Keep your damn wiffle ball out of my yard.

I hadn't been awake that long. (I'd griped, groaned as my old body eventually made the transition from prone to upright. There was a brief moment of levity.  I dunno why, but I always "Arrrh" like a pirate in speaking back to my bones when I stand.) I read the news today oh boy... crime, political argument, sometimes even in the same story.  Flipped the TV off.  Newspaper.  Gunshots. Drive-bys. Homicide stats.  YUCK.

I'm old. I'm entitled to gripe yeah? The drive to work. Brrrr.  Cold.  Damn walnut tree, I can't see thru all the sap on the windshield.  That time of year, watch for deer dear. To Mickey D's.  Breakfast sandwich. If. Only. One. Of. The. Three. Behind. The. Counter. Would. Come. Greet. Me.

"That'll be $7.32 sir."......  "No. No, it won't.  I get the same thing every time I come here. I get two ___'s, one ___ and a cup of water. It's $4.65. "  As all those damn food icons stared at the snotnose (said lovingly), she gave me a brief up and down look, which, basically said to me "I really don't like waiting on old people."  I gave her a look back straight in her eyes that said without saying "I hate when snotnoses take my order, their brain is assuredly fixed on that damn 'text ding' that happened on their phone in their back pocket.. pay attention to me, LiSTEN." (It is soooo fun being old and always being right.  I wonder at what age we actually make that transition?)

Damn the Government.  Taxes.  Leaves from the neighbors oak tree allover my GD (Gosh Darn) yard. Winter is coming.  I hate winter.

Of course, I pulled four Ones from my billfold... dug thru my hiked up waisted pockets for my change. YES, I'm giving you the exact change.  You're always in a hurry, I know I could give you a Five, but then I'd have EVEN MORE change in my pocket.  And you there, waiting behind me. Chill. I know between these four pockets I've got 65 cents. I saw you roll your eyes. If Mickey D's sold lottery tickets, I'd by 27 of 'em one at a time just to aggrevate you further.

This being old, grumpy is hard work, but I'm blessed to do it.

It's rush hour.  I've got to turn LEFT out of McDonalds somewhere between the parade of 4,263 commuters from Kearney, Excelsior, Lawson, Rayville, et al, making their way Westward to I-35.  Damnit Jim.

As I waited, I flipped the radio channels 3 times (I hate that Fishing and Hunting show), the Back East accent of the guys on the next channel giving me betting picks that 'can't miss' also drives me batty, so........ to FM...Joan Jett.  Finally. I love rock and roll put another dime in the jukebox baby.

Just as I thought I had a breakthrough to turn left thru this damn traffic, I realized I still had my handicap placard on the mirror and it'd blocked my view.  Another wonderful opportunity to cuss.  As I pulled it down, I saw myself in the mirror.  Damnit Jim.  When'd I get THAT wrinkle?

Finally, only 1,067 cars later, I gunned it, turned left, just missed getting bashed by the Heating and Cooling truck.  All good.

I pull into the golf course at 7:37am.  Perfect. Except. There's a few whippersnappers that are ALWAYS early.  It is known first tee time is 8am.  (I love me some customers, i do). These kind fellers, for them, they love golf so much, it's a race to see how early I will let them go.  I unlock the door at 7:45am.  They follow me in.  Idle chit chat amongst whippersnappers whilst they watch me count the money.  Without saying "Faster Victor faster" their eyes say "Faster Victor faster."

So... to backtrack, I've very much lived up to being the grumpy old fart I'm supposed to be. The best part of waking up is the "Arrh" and the creaking bones.  I got mad at the TV news, then the newspaper, cussed the weather, gave a baby evil eye to Mickey D's worker who no listen to me.  Bitched at 1,067 commuters (most, SUV's with those family stick figure stickers on the back window.  Got to work, gave the cars already in the lot that ole gnarled lip that mean dogs have so down pat.

Did i mention I almost tripped on the trike the kiddygarter in Apartment #1 left on the sidewalk? Yeah, forgot, so there's that.  Keep your damn wiffle ball out of my yard sonny.

AND THEN.

AND THEN IT HAPPENED.

Guy comes up, holds door for an older lady, a beautiful older lady with a smile to match.  He too had a smile plastered a mile wide on his mug.  Kudos. To both.

The guy, i am guessing, was maybe 5 or 6 years older than me.  "Nine holes and a cart please for my mother and I."

Twas then I realized, I should be in time out, in the doghouse, at the doctor to up my anti anxiety prescription, or, in the Confession booth apologizing.

I'm old.  Old DOESN'T give me the right to bitch, moan, groan, be curt, to seek out yuck insteada yum.  Forgive me Father, I promise to do better at my start tomorrow.

"Sir, i think it is sooooo cool that you play golf with your mom."

He smiled (or course, it was his, her nature.) Then said "You bet, and she still hits the ball pretty good for 98."

In spite of the propaganda I get in the mail and within my newspapers begging to sell me a hearing aid, i still hear well.

I repeated "98?"   "Yep, 98."  Her smile stretched from Smithville to Excelsior.

"Ma'am, you are an inspiration!"  "Well thank you"... to which her son replied "She is... she truly is."

A bit later I got to go out on the course, camera in hand and snap a pic of her pitching the golf ball onto the green.... and then one of both her and her son.. no need to ask them to say "Cheese."

Lesson learned.  Life, no matter how old, is wonderful, groovy.

"Hey kid?"  "Yeah?"...  "I don't wanna risk you getting hurt climbing over the fence, you can open the gate to come in and get your wiffle ball.  Nice hit BTW!"

I'm finding we old farts are like modeling clay.  The longer the wind, sun, rain, yada, hits us, the tougher it is to reshape us.  Still, it's possible.

I'm starting tomorrow in fact.  Inspirational.

Love, Victurd