Happy New Year, blog people! It’s time to make a resolution or two, if you’re so inclined. Every year I try to resolve to do something, but I rarely do it right on January 1st. Quite often I don’t land on the winning idea until February or so. Anyway, over my Christmas holidays I finished a course I had to do for work, so I am (probably temporarily) unencumbered with outside obligations. And the chess club has been shut down which frees up one more night a week, and my favourite hockey teams are being decimated by illness which frees up more nights. So this leads me to the big resolution for this year: write more, and maybe in a biblical-level miracle, get paid for it. Assignment #1 will be to submit a tiny little story to the Press 53 people who require a 53 word story about a “pair of something” and a 53 word biography in case I win. I’ll let you know how that turns out. My goal of being paid would be fulfilled, in my mind, if I win a dollar or a magazine subscription or really anything, so I’m not setting the bar too high.
Our youngest little bundle of joy has returned home to live with us for a few months while she finishes her schooling and then leaps from the nest again to find enriching work. She has brought along her 4 year old son who has given our house a burst of fun, enthusiasm, and non-stop questions, often asked at decibel levels that are sure to share our joy with the neighbours or set off nearby car alarms. Big upside, besides the elevated levels of joy: she cooked a vegetable dish tonight that did not make me wish to pull out my tongue and scrape off my taste buds in self preservation. It was good, and I will be watching and taking notes next time she makes it. Yesterday I made Greek food and nothing turned out quite as I was hoping. I think a good cook should be able to visualize the meal in terms of taste, texture and display, and then replicate that vision over by the stove somewhere. Sometimes I pull it off, but not usually.
I got a cheque in the mail while I was off during Christmas, so I treated myself to some new golf clubs. I bought a set of irons that included eight clubs – six irons and two wedges. So I put on my checkered pants and lame hat with a dingle ball on it (no I didn’t!) and headed for the driving range to try them out. My first order of business was to hit ten or so balls with each club to get a good fix on how far they go, so the next time I know I’m 100 yards away, I won’t select a club that goes 50 or 150. I ordered up a bucket of 130, which I think would be the number of strokes in a typical round at this point. I hit the ball in every conceivable direction including a couple that went straight, but my crowning achievement was letting go of my driver and having it helicopter about 60 yards to my left. I had to run out past other golfers and retrieve my club, babbling “sorry, sorry, don’t shoot, sorry…” And today I am so stiff I can hardly function. Even my goddamn thumb is stiff! I don’t believe there is a case to collect worker’s compensation for self-inflicted muscle tightness, so I reluctantly toddled off to work and tried to minimize how much complaining I did. As for the clubs: I will keep trying, for I know I’m too cheap to let all that money I spent go to waste.
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