It’s the beginning of August here in the Valley of the Sun and there’s really not a whole lot to talk about. The monsoon days come and go without much rain around here, although there was beaucoup rain in the West Valley and some awesome thunder and lightning just to our south last night. The rabbits are all doing OK. The neighbors behind us are getting their swimming pool resurfaced. I’ve got all our bills paid up for the next few weeks. My dentist didn’t find any cavities. The late nights are still too warm to really enjoy a nitecap, but the pool at 93 degrees is still fairly refreshing during these humid days.
I didn’t watch any of the PGA Championship, and I’m kind of glad of it, since, whereas by all accounts Jimmy Walker is a decent human being, I’m not much of a fan and really don’t consider him major winner caliber. The Olympics are starting tomorrow and I have no interest in watching them, either. All the political polls say Hillary Clinton is ahead of Donald Trump in the polls, but when you see the mainstream media tossing mud at Trump all day long, and Hillary draw 300 at a high school gym while Trump draws 15K in Jacksonville, Florida on a weekday night, well, believe whatever you want.
My mom’s passing in June has cast a shadow over the entire summer, and I guess that’s to be expected. The clubs are still in the travel bag they came back in nearly three weeks ago. There will, I’m guessing, come a time when I’m ready to pick them up again, but whereas the flesh is willing, the spirit is weak. I’m sure by the time September comes around I’ll have the urge back, but then again, who knows?
Watching the Red Sox play lately I don’t think they’re going to make the post-season – they’re very streaky as a team when it comes to hitting, and I just don’t think they have enough starting pitching. Whatever it is that ails David Price is anyone’s guess, but he sure doesn’t look worth all the dough-re-mi they poured out for him last winter.
…oops. I think I just saw a flash of lightning out the window to the east. Think I’ll grab my glass of cabernet and head out to the back patio to check it out.
As soon as you get a nice day, take those clubs out, go to the range and just swing away. No scoring, no lessons, no mental baggage … just let ’em fly wherever they may go. Best therapy there is. Be well … Goobe
Comment by Goose — August 4, 2016 @ 9:48 am
Thanks for the advice, Goose. Might just do that! Of course, I still have to unpack my clubs from the travel bag. We’ll see!
Comment by The Great White Shank — August 13, 2016 @ 9:36 pm