The path from the 7th hole to the 8th hole where we play golf is an uphill kinda thing.. neatly woven between a creek and a neighborhood - basically hidden from everyone except the golfers, critters and birds above. The trek is fairly long - long enough to bitch, moan about the 6 you just recorded on the toughest par 3 on the course... or mebbe, the spat you and she just had... or, like yesterday - enough time to get soaked from head to toe.
Uh huh, rain. Everything is green, but, reckon we need it. The rain, like golf, got harder and harder and harder - eventually, nature's symphony kicked in, thunder boomers happened, we counted the seconds between the lightning and the thunder, but, we were all too old, too far to removed from schooling to remember how far the lightning was based on the seconds between. Oh well.
Then, fog horn. LOUD, fog horn. That's akin to hearing "Git ur butt in here or I'll getta switch", or, where all three of your names are used in conjunction with same. We didn't go in. The fog horn, one smartass said, "reminds me of marriage." I'M KIDDING I'M KIDDING.... neither #1 or #2 used a raised voice.
Where was I? Oh yeah, getting wet. Soaked, in fact. Coupled with 94 degree heat, it felt perty darn good. Didn't make a lotta sense being out there, holding a 4' lightning rod in our hands in attempt to "up and down" our 2nd, 3rd shots to save par - so, we hid under a tree.
"Does that foghorn thing mean we HAVE to go in?"... We, us, of the born in fitty-something era - were among those that growed our hair out long, went and sat beside 50,000 other crazies - heard Richie start it, talkin' something about Freedom... Country Joe and 49,999 others of us basically saying "Hell no we won't go"... Hippies, some called it. Rebels. Freaks. Love childs. Why?... Why not?... How come?... and, "Huh uh" were among the favorite statements of the day.
Long about the time we'd reminisced, were about the break out into Oye Como Va, two baby foghorn toots happened, the sky above turned blue, Mother Nature indicated "OK, you can play now."
One of us geezers, his father was a farmer - said something like "Dad always usedta say, 'Never regret a good rain'" or something like that. Today, as I Googled to see exactly what the quote was........... I couldn't find it. That said, certain he was right on in hearing, and, fer sure, way more times farmers have been behind in rain than, too much.
That said, some Ag site learnt me "Too much rain can lead to rotting plants, and insufficient rainfall makes it difficult to grow crops and feed animals. Too much wind can make planting difficult, and freezing temperatures can stunt plant growth." IE, Goldilocks and the porridge, chairs, beds. Perty much gotta be just right.
Francis Albert Sinatra (uh huh, Frank) was fitty-four when Woodstock happened, so, me thinks he wasn't there in long hair, bellbottoms, weed in hand - BUT, he was dead on when he sang "That's Life."
That's life (that's life)
That's what all the people say
You're riding high in April, shot down in May
But I know I'm gonna change that tuneWhen I'm back on top, back on top in June.
Well, I actually sucked in golf in all three (April, May, June) but, you know. It (life, golf, farming, 'people'ing') is a balance. Right Goldi? Bears repeating (right Goldi?)
I've been up and down and over and out
And I know one thing
Each time I find myself
Flat on my face
I pick myself up and get
Back in the race.
Foghorns, longhorns, shoehorns, bullhorns, the horns (VICTOR! YOU PREVERT!) Hey, I was talkin' sax, not sex, you know, tuba, trumpet, cornet, that stuff.
Balance. It all.......... life, golf, marriage, crops, tires, rotation, juggling, driving, chipping, putting......
"The way I see it, if you want the rainbow, you gotta put up with the rain." Dolly Parton
Hello Dolly, this is Victurd, Dolly (and, Richie Havens, Jack Nicklaus, Country Joe, The Chairman of the Board, Santana, Foghorn Longhorn and Goldilocks. We couldn't agree more.
"Save a boyfriend for a rainy day - and another, in case it doesn't rain." Mae West
I wonder if she was at Yasgur's farm?
Love, Victurd
(VICTOR! YOU UP AT UGLY-THIRTY WRITING AGAIN? THIS DON'T AMOUNT TO A HILL OF BEANS!)... Beans need rain too.. and sun... balance... all that. Paul Harvey
No comments:
Post a Comment