MONDAY, MONDAY

I’m driving home from yesterday’s debacle and I’m suddenly reminded of that Mamas & Papas song,  “Monday, Monday.”

Monday, Monday, can´t trust that day,

Monday, Monday, sometimes it just turns out that way,

Oh Monday mornin´ you gave me no warnin´ of what was to be …

There were exceptions during the round that almost made the gas money worthwhile. I saw Alan hit balls that literally appeared to disappear! And others that went so errant I imagined the Fresno Bee with breaking news:

 A utility worker was found deceased today from unknown causes, though detectives suspect his passing might have had something to do with a Titleist #4 embedded in his forehead. They urge any golfer wanting to retrieve his lost ball to contact … blah blah blah at blah blah blah.

And then there was Dick, who said he had this great idea: He was showing pictures of fairways to his new sleeve of Callaway balls. “Look, it makes sense! I’m sorta making ‘em, well, homing-pigeon-type balls—they’ll know where to land!” We all squinted and leaned towards him to see if he was serious. He was.

Alan and he are best friends, so Alan readily agreed, turned toward us, and raised his eyebrows to his hairline. The Hat grinned weakly and said, “Wow … how’d you think of that one?” 

Having missed several fairways myself, I admit I gave some consideration to the concept around the 13^th hole. 

I called “The Gal” and Lyle pointed out that no self-respecting coyote would come within 500 yards of this foursome. 

Monday golf that became Thursday’s hope—again!

Dennis has left us ...

"Denny, club down one or two!"

No, he knew what his yardage was and fought to get back to it ...not the other way around.

He loathed compromise.

Mystery bird appears again!

Sam spotted it first. There it is sitting on the closest rock. Yes, there is a duck and an egret who insisted on staying in the picture!

Hole 17 - last pics of 2018 Lyle, Coach and Sam!

Sam "the birdman" Dalhed solves the mystery!

Glenn,
I think that the bird we saw is the black-crowned night heron.  I have 
attached a picture of the adult, and the other one with brownish color 
is identified as a juvenile.  The description of the characteristics in 
Peterson Field Guide to Birds seems to match the behavior we saw.  The 

guide describes siting the bird as uncommon!

 
                                                No turtlenecks for this guy!

Lyle, Raggio, Joe and Coach ...and a mystery bird type?

We just couldn't figure what kind of fowl it was- never seen one before ...Closer to a gull, we think, but not a gull- an elk perhaps?

                                                                              Company near the 6th tee.

To golf or not to golf

What so silent creeps with evil intent, without a whisper of its coming?
Tickles the throat and allows not the clearing a normal disturbance makes;
Cast not the eye on this villain, and perhaps destination will choose another (The Hat, maybe);
A skirmish in the sinus, the sleeping familiar warning of Nyquil nights to come.

Morning’s arrival has company: a Kleenex, a Kleenex, my dignity for a Kleenex!

What cold deed now seeks revenge on my throat and avoids all abating?

A hot ember residing with comfort sits, as if a servant
To inspect roughly anything that might attempt to pass.
A symphony in the making; coughing with notes of varying sounds from basso to falsetto,
Followed by a gentle wheeze that rests with insistent pride on every breath.

Like a one-hit oldie, there is no expectation of arrival,
You know the notes, the melody, and the harmony—and there it is:
A cold, your cold.

One would think that given the many rehearsals,
You could play through the misadventures:
Be d’Artagnan and duel all symptoms to rest.
Not.

I am six when I’m sick:
Ginger ale, Vaporub, and Campbell’s chicken soup (the musketeers)
Must follow until that morning when the corner arrives,
When my voice no longer sounds like it’s exiting through one nostril,
When blowing my nose doesn’t feel like it might blow an eye into my soup.

I used to read the thermometer without glasses;
A non sequitur, yes, but I have allowance.
I am seriously feeling sorry for my three-days-ago self.

Okay, so it wasn’t Iwo Jima, but it was a form of hand-to-hand combat with myself;
Fight, but do not slay; you might need those lungs later …