Golf & Matches

Yesterday’s post was a bit of a downer and I apologize for that. It’s not my nature to get real personal or to relate anything that’s really true. I guess the subject got me thinking a little more than usual about all the “things” going on inside my scrawny chest cavity. I actually feel just fine. More precisely, I don’t feel any different from that which I have become accustomed to viewing as normal for me. It is what it is, ya know?

I golfed today. Didn’t do bad. Didn’t do good. Just had a good time. Jack couldn’t go because Wynette wouldn’t let him. I’m sure it has something to do with his sore and swollen hand. It wasn’t really Wynette who kept him home … it was just a good decision on his part.

On the way home from the golf course, I slowed down at Don’s house, but his shop was closed and his truck was missing so I just trundled along home. It was noonish so I figure he was at the tavern having lunch with his friends. It is Wednesday, after all.

Once home, I rid myself of golf clothing and donned my redneck lederhosen rig with the intention of setting my burn pile on fire. First, however, Diane made me eat lunch. That meant we had to watch one of our recorded TV shows. We always do that when we eat something, no matter what time of day it is. By the time I got outside, it was either 2 or 3 pm, but I lit the pile anyway. So, depending on when I started, in the course of 3 or 4 hours I burned all the evidence of the cedar trees to a crisp. I sat often, watching it burn down, then piled on more trees, sat, watched, piled, sat, etc., until there was nothing but a huge pile of ashes that is going to smolder for the next 4-5 days, I’m sure. All that’s left is stumps and a pile of large sticks which I kept for camp fires. We actually might go camping. You just never know.

Now I’m quitting because Diane just got back home and I don’t want to get caught on the computer. I am supposed to be at the burn pile, you know.

My angiogram, by the way, is next Wednesday at 0600. Yikes. Being that early they may not even need to sedate me.

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s

This site uses Akismet to reduce spam. Learn how your comment data is processed.