Last day hitting balls at the Superstition Springs G.C. driving range before shipping the graphite woods back to New England for their debut in cooler weather and thicker grass. How I’ll hit them is anyone’s guess: I think I’m close, but I’m definitely not there yet and not quite where I want to be. There’s still time, of course, but with Goodboys Invitational weekend now less than three months away the clock is ticking.

…which means, of course, less than three months until the British Open. I can’t wait.

I wanted to hit the range on a Tuesday afternoon just to see what the place was like on a broiling weekday afternoon. The same retired fellow was there that I’ve seen every time I’ve gone out there this year. Until today it was always on a Friday afternoon, but the fact he was there on a Tuesday leads me to believe he’s a regular range rover. Follows the same routine: lays a club down at his feet to make sure he’s squared up, hits ten balls, sits down for about ten minutes, then does the same thing all over and over again. I couldn’t hit balls as often as that.

Still, I’ve enjoyed going to the range this year and hitting balls under a bright blue sky with the warmth of the sun, the sound of balls being hit, and the casual golf talk of the other players creating a lovely pastiche for the senses. It’s taken me a long time to accept the fact that I’m always going to be scrambling whether or not I’m at the range or actually playing; now that I can I actually enjoy myself whether I’m hitting the ball good or not. Knowing what I need to work on helps a lot - golf is already enough of a humbling game without adding to the fact you don’t know what you’re doing wrong!

This post’s title comes from a song that popped into my head out of nowhere while I was hitting balls - actually, after a 7-iron hit absolutely on the screws. I always liked the tune - I remember it from my teens - and you don’t see lyrics like these any more:

I remember when the sunlight had a special kind of brightness
And laughter held a lover’s kind of lightness, yellow days, yellow days.
She would hold me and the smile would spread around us so completely
And the softness of a kiss would linger sweetly, yellow days, yellow days.
But then came thunder and I heard her say goodbye
Through tears of wonder, now I’m alone and my heart wants to know
Yellow days, where’d you go?
Life is empty and the sunlight seems so harsh instead of tender
And the laughter’s just an echo I’ll remember yellow days, yellow days.
Now I’m alone and my heart wants to know
Yellow days, where’d you go?
Life is empty and the sunlight seems so harsh instead of tender
And the laughter’s just an echo I’ll remember yellow days, yellow days

Percy Faith did the version I remember, and it’s been covered by a slew of artists, but I particularly enjoy this Frank Sinatra version backed with a swingin’ Duke Ellington arrangement. Taste, class, and appreciation!

Butch Harmon comments about Tiger Woods’ swing. Hell, I’ve been saying the same thing about fellow Goodboy Ron “Cubby” Myerow’s swing for years.

…heard Golf Channel just finished an interview with fellow Goodboy Steve “Killer” Kowalski. Heard it’s going to be posted here by end of week. Stay tuned…

If you really want to know what’s really going on inside the Obama administration, make The Ulsterman Report a favorite. Between his contacts with “White House Insider” and “Wall Street Insider” it’s a perspective you won’t find anywhere else on the web. I have people “in the know” telling me there’s a serious scandal about to enfold the Obama administration beyond anything you’ve seen yet.

Look, I’m no more of a fan of former senator and VP nominee John Edwards than anyone else is, but I agree with National Review Online’s Rich Lowry that what he did does not warrant prosecution. Is he scum? Did he misuse campaign funds? Yes. But is he a felon worthy of prison? No.

As if summer couldn’t get any better. Not only have the reformed Beach Boys delivered a sterling remake of their classic “Do It Again”, their first single from their 50th anniversary reunion album, “That’s Why God Made The Radio” sounds like a gem. Great tune, great vocals. I can’t wait to see them in Las Vegas, it promises to live up to all the hype.

We hit 102 and 106 here in Gilbert on Saturday and Sunday, respectively. The pool temperature jumped eight degrees in just two days. No matter how you slice it, that’s hot weather. I just hope it’s not a harbinger of things to come this year.

Good thing the Red Sox and Yankees got rained out last night. That 15-9 loss on Saturday after the Sox were up 9-0 was as awful a display as anything I’ve seen from the Sox, even going back to last September’s historical swoon. As much as Bobby Valentine (Bobby V!) appears to be kind of a joke of a hire, at some point you have to start questioning Sox ownership and GM Ben Cherington. There’s something rotten inside that organization, and a good housecleaning come the All-Star break may be what is needed. I can’t imagine what the sports talk in Boston must be like!

I’ll admit I’m not much of a follower of the NBA, but I have to say that the whole culture of the game and how it is played these days is something that’s not very attractive to me. I’m going on skate on some thin ice here and risk being accused of a racism, but seeing a bunch of bulked-up millionaires (mostly African American, but there are white guys as well) with tattoos covering their bodies to me is gross to look at, and from a sporting spectacle not very interesting, either. I grew up watching and admiring Celtic teams featuring players from Bill Russell to John Havlicek to Satch Sanders and K.C and Sam Jones all the way to Robert Parrish, Cedric Maxwell, Kevin McHale, and Larry Bird, and it just doesn’t look like the same game.

Case in point, isn’t there some irony in someone who calls himself “Metta World Peace” (formerly Ron Artest) being ejected for a monster cheap shot elbow to the head of a fellow competitor? Here’s hoping that Mr. “World Peace” has a chance to spend some serious down time contemplating the concept of changing the world one act of kindness at a time.

Nothing like a good nor’easter to get the blood going. I wish I was hunkered down in some nice Colonial-style bed and breakfast in Newport, RI watching it all unfold. One like The Richards B & B sounds mighty inviting.

The pool was officially opened yesterday at 4:45 PM. The air temperature was a balmy 97, the water temp a crisp but refreshing 76. Coming off of a hot driving range, the pool, a warm westerly breeze, some Sandals tunes on the patio speakers, and an ice-cold Sam Adams Boston Lager made it a lovely opening day. Tomorrow and Sunday we’ll hit 100 for the first time this year. It is officially summer here in the Valley of the Sun. Hard to believe it will stay this way for the next 5+ months.

The grass wither, the flower fades: because the spirit of the LORD blows on it: surely the people is grass. The grass wither, the flower fades: but the word of our God shall stand for ever. — Isaiah 40:7-8

R.I.P. Dick Clark. Just a tad before my time, but there’s no denying his role in bringing rock n’ roll (before it became “rock and roll” then just plain “rock”) to the masses. It’s hard to imagine true greats like Clark and the dying Levon Helm (drummer and lead singer for The Band), and Robin Gibb (of Bee Gees fame) not being around anymore; you think about the rich lives they’ve lived and the music and memories they’ve created over multiple decades with millions of fans worldwide. But it’s a reminder that death is the great equalizer - whether you’re rich or poor, famous or anonymous, human, animal, or plant, liberal or conservative, good or evil, surrounded by a large circle of friends and family or lonely, our time on this earth is finite.

There was a time when I worried about death a lot. Maybe it was back when I was young enough to think there were still great things to accomplish, and I didn’t want to get cheated out of anything. I don’t worry about that so much anymore. I guess what I do think about - at least when it comes to death - is hoping that whenever my time comes, it comes quickly. Were instead it’s a long, drawn-out illness, I pray I will have the strength and faith to face it with humility, dignity, and not a little humor; after all, who am I to think I deserve being spared a death different from someone who dies of starvation, or torture, or war wounds, or any number of maladies or afflictions suffered by humans since our time on earth began. I mean, I’m nobody special.

There was a time when I thought the best thing was to die without any regrets. How foolish! Hell, when my time comes - even if it is tomorrow - I’m going to die with a lot of regrets. Regrets about time I’ve wasted doing useless crap, or the way I’ve treated people I’ve cared for, or not being equal to the discipline required of the priestly calling I know God called me to, or at not being a monastic, or a better husband, friend, or lover, or being too competitive and hard on myself. I’ve got a lot of regrets, and nothing will stop me from taking them to the grave with me. Which is fine: to have regrets is to be human.

That being said, whenever my time comes, I hope I’ll look back on it as a life that was blessed - blessed with a wonderful set of parents who passed down life lessons and an example I can never, ever repay them for. Blessed for having a wonderful wife and extended family, and a set of friends who are never as far away in thought as they are in miles. Blessed to live in a country where I have been able to work, make good money, travel, have food on my table, and clean water out of a faucet at just the turn of a knob. Blessed I’ve shared my living space with wonderful pets whom I hope I will see again in the next life. Blessed to have seen thunderstorms, trees, the grasses of lovely manicured fairways, rivers (especially the Mississippi), and salt water oceans, harbors, and inlets. Blessed to have been given a love and an ear for music and the need to have my daily life surrounded with life music in various forms. Blessed to have never been hungry, thirsty, abused, persecuted for my beliefs, or ever feeling unloved. No question, I’ve been truly lucky, definitely more fortunate than most.

Most importantly, I have my faith and religion that I don’t know what I would do without. I only wish I could be as devoted and faithful a disciple of Christ that God has called me to be.

Warren Zevon once sang, “I’ll sleep when I’m dead”, and I used to think that was a pretty darned good motto. Nowadays, as much as I think all my best days are long since behind me, and I’m living a life in a kind of self-imposed, burned-out exile where life and my calling can’t hurt me anymore, the fact is, there will come a time (and probably not that far away in the future) when I look upon these Arizona years as a very good time filled with steady work, good pay, and daiquiris on a brightly-colored back patio with a swimming pool and palm trees swaying in a hot summer breeze. One can definitely do a lot worse.

You can’t worry about what is to come. Live every day as if it were to be your last, treating others as you would like to be treated yourself, and seeking God in all and of all. You do that, and it’ll be hard not to live a life worth living.

Like George Harrison once sang, “be here now”.

The pool crossed that magical 70-degree threshold yesterday afternoon, and with the extended forecast showing nothing but 90s after Thursday one can officially say that summer has arrived in the Valley of the Sun.

Was talking with the pest control guy yesterday, and he says the ants tell him this is going to be a hotter summer than normal - he says he trusts the ants more than the weather forecasters because they’ve been around a hell of a lot longer. Who’s to disagree with logic like that?

The one constant about the very short season they call Spring here in this part of Arizona is that once the temps hit 90 it’s a very short jump to the triple figures, and once they get there they tend to stay until the second week of October. But given that this has been a bizarre year weather-wise across the USA, who really knows?

Given the lack of precipitation this winter, here’s hoping for an active monsoon season come July. Last year was a disappointment, would love to see some natural pyrotechnics bring us some soaking thunderstorms this year. Not much better sound in the world than a still late afternoon and the sound of thunder in the distance. Magical, spiritual, humbling.

Summer means baseball, and I guarantee this throw will make the 2012 all-season highlight reel. Unbelievable.

Some music to welcome summer by. I’m retooling my Zen Surf collection from a few years back to eliminate some of the harder-edged stuff. This summer I’m leaning towards the mellow and dreamy. Who’s with me?

Was talking with a neighbor yesterday and the subject somehow got around to “prepping” - big-time disaster preparedness. He’s of the opinion that things are about to go very sour, and very quickly, and as a result he’s working on a complete disaster preparedness program for his house and his family. He mentioned doing something he never, ever imagined he and his wife doing, which is becoming gun owners and going the whole nine yeards on training, shooting practice and all that stuff. Keep in mind, this guy is no right-wing conservative wacko from Idaho or somehere you might associate with radical survivalists, he’s a white-collar professional in (I’m guessing) his late ’40s, maybe early ’50s, with a couple of teenagers. Drives a nice Infiniti, just got the whole front yard of his house nicely landscaped, I mean he’s Mr. “Pleasant Valley Sunday”, so if he’s doing this kind of thing you know there are thousands of othere thinking the same kind of thing.

I know from Glenn Reynolds’ Instapundit blog (one of my regular daily Internet surfing stops) that this nothing to be surprised at, he’s been preaching disaster preparedness for years, and he’s a law teacher in Tennessee, so he’s no survivalist wacko, either. PJ Media’s Bob Owens wrote about this just the other day:

I’m not sure when the tipping point occurred, but at some point recently the “prepper” movement exploded and became mainstream.
…
The media still demeans the more extreme preppers making bizarre preparations for what most people consider unrealistic scenarios — such as polar shifts or the Mayan apocalypse — but with the current global economic situation, the carnage of recent natural disasters, and the fragility of power grids, other scenarios are no laughing matter. “Putting things by” like our grandparents did is now regarded by many as a wise investment against uncertain times, and like any market, there are smart businesses willing to cater to this growth market.

That’s exactly what my neighbor was talking about. His view is that this country has gone so soft that, were anything to happen on a grand scale that involved our national or economic security there’d be a total freakout and a breakdown of law and order very quickly. “You see what’s happening in Greece and Europe”, he says, “anyone who thinks it can’t or won’t happen here is either a fool or deluding themselves”.

The fact is, in a world where we are all so dependent on technology for our daily lives, it’s probably not the most absurd idea in the world to start putting together a plan for what happens if (when?) the unthinkable becomes real. Disasters come in many forms - Rob certainly knows that from his Katrina experience - and even here in Arizona, where you don’t equate the likelihood of natural disasters occurring, the idea of getting a plan together is not the worst idea.

Of course, if a national emergency or disaster does occur, I sure hope it doesn’t effect the power grid and doesn’t happen sometime between the months of May and September - if it does we’re totally screwed. Heck, we lost our A/C for 2+ days during August several years back and we were this close to just closing up shop and bugging out to get the rabbits to an extended-stay hotel; were the regional or national power grid to go out for any length of time like that there’d be nowhere to hide from the effects.

I’ve already thought of a few things that are basic necessities, like putting $1,000 dollars away in a safe spot (the banks and ATM’s will be useless in a power-grid based emergency and bribe money will come in handy) and considering some minimal power generating solution - not just for A/C’ng a couple of closed-off rooms but so I have tunes and boat drink ice for the backyard patio while Rome burns down all around us. We’ve got plenty of room in the garage for food stuffs and I know Costco already sells that kind of thing. Me, I like the look of this site and think it warrants a little closer attention than I’ve given in the past.

Not sure exactly what kind of cactus this is, but it’s really taken off over the past year. Last year we had at the most four flowers; this year we’ve already had four and there are at least (to my count) another dozen that will come out. I know this: the bees love them, so that’s got to account for something.

The one thing about these cactus is that you never, ever allow yourself to get close enough to brush up against them. If you do you’re going to get dozens, if not hundreds, of little tiny spikes embedded in your skin. And the only true remedy for removing them is plastic tape.

It’s tax day, but fortunately we’ve got ours done. Hopefully y’all have as well. Don’t want the taxman coming after you!

Since I don’t have to worry about taxes, it’s a perfect day for a poem:

“This spring as it comes bursts up in bonfires green,
Wild puffing of emerald trees, and flame-filled bushes,
Thorn-blossom lifting in wreaths of smoke between
Where the wood fumes up and the watery, flickering rushes.
I am amazed at this spring, this conflagration
Of green fires lit on the soil of the earth, this blaze
Of growing, and sparks that puff in wild gyration,
Faces of people streaming across my gaze.”
- D. H. Lawrence, The Enkindled Spring

Hat tip: egreenway.com

There are a lot of hazards the Goodboys face during their Goodboys Invitational weekend, but nothing like this. Very cool!

Can your political affiliation be determined by the beer you drink?

By this index, it would seem accurate to peg Busch Light fans as part of the right-leaning, low turnout crowd, staying at home on election stay (and possibly hungover), with their left-leaning full flavor Busch fan friends. Surprisingly, the study would suggest that Guinness drinkers are the most likely to be found voting in a booth for democrats, and Sam Adams drinkers voting for Republicans.

If The Great White Shank’s beer preference is any indication, I guess the answer is yes.

Along those same lines, summer can’t be far away if the local Fry’s has Samuel Adams Summer Ale. Bought my first six-pack today. By the Goodboys Invitational weekend is over in late July, I’ll probably be sick of the stuff. By then I’ll be anticipating Sam Octoberfest!

And summer can’t be far behind if it’s going to be in the mid-’80s for this Monday’s Boston Marathon. Ahh, Marathon weekend. Reminds me of days long past. Of course, if it’s warm back East, that must mean out here in the West we’re in for a cool down.

Unfortunately, you get into this time of year and you’re also talking about tornado outbreaks. This weekend could be a really bad one, prayers and good thoughts for those in the warning area that they’ll pay attention to the warnings and stay safe.

And what would the talk of weekends and summer be without a cool version of The Sandals’ (Theme From) The Endless Summer, courtesy of Laika and the Cosmonauts? Well done.

Hope everyone’s taxes are done out there!