So Sweet You Could Get Fat Just Reading This

This is one of those posts that is so full of Grandma bias that those looking for more objective comments should go somewhere else.

Mama Toc got to give a 3rd birthday party for her little grandson this week-end. Even though there were only 5 of us, it felt comparable to planning The Surge. Do you know that there are entire stores devoted to nothing but selling cheap party junk made in China for any party theme you can think of???

Since I was informed that parties now have THEMES I selected Thomas the Train. Compared with some of the perv kiddie characters out there now, a train seemed very innocuous.

One hour later, with nerves absolutely frayed, I emerged from Party City with a huge sack of party props. The velvet crown was a nice touch--the scepter that spun neon lights was truly wonderful. It didn't help that I was shopping the same week-end as all four city high school graduations were occurring.

The part with the birthday cake was the best. I order my groceries online through Safeway. It was possible to order a Thomas the Train cake with all the bells and whistles over the phone. A beautiful cake was delivered along with my groceries--all in time for the barbecue and party. Very impressive.

The party was underway with the 3 older generations enjoying beer and wine with their hot dogs when suddenly the Grandchild announced at the table that he was "tired and needed to go take a nap!"

Say what? Go take a nap when the cake candles were being lit and ice cream ready to be dipped? That, indeed, is what little 4G guy did. And he slept for nearly 2 hours--which gave generations 1-3 down time with nothing to do but sample more adult bevereges.

The party finally resumed and all gifts were a great hit. But the biggest surprise was the way he took to the toy golf clubs. I can't begin to do what he does instinctively! I pay money to learn to do what he does simply because he's a 3 year old boy! Sigh and alas......Look and weep. Or Rejoice.

Golf--A Good Walk Ruined

I did not receive the mystery of initiation into the attraction of golf when I played my first nine holes yesterday. Sigh.....

I did receive aches and frustrations. It took me an hour to get ready to go. The purse to carry the camera, cell phone, bee sting shot, the inhaler for lung choke up, a hoody in case it rained or got cold, a fruit drink, nail file, Actifed for allergy attack, Kleenex and hand sanitizer! That ought to do it--I also brought 24 golf balls--just in case.

The first tee--the first shot--the first lost ball. Dang!

The first tee--the 2nd shot--the 2nd ball not exactly lost but into the trees and creek bed. And that's how it went.

How does a ball land in a sprinker valve???

After 3 holes I grabbed a shaded bench and rested, waving several other players through. A sign said "Restrooms and Refreshments ahead" and I wondered why I hadn't just driven the Jeep down to the clubhouse and skipped the physical punishment?

The fairways looked beautiful--I was actually on a fairway about 4 times in 9 holes.

I had a guardian angel watching out for me. Pete the "Players' Assistant" checked on me about every 2-3 holes. His encouragement kept me going although he drew the line at going back to my house, fixing me a G&T and bringing it out on the course.

One bunker put up quite a battle and won. I got lost and going the wrong way looking for the 6th tee.But 58 strokes and 2+ hours later I dragged back to the Clubhouse. And today I have taken to mah bed. By the way, have you all heard the Robin Williams routine on the invention of golf? It's on YouTube--but watch out for the f bombs. It has to be the funniest thing out there about this silly game.


The 9th green--Hallelujah!

DO IT ONCE? NO! YOU'LL DO IT EIGHTEEN TIMES!!!!!

Swing and a Miss

I should bring you up to date with the golf undertaking. This is a very strange sport. Absolutely no one is happy with how he is playing the game! No one!

I was asked by a stranger in the parking lot how I was "hitting them." I began to reply that I'd just been at the driving range, got 4 balls in the little pitching basket ON PURPOSE and then began to notice his eyes glazing over and a puzzled expression on his face. Ah ha! He didn't really care how I had been hitting any individual golf ball--he was asking if I'd had a good golf game!

I've learned that one never answers "great game!" Acceptable answers are:
--Couldn't putt to save my life
--Need to work on those long irons
--Need to work on my short game
--Need a new putter, driver, wedge, or whatever

Thursdays there is a group golf lesson with a teacher I shall call Jimmy the Knees and on Fridays is a golf clinic with a teacher I call Johnny the Grip. They are very patient and nice but have odd ideas. Jimmy the Knees was talking about walking into standing water to hit the ball. I had to tell him that no way was I walking into water with my brand new golf shoes so what would one do instead? He did not grasp what I was trying to say. Apparently he has never considered not taking a shot.

Johnny the Grip had us all contorted in order to make some obscure shot out of sand, over a lip, around a tree, onto the green and, I assume, eventually into the hole. He said, "It's not about looking good--it's about making the shot." I nearly fainted--NOT ABOUT LOOKING GOOD??? It's always about looking good.

As far as I can tell the only fun parts about this game so far are driving the electric golf cart and the new wardrobe possibilities.

Who Are Your People and Are We Related???

I got a call from Dah Mama to come right over--Second cousin Bertie Jane and her husband had dropped in all the way from North Carolina and they wanted to finally meet me.

WHO????

If you aren't from a Southern Family I'm not sure if you can fully appreciate what it means to sit down with total strangers and begin untangling the family tree until you've proved that everyone is, indeed, related.

This was a short session as such episodes go--the Ground Zero Relation was finally pinpointed and confirmed after a mere 3 hours. In this case, it's my great-great-grandfather, James Richard Rider. Whew!

Once the degrees of relation had been worked out we then had to go over every new addition to everyone's immediate families for the last 3 generations--and the pedigrees of those who had "married in." I gained an insight into the Old Testament--the women were the ones who remembered all the begats and were telling the men what to write down!

The biggest faux pas occurred when it was discovered Mr. T and I had lived within 70 miles of Second Cousin Bertie Jane back in 1974 when we lived in Durham. To make matters worse, we had actually driven within one mile of their house and not stopped. Of course I didn't know about the existence of this Second Cousin but I SHOULD HAVE KNOWN BECAUSE THIS COUSIN WAS NAMED FOR MY GREAT GRANDMOTHER ALBERTA (BERTIE) WHO IN TURN HAD NAMED MY GRANDMOTHER 'BERTIE.' Family feuds have begun over less.

Mind you, we covered 7 generations of relations--omitting the Yankee branches of the family tree who had changed their names in a tiff with the rest of the family who had gone Gray. It was a monumental undertaking but finally accomplished to everyone's satisfaction.

It all reminded me of the title of a favorite Southern cookbook:

Who's Your Mama, Are You Catholic, and Can You Make A Roux? (Book 1): A Cajun / Creole Family Album Cookbook (Jan 1, 2006) by Marcelle Bienvenu

It's a Life with Dogs

This is not a conversation to be having at 11:30 pm:

Moi: What's that under the poodle's tail?

Mr T: You mean that big white thingy?

Moi: Yeah. I better call the Vet first thing in the morning.

So, as Mr. T was leaving the house at 8 am he handed me my cell phone and said, "Don't forget to call the Vet early and see if you can bring Talus in."

Now, at 8 am I am in a deep sleep--middle-of-the-night sleep. But I woke up enough to push the auto dial button on the phone and heard a pleasant voice say something like "Doctor's office" on the other end.

"Hi, " I mumbled. "This is Toc."

(vague niceties from the other end)

"Well, Talus has an abscessed anal gland that is oozing and I think I need to bring him in."

(Sounds of rollicking laughter)

"I know--it's always something wrong with that dog's behind!"

(More laughter and gasping for air heard over phone)

Turns out I'd called my dentist by mistake. He had ZERO interest in tending to a poodle's swollen anal gland and suggested I call the Vet. He did, however, remind me that the authorization for a crown had come through and did I want to make an appointment now?

Of course I don't want to make a dental appointment. Besides, why would I need a crown when I will have died of embarrassment?

On a sadder note, my camera is dead. It fell out of the Jeep onto pavement one time too many. I am at a loss how to even leave the house. It is an appendage as much as fingers or a purse.

The last pictures taken with the old Olympus.

Je suis desolee.

Connecting the Dots

It all started going to hell in a handbasket in the beginning of the 20th century. Teddy Roosevelt, 26th President of the United States(1901-1909), began the last century. His favorite expression, "Bully!" led to the "bully pulpit" which has finally ended up 100 years later with a bully in the White House. It all connects. Dot #1.

In 1911 American golfers agreed to the adoption of HANDICAP rules. This was an attempt to legislate "fairness" at the expense of reality. Dot #2.

Now move to the Espionage Act of June 15, 1917, and the portion of that act called the Sedition Act of 1918. This was pushed through by President Wilson and it made it illegal for Americans to engage in "disloyal, profane, scurrilous, or abusive language" about the
United States government, the flag, or the armed forces during times of war. You couldn't even get mail delivered to your house if you were a dissenter of government policies during a war. Dot #3.

1918 is also known as the year of the great flu pandemic--the old N1H1 virus. But because of the Sedition Act--which wasn't repealed until 1921--President W. decreed a news black out of any mention of the flu--a decision that certainly contributed to it being a global pandemic. Dot #4.

In 1949 George Orwell published 1984. Dot #5.

It's obvious to anyone that the adoption of the handicap system in golf was the beginning of the end of democracy. Sigh and alas.....but at least it has now been figured out. Just remember--you read it here first.

A Real Swinger

Golf seems to require quite a few accessories--even more than the iPod. Unfortunately there are no 'apps' to download to make the game run better. I have yet to advance from the driving range or putting green to the actual golf course but I'm looking better.

First, the clubs. The wonderful old clubs with REAL woods and familiar irons has been replaced by a cheap, Chinese knock-off set in powder blue. The first set was actually men's clubs and had been mismarked. After we figured out that problem and exchanged them for "ladies clubs" things began to improve. At least I wasn't jarring my bones by slamming the club heads into the ground more than I was hitting the ball.

The second required item was a pair of golf shoes. Egads--not at those prices. Ebay to the rescue and I got a great pair with no wear at all for a mere $7.00. In the sunlight, the white of the leather is so bright I feel I'm staring into the headlights of an oncoming car--but we will manage. Mr. T rather likes the saddle shoes/school girl uniform motif.


Today I got the third piece of equipment: a golf cart to push the clubs around in. By taking the NEON YELLOW floor model I got a nice reduction in price. It has a cup holder(the most important feature) and is very light. But it is an IQ test in disguise. I counted 11 definite steps that must be taken to fold/unfold the cart! At least the old duffers will be able to see me coming with that bright yellow.

The Pro is a very good teacher. I've discovered that the definition of a golf pro is someone who says where he is going to hit the ball before he actually hits it--and the ball goes there! It is amazing to see that happen. He is very big on having a "routine" about hitting each shot. For someone who avoided stepping on cracks for the first 16 years of her life, this is a reassuring part of the game.

For now, I'm content to go to the golf clinic and try and hit the ball most of the time. It is great practice on learning to be IN one's body and not floating off into daydreaming or alpha. And, on a practical note, Byrdie has been very quick to learn to retrieve the golf ball when I'm practicing putting on the carpet.