The seasons are shifting
Just for the record, I don’t flog. Tried the game/sport a few times, and after a recorded score of 120 on the front nine in Stanhope, I decided to save what remained of my pride. After all, the scorecards aren’t designed for triple digit stroke counts, and the people behind me lose their patience. Part of it comes down to weak eyesight. Searching through acres of underbrush is necessary when people go missing. Tiny, hard spheres? Better to buy a bucket over at the range, and lug it around. Or find another way to ruin a perfectly lovely walk.
Anyhow… word out today that one of the north shore courses is open for the season. Yes, it’s early; even they admit that the push may come to shove, if they allow carts on the lawn and the snowfall starts up again. Still, less and less chance of that.
The “seasons” are shifting. Here we are, with the winter chapter closing. Soon, there’ll be people standing around in odd circles, as one person swings a branch (OK, a bat; with my eyesight, there’s room for confusion). Others will kick basketballs around (school budgets require repurposing the gear). Yet others will run and jump and skip and play, claiming to practice for the Olympic track and field events.
Hard not to feel fortunate. All of that energy-expensive activity is required only while in high school. I passed through that Purgatory, a long time ago (thanks for the prayers, friends and relatives). Now I can watch others, rarely breaking a sweat unless I forget to reset the air conditioning.
