I lost my sense of smell and taste. This is the first time I’ve experienced this. I have a hellacious sinus infection. Instead of getting antibiotics, I’ve been drinking beer.
The problem is Tiger Woods. He’s the reason I started playing golf. I remember well the swelling crowds filled with gushing emotions and admiration as they followed him. I had never seen anything like it; his effortless swing and ability with confidence while wearing a brilliant smile. Tiger was just 21 when he won his first Masters tournament. And just a bit older than me.
I don’t want to miss anything Tiger does while on the course. His ability seems to be creeping back into his game, and mind. I can’t possibly go to the Doctor and be put on medication while Tiger is on the hunt. He’s only one shot back, and today is moving day. If I start to take medication, I won’t be able to drink beer. That’s not an option. For many years I was single and the Masters tournament was my occasion to kick of Spring. I would literally take off work just to grab a twelve pack and a lime to rush home and watch Tiger. Yes, I enjoy the Masters, but it’s Tiger I can’t miss.
While having lost my sense of smell and taste, I’m not willing to break my tradition. It’s time for the Masters. It’s time for a few Spring beers. No matter where you are in the world, I hope you have an absolutely kick ass day.
I play indoor baseball with Gavin
Gavin puts his binky on the T and hits it
He puts his stuffed owl on the T and hits that
He hits anything that’ll fit on the T
I don’t tell him only a ball can sit on the T
I don’t tell him it’s time to practice
I let Gavin tell me it’s time to play
Sometimes he puts the ball on the T
and hits the ball into the wall
It wasn’t long ago that I played indoor baseball
with ping pong balls and DVD cases
The impact makes a satisfying sound
There was beer and whiskey and friends
Two on Two, Three on Three
Stuffed into my bachelor aparment
We broke shit
We fixed what was broken
And played on
If you caught the ball in flight
If you handled the ball cleanly
If you smashed the ball into the
far back wall
Swing and miss twice
We kept stats
And had arguments
I think if Gavin wants to play baseball
Later in life
It’ll be nice
If he doesn’t
That’ll be nice too
But I’m sure as hell not getting in the way
of his indoor baseball
Gavin is 2.5 and going at life like it ought to be gone after.
‘When spring came, even the false spring, there were no problems except where to be happiest. The only thing that could spoil a day was people and if you could keep from making engagement, each day had no limits. People were always the limiters of happiness except for the very few that were as good as spring itself.’ -Ernest Hemingway, A Moveable Feast.
It matters not which end of the spectrum– early Hemingway, later Hemingway; I always find his words to be exacting and important to me.
I’m reading the ‘Restored Edition’ of The Moveable Feast. Hemingway wasn’t finished writing this story when he died. It turns out a chapter was added that he hadn’t written and the first published version contained that chapter and edits that ought not to have been made. Sean Hemingway, Papa’s grandson, obtained a copy of the original manuscript and again published the work in the proper format. This edition contains a personal foreword by Patrick Hemingway, the sole surviving son of Papa.
There’s something about early morning and the ocean.
This morning, I drove to the corner market place after realizing I was out of coffee filters. I was early; the store wasn’t yet open. I drove another three minutes to the jetty. The light was nice and I fought with my broken phone to take this picture. I thought others might like to see.