been in the upper 90s for the past six or seven days and Mamie’s had it.

Wednesday, July 4, 2018

Knowing Your Place

          After a wacky air-head hitch in which I went an hour early to pick up my friend R for our Tuesday exercise class, and then had to return one hour later, we finally got to the neighboring town’s Senior Center as people were setting up chairs. The class involves a lot of aerobic step work but uses chairs for some of the weight lifting portion.

          Everyone had arranged their chairs in a big circle, but one woman had pulled hers farther out. R asked her if we were in her way but she said no, she liked to be in the outer portion for more room.
          “Everyone has their favorite spot, don’t they?” commented R.
          We discussed classes we’d taken or seminars we’d attended and how you needed to think long and hard about where you chose to sit on that first day. There might as well be brass plates attached to them the way everyone always gravitates to the same spot on succeeding days.
          As we spoke, I had an immediate flash of sitting in my particular spot at my parents’ dining table in Virginia, my sister always across from me.
Then I was teleported to the dining room in Tulsa, my grandfather at the head, Granny to his left, my sister next to her, and my mother and me on the other side.
My own kids always had their particular side of the dining table across from each other, perfectly positioned for tormenting the other or making him/her crack up and spew milk midway through the meal.
Maybe now this whole concept is probably hopelessly outdated. I wonder how many families really sit down at home and have an actual meal at a table together.