And We Call It Golf

(Email from the host)

All invitations have been extended and the host committee is pleased to announce an extraordinary field for this inaugural event. The headliners include:

Gxxxx, The First Five Putts are For Range and Then I Get Serious, Mxxxxxxx (stay tuned for an announcement on his putting clinic); Tom, Whining for Strokes, Bxxx; Tom, No These are Not Pajamas, They are My Favorite Golf Slacks, Bxxxxxx; Larry Mxxx, reigning champion of the Resort Classic last played at White Witch in Jamaica; and the 305th place player on the 1972 LPGA money list, Lyla, I Need an Operation, Sxxxxxx.

The Logistics Manual with all of the important travel details and tips you will want at you fingertips is drafted but has been delayed in production. Apparently in is in queue after Volumes 1 and 2 of the Abridged Invitational Rules with foreword by the master of rules, Mr. Ponicki the Pole. The Logistics Manual and each Rules Volume is sold separately for $19.99 but as a Founding Member you can reserve your complete souvenir set if you act now for only $29.99. Operators are standing by to assist with your order. The Logistics Manual will include details on all of the following and much, much more:

North bound travel: Mxxx and Bxxxxxx approved for take off late Friday afternoon from Las Sendas. Open seat available for Boyd if the time is suitable for his needs but he may want a separate get away vehicle. Mac and Swen otherwise engaged Friday late and will arrive at the first tee at the appointed time. GPS will likely be involved for a successful arrival.

Prelim round: 11:00 at Silver Creek with 5some format approved. Competitors to nominate interesting 5some wagers and to select all that apply before the first striking of a ball. A modified Captain and Pig is under consideration but additional proposals are encouraged. Final determination will likely involve whining, crying and other childish acts.

Post round: Drinking and carrying on. Perhaps a game of Corn Hole at the Fun House. Rules provided by Ponicki the Pole even though he knows little of the game.

Dinner: steaks fried by that player with the highest putt count for the day. Food provisions to be pre-purchased by the host committee and the hat passed.

Surprise evening entertainment: sponsored by Gxxxxxx.

Sunday coffee at 7:00 AM if the 5 knuckle heads can operate Donna's new coffee maker. It resembles a '57 Plymouth dash board with push button tranny. If the coffee maker is uncooperative Bloody Marys will be substituted. Full and balanced breakfasts including donuts and candy bars available at Circle K a short sprint from the Fun House.

Final round: 8:30 at Concho Valley, 5some permitted but the Whiner anticipates a cash shortage and possible need to head down the hill early.

Adult beverages: BYOB for those that have a particular flavor but well brands and Rolling Rock available.

Post round: lunch, one for the road and purchasing lottery tickets for fire arms. Travel home.

Cookie snacks on the course: by Gxxxxxx. He picks them up wherever he finds them.

Maps, directions and scorecards available for only $9.99 plus shipping and handling.

(Response)

Putting aside for a moment my despair at your tortured syntax and circular logic, a few questions remain:

Are we to bring our sleeping bags, towels and, in my case at least, a wash cloth pre-soaked with my favorite ointment? or will the heat be on in the Palatial Estate and we be doing sheets, towels, and, in my case, one well used wash cloth on Sunday? And wouldn't it make more sense for Donna to run up the hill real early Sunday morning to make our coffee and breakfast, rather than tend to the lingering needs and wants of Jxxxxx and Lxx? I thought she loved us!? And how old is that kid, anyway?

Now about your writing. They let you write contracts over there on Van Buren? I'm seeing no more than six degrees of separation between that fact and the current state of the economy.

And it's "God Forbid - Another Freaking Operation!" Prince Lyle the Magnificent, thank you very much.

Boydski - You're welcome to ride up Saturday morning with the Putting Fool and me. We're leaving Ahwatukee at 6:45 and could easily swing by for your tattered, tawdry ass.

And It Begins

The realtor calls. "Ok, the inspector will meet you at your new home at nine on Wednesday. It will be $490.75, but that does include checking the pool equipment and the termite inspection. You can just pay him then."

I know this drill. It was taught me almost exactly eleven years ago, before my daughter's wedding.

'Take out your wallet, hold it open, and extend it toward any and all who approach you.'

Yeah, I remember. And then say 'Thank you'.

Boy! That Didn't Take Long!

Guess who are the newest hillbillies in Apache Junction? Almost. Escrow opens tomorrow on the northwest corner of Boulder at North Prospectors Road. I submit this information because Google Earth doesn't recognize the actual address and sends its tracker instead to some place in Mesa.

You won't see much about the house, except where it is in relation to the Stooperstitions. It's at almost 2100 feet, more than 800' higher than our current house, and the views are terrific. It's almost twice the square footage of our home, all on one level. The best part? A year ago it was listed for $709,900 and our offer was accepted for under 3.

A quick tour is available at visualtour.com/shownp.asp?t=1436816&sk=13&prt=10003

House Hunting

Hard to believe we've lived in the same home more than 22 years. Might not be much longer, from the signs and portents.

"It's time for an adventure!" She blithely announced a couple weeks ago. I sighed, figuring it would be another stint of dinners out at odd new restaurants with stingy portions and goo on the entrees, maybe new carpet (no, we just did that), and I inwardly committed to remaining placid amongst the slings and arrows of outrageous fortune. Boy was I wrong .

Turns out we need a new, bigger house.

But, but, but - the kids are gone (last one moved out 13 years ago), we're down to one cat and the occasional cold-blooded interloper and her six-legged lunches, but no, we need more room - and it all should be on one floor and in a newer house and close to the grandkids and on the way to the cabin and near the Superstitions. "It's your fault! You've spoiled me with that huge kitchen in the cabin and all that room! Here, it's just, just the same, day in, day out. There you sit in that Ugly Blue Chair!"

Oh, OK.

So a couple days each week we've trooped through some poor subprimed schlub's soon to be temporary domicile, and found some terrific bargains. Though I guess I can't personally describe anything as a bargain that's well into six figures, but damned if a few of these homes were not too long ago a bit into seven figures. We'll see.

If She needs an adventure, some dramatic change in her life, - - - let's just say that for a guy like me (and I think you know what I'm talking about) it could be a lot worse - a hell of a lot worse - than moving to a different house.

A wacky, mostly stinkoid, ultimately pretty good thirteen months.

So it had been about a year since I’ve posted, and from the chorus of inquiries, about three people noticed.

I guess that would be a trio of inquiries.

I didn't stop so much from the lack of creativity that had starkly defined my earlier writing, as it was the wide variety and vast quantities of medication that accompanied three surgeries in 13 months.

I’d damaged my left foot almost four years ago, and foot pain is a relentless nuisance. It got worse and worse, and I finally came to the not-at-all independent realization that it wasn’t getting better and wasn’t going to. Had that puppy sliced open, rebuilt and stabilized with a pin running through my second toe down through the middle of the foot.

Shortly thereafter I had my abdomen remodeled (Diverticulectomy: a fist-sized spare container taken off my bladder), and finally, in June, got my knee replaced.

I didn’t realize the effect of the meds through all this. Thought “with all this time off, it’ll be a good time to switch the office over from Windows to Mac”.

Wrong.

Thought I was literally losing my mind for about a two- or three-week period there, to the point that I told the missus it was time for us to do some serious planning for her independent future. She kindly indicated that, while she did occasionally have idyllic dreams of that eventuality, right now did not jibe with her timing.

With her analysis, we narrowed my terrifying descent into madness down to a cursed little pill I was taking to sleep through the pain: Ambien. Be verrrrry careful if that or a similar medication is prescribed for you. Be careful if anyone you care about is taking it. And stay the hell away from any bookkeeping functions.

I'm off the hard drugs, almost pain free for the first time in a very long time, and if you're willing to check in once in a while, and maybe post a comment from time to time, I'd be delighted to try to irritate you with my opinions and gleanings. Thanks

Things Up With Which I Must Put

It's not as if she shouldn't have known.

I'm midway through a weekend, watching great football, and I have to put the game on pause, get up out of my chair, and march out to the back yard to remind Her that it's time for my lunch!

The mower was so loud I couldn't get her attention from the patio, and had to go clear out to where she was bagging the clippings. I made myself pretty clear, you can darn betcha, that this was going into her file.

It's just not right, you know?

Last week the Mensan flew in from DC and joined the parents of my grandchildren to drive to Anaheim for their annual Halloween Dinnyland week. In your mind, Halloween may be a one-day event, but not for Walt’s wonderworkers; it’s a month long gala.

The grandmother and I “couldn’t “ go this year, as someone had to take care of Fluffy, the grand-gecko. No small responsibility, he. Restrictions and caveats flowed like the muddy waters of the Amazon. First came three e-mailed pages of directives, including the proper care and feeding of crickets and millworms. Who’d have guessed fresh crickets (about a two day shelf life and six cents apiece) have to be put into a baggy and shaken into a protein powder, before being dumped into the lair of the Fluffster? Who would have known about keeping millworms in the refrigerator, semi-comatose until the day of their denouement, when you let them thaw a bit before spooning them (plastic, disposable spoon) into a special Millworm Enclosure?

The worms in the refrigerator were a tough sell.

Parts of the three pages were quite nice, such as “His favorite bedtime story is “Goodnight Moon” which sometimes must be read through twice, to calm him if the crickets have been rowdy.” The wind wasn’t blowing very hard the day that acorn fell from the tree.
Nearing the transfer date, and on one of the two or three times weekly we’re at my grandchildren’s house, when The Tall One comes home from work, I suggested that I may as well take possession of the Fluffinator now, save a trip, all that.
“No. I’d rather bring him over myself, just to . . . be sure.”

That stung, a bit.

So the Tall One brought Fluffy over, ok’d his accommodations, reviewed the rules, adding “And here is some special sun block to use twice a day.” Then a shriek of laughter, a doubling over of an overly long body in giggles, “If you could have seen your face, pops!”