The sun is shining. 80+ degrees with slight wind from the south. No humidity. A perfect day after a long, cold, winter and a spring that sputtered but never really started. Nice enough that yesterday I picked up my golf sticks for the first time in many years. Other than a couple of rounds at various clubs, it has been over 50 years since I was a player in college with a 9 handicap.
Aside- I’m not going to my 50th reunion after all. I think that’s my final decision, but I won’t swear to it.
But I’m really excited about golf because we just joined a country club where I can play. I resisted this for 50 years for various reasons, many forgotten and many silly in hindsight. I grew up in a country club environment/family, and I finally decided that it would be good for my youngest daughter to have that experience. I don’t know how my older daughters will feel about that, but apologies in advance if necessary.
I went to the driving range at the club with full expectation that I would embarrass myself. Late morning, there would only be other old duffers like myself. That was true, but much to my surprise I wasn’t half bad. Maybe it was the stiff back and the gimpy knees that kept my swing from doing the stupid things it used to do. I had watched hours of the Masters last weekend and noticed that the old guys – Nicklaus and Watson and Player – all had modified their swings with age and still managed to hit a ball straight and pretty far. I’ll be damned if I didn’t do the same for most of a bucket of practice balls.
Now the real test will be to tee it up on the first tee and swing away.