Watching Golf

So much time is spent walking.  Tanned below the sleeves of the ubiquitous polo shirts and the brims of multi-logoed caps, they walk.  It's pretty where they walk, but, to quote Mark Twain, golf, to me, is a good walk spoiled.

TBG tells me that in his youth, 250 yards was considered a long drive.  With new technologies and designs, he thinks Arnold Palmer could have hit 500 yards.  Consistently.

We saw Arnie, up close and personal, at the Kemper Open last century.  We found seats on the bleachers at the 18th tee, and just as we settled in the crowd rose to its feet as one.  Being polite golf fans, they immediately returned their bottoms to the planks and I was able to see what the hullabaloo was all about.

There, 10' in front of me, was Arnold Palmer, smiling, waving his cap, mugging for the crowd.  The man had the biggest forearms I've ever seen.  

In 2010, I walked PGA's Accenture Match Play Opening Round at the Ritz Carlton Dove Mountain.  As you can see if you click through, I was more impressed with the greenery and the adjacent activities than the sport itself.

But TBG is mesmerized, following Rickie and Collin and Rory.  He's groaning at missed chances and trying to will the little dimpled ball into the hole with the stick in it.

I've read two books and the Sunday NYTimes, spruced up the yard for a Juneteenth breakfast with friends, and swum 100's of laps since he started watching on Thursday.  

We're each having a very good time.

What Would An 11 Year Old Have Known?

There's a new Pilates teacher at the studio.  She just graduated from the UofA.  She didn't grow up in Arizona.  She's absolutely lovely; watching her come into her own as an instructor is an added attraction to the workouts themselves.  

Before I became the bionic woman, much of my practice was limited by my destroyed joint.  A lack of strength coupled with a lack of confidence made standing pieces challenging, if not altogether impossible.  But now, full of courage and lacking any physical reason not to try, I asked for a session that would end with us standing atop the reformer, one foot on the wood, one foot on the mat, 2 heavy springs keeping us tethered.  

No, that's an unattributed photo from the interwebs, not anyone resembling me or anyone I know.  But that gives you the general idea.  We were doing the splits.

Before my surgery, I needed help getting up and settled on the two surfaces.  I couldn't move the carriage facing either direction.  My hip wasn't holding me stable nor was it moving.  So, I stood there and imagined it.  I engaged the muscles and, used Professor Harold Smith's Think Method.

I was doing the work, even though nothing was really moving.  The feeling was there and so was the desire.  So today, when I got up there all on my own, when the carriage moved, ever so slightly at first as I reassured myself that I wouldn't fall, then settling into a small but definite pattern.

Pilates is aspirational - no one does it perfectly.  It's all about the journey, and Mr. Personality on the reformer next to me insisted that I share my experiences with the new teacher.  As always, I ask if she'd been in Tucson for a long time.  Nope, just for college.

Tucson's children knew about the shooting , all of them.  It was obviously less of an immersive experience for those growing up elsewhere.  The teacher remembered that it happened at a grocery store, which is something, since we don't show up on the lists of mass shootings any more.  

It was long ago and far away and I walked down the stairs from the studio without holding the hand rail.  It didn't hurt.  I wasn't worried.  I just did it.  

Then I went to the grocery store and found a parking space right in front.  I walked on the sidewalk without realizing that I was coming upon the small, perfect, stone memorial to the shooting that happened right where I was standing.  

I placed a remembrance stone on the gilded plaque, as close to a gravestone as CTG has, and went on my way.  

It happened at a grocery store.  Much more has happened since.

Sunny

Doesn't that make you smile?

Kind of takes your mind off the idiocy of someone indicted for a crime making a speech and admitting that he committed that crime, doesn't it?

I tried not to focus on the Americans who supported the lying liar outside the courthouse in Miami , nor on the 75 million Americans who, according to Kari Lake, are also in his corner.   Oh, where is the weaponized DOJ when we need them?

Then Queen T found this while watching MSNBC.  

She took a shot of the screen (vs a screen shot... and am I proud that I know the difference!) and sent it along in the family chat, with the words on the sign spelled out for those of us with aging eyes: 

Trump

20-24

Years in Prison.

Okay, if you're not smiling now, there may be no hope for you.  

Here's one last chance.

Flag Day

Parts of this have appeared before.

June 14th is Linda-from-Kindergarten's mother's birthday, a fact which I remember for no reason at all.  It's also Flag Day, although you'd hardly know it by looking around.  No parades, no speeches, just my flag outside my front door.

It's one of my favorite holidays.  Just me and my flag.  And Linda's mother.

*****

Back in 1970 or '71, Daddooooo was quite annoyed at the American flag patch on my jeans shorts, . He felt that using the flag to cover my tush was the height of disrespect.

Of course he was right; the Flag Code prohibits such behavior. Then again, it also prohibits all the machinations the NFL puts the flag through in the name of patriotism. I wonder what he'd say about that.

Back in 2015, though, I wondered how he'd react to soccer fans, with their flag clothes and their flag faces

*****

The Smithsonian Channel tried to convince me that Betsy Ross did not design and or sew the American Flag.  

I'm sorry, but NO.  

G'ma and Daddooooo took us to Fredrick, Maryland, where we looked up at her window and imagined the flag going proudly by. 

It certainly felt real to me. I was 9 or 10.

So, until they can show me the label or a receipt,  until I can hold the proof in my hand, I'm choosing to ignore their reality.

I like this holiday and I don't want anyone messing around with it.

He's Toast

 As Laura said of me, From Bill Barr's mouth to God's ear.

Bill Barr is another spineless sycophant, swirling around the vortex, creating chaos (cf his misrepresentation of the Mueller Report) and advancing his own version of the narrative.  That version reflects what's palatable to what he thinks is the winning-at-the-moment side.

I suppose, then, that I should be glad that Barr went on Fox this weekend and said that if the DOJ can prove even one of the crimes in the indictment brought against the lying liar, He's toast.

I'm not sure it will be hard to do.

The indictment starts by pointing out that just because you once worked there doesn't mean that you get to keep the stuff you read there. (Charges 4 and 37)  And it certainly doesn't mean that you can take that stuff home to your bathroom (no matter how ornate the chandelier - Charge 28).

https://tinyurl.com/yc3smnw4

nor leave boxes of it, unattended, on a stage. (Charge 25) It's against the law.

https://tinyurl.com/2avbed3k

Why?  Because, as the indictment goes on to tell us, he didn't just take what could be construed as personal mementoes (cf his love letters to and from autocrats around the world..... which aren't his, anyway.

He took national security documents.  Geo-spatial data, nuclear capability data, troop deployments,  Eyes Only documents, and more - all of it very valuable to our enemies and very dangerous for the stability of our nation and the world. (Charge 3)

The lying liar doesn't seem to be a sentimental sort, nor one who'd be interested researching the minutiae of governance or history. Bragging rights while thumbing his nose at The Man (Charge 34) seems like a small upside when compared to the downside - decades in prison.  People go to prison for much less egregious violations of the Espionage Act.  

So, why?  And why hide them and lie about them and get yourself into real serious trouble?  Just like in Watergate, I think you've got to follow the money. 

There's public, small dollar, Twitter fueled fundraising.  

Then there's private, extra-legal fundraising - selling your nation's most sensitive secrets to the highest bidder.  

He's not been charged with setting up a marketplace. But Charge 41 shows him to be very interested in the contents of those boxes. 

He went through them, the ones he tried to get his lawyer to say didn't exit.  Taking our stuff and lying about it, that's Charge 54c.

He told people, on tape, that he couldn't show them the document he was waving in front of their faces because it was secret and he couldn't de-classify it any more.  Knowledge of the crime and putting the lie to his irrelevant I declassified it nonsense is in Charges 34 and 35.

And, my very favorite charge of all, Charge 54a, where the real petulant child emerges, the real reason he's in deep doo-doo right now.  

I don't want anybody looking, I don't want anybody looking through my boxes, I really don't,  I don't want you looking through my boxes.

His brain cannot accept the fact that he can't just do what he wants.  Never could.  Never will.  The only way to stop him is to keep him away from the Presidency forever. Since the Republican party has largely fallen into the witch hunt mire, that starts and ends at the ballot box.

I have confidence in  the American voter, Still, just in case, DOJ should change that pesky rule about not prosecuting a sitting president.  

It seems like he's toast, sure, 

Still, just in case.

Hanging Over My Head

Little Cuter and I discussed that which neither of us had touched for a while.  It was a painful subject, one laced with joy and consternation in equal proportions.  There were others involved.  We had been excited about the initial planning, but life changed in unexpected ways and our plans needed some adjustment.  Neither of us wanted to face it.  We'd danced away from it several times until the phone call where she said, Should we just do it now?

We did. There were no repercussions of any significance, though we had been prepared for a discomfited reception. Good friends are good friends and you're stuck with us they said.  We hung up smiling.

With that in mind, today I tackled the Projects to be Dealt With Eventually pile.  My stomach was in a knot.  My hands were sweaty on the keyboard.  My head was saying DON"T DO THIS while my inner sense of something or other kept plucking away at the tasks.

I called. I spoke to agents. I was rewarded with smiles, helpful answers to befuddling questions, solutions that met my immediate and long term needs, and delightful conversation.  That was at First Republic which is now part of JPMorgan/Chase.  I stayed on the line for a while so that I could compliment the men who helped me.  Their supervisor thanked me for my patience and assured me that they would be properly rewarded.

A handshake?  A smoothie?  A bonus?  The details didn't matter.  I finished my (first) project and moved on to the next bundle of aggravation.

Once again, I was pleasantly surprised.  The woman who answered my phone told me a quick and simple way to solve a problem that has lingered for many years.  It will take about 6 months for a final resolution, but a final resolution is now in hand.  As she said, It's been coded in. Don't worry about anything else.

I marked my calendar for six months, and the points in between she mentioned, and I moved on.

Guess where I am right now?  Waiting in the chat for Comcast/Xfinity to resolve my issue.  I received another text message reminding me to order my new boxes.  My Account still said they'd be arriving May 24th.  Despite knowing better, I decided to try and contact them again.

The chat box was unresponsive on the main website.  The link to send an email didn't work, either.  I did manage to send an email, but who knows to whom that went (customer service @ comcast doesn't seem very personal) or when attention will be paid.  

Through a Google search, I found a number I hadn't tried before.  I clicked into the chat.  There was a quick response: Please don't worry, you are connected to the right team. We are a team of experts and a one-stop solution for all your Xfinity-related concerns. I will be more than happy to help.

I typed in my relevant information.  

I'm still waiting for a response.  It's been twenty minutes.  

There's a lot to be said for fixing a problem when it arises instead of allowing it to lie heavily in your brain, on your heart.  The anxiety of facing a distasteful situation goes away once the situation is addressed.  

That feels quite obvious, seeing it written down like that.  I think I'll print it out and tape it to my desktop, to my car's dashboard, to my bathroom mirror.  Perhaps I can save myself future anxious moments.

On the other hand, trying to fix it and getting a response like this, after 20 minutes of nothingness, makes me question my desire to engage with anyone, anywhere, anytime.

Thank you for the details that you provided, Susan. I apologize for any delay in responses. Due to the nature of working via social media and how we interact with customers here, we can not always respond instantly. We understand your time is valuable, and we sincerely appreciate your time and patience while we work to get back to you.

No One Is Above the Law

The prosecution has to convince twelve jurors that the lying liar is guilty, beyond a reasonable doubt, of violating the Espionage Act.

This shouldn't be hard, since not only are there photos,  but he has already admitted that he committed the crime. 

And yet there are still people who will vote for him. 

I'm not dwelling there. At this point,  it's like arguing with a wad of gum. 

Instead,  I'm reveling in the fact that our institutions held.  A former President is facing off against the might of the American justice system. 

I end up at Merrick Garland, whose ill-fated nomination to the Supreme Court began the era of the Trumpian remake of that body and whose tenure as Attorney General may end in the incarceration of the Orange Menace. 

The Saudi Golf Association

A brief synopsis for those who haven't followed the drama:

In 2021, the Saudi royal family's sovereign wealth fund (the Public Investment Fund), run by MBS (the guy behind the dismemberment of Jamal Khashoggi), created the LIV Golf Tour to compete with the PGA.  

The PGA responded by banning LIV players from all PGA events except the four majors.  Those are the ones you recognize - The US Open, The Masters, Open and PGA Championships - the ones with big advertising revenues.

The players who stayed with the PGA took the moral high ground. They were not taking Saudi blood money.  911 and human rights and that pesky dead journalist made strong arguments for eschewing the new Tour.

The players who had no such scruples were pilloried by some but handsomely rewarded by the Saudi's money.  

Brooks Koepka $100 million

Bryson Dechambeau: $125 million Dustin Johnson $150 million Phil Mickelson $200 million

That was the story until this week.

The PGA Commissioner announced that all was forgiven, he didn't mean all those nasty things he said about the Saudi's and LIV.  The PGA would be joining forces with its bastard brother.  It's rather less a partnership of equals than the PGA being bought, lock stock and golf clubs, by the Saudi's.  

The same Commissioner who trotted out 911 families to talk about the travesty is now saying blah blah blah blah blah, the players who stayed are feeling the betrayal in their pocketbooks.  That's serious money, life changing money, help your family, start a foundation, buy your Mom a whole host of houses money.  

Standing by your principles comes with a cost.  But playing along side someone who took the money and ran and is now being welcomed back with open arms has got to burn.  

This is where you need a union, guys.  Organize and demand the same kind of bonuses the defectors got for forcing the issue.  Call it a Retention Bonus.  Why wouldn't they agree?  The PIF reports $650 billion in assets under its management.  What's the big deal?

The larger question of golf's professional association's association with the murderous, repressive, reprehensible Saudi regime has gotten lost in the shuffle.  Sports talking heads have moved on from Monday morning's OMG It's The SAUDI'S to Well, it's business by Wednesday afternoon.

Now that everyone is benefitting from the PIF's largesse, what's a moral golfer to do?  There's no other game in town.  

I had a brilliant idea for this post but then a family of quail - mom, dad and about a dozen babies - just scurried across the front yard and all rational thought vanished.  

It was a quiet moment in my head.  I felt my face smiling and my eyes scanning but that was all.  

No random memories of the mistakes I've made along the way popping up to disturb me.  No nagging list of To Do's peeking through some brain cells.  No planning for the future, near or far.  

Dinner is in the works.  The dishwasher is emptied.  The laundry is merrily flinging itself around without any help from me.  The yucca's flowers are hosting finches for dinner outside the library window.

Why am I looking for something to stress about? 

I had an angsty childhood.  It wasn't a particularly unhappy home, but I was a worrier, always waiting for the other shoe to drop.   I knew that as long as I worried, nothing bad would happen.  So, I worried.

Medication and therapy helped a lot.  I no longer feel a knot in my gut when I wake up from what are still, many times, tumultuous dreams (getting shot didn't help there.... nope, not at all.... that subconscious is really hard to tame).  

Yet there are times like these, when all is right (for the most part) in my world, when the here and now is peaceful, when there's nothing to disturb my mood, that I have to push through a vague level of unease to get to the serenity.

Hard wired from my youth?  Remnants of a New Yorker's natural skepticism? Twisted synapses that mistake calm for distress?

First world problem, for sure.

Looks Like Something Went Wrong

Xfinity and Comcast (they are the same but not really; I've never taken the trouble to figure it out) have decided that June 12th is the last day that TBG can hold on to his beloved DVR boxes.  After that, the technology will be changing and several vital pieces of our service will be unavailable.

We need two new boxes.  They take 5-7 days to arrive.  I waited until we were leaving the kids in San Francisco before ordering mine, not wanting them to be undeliverable if we were not at home to receive them.

The note in My Account on the app said they would arrive between May 24-25.  Once it got to be June, I began to wonder.  I did a lengthy on-line chat with a lovely young woman who saw the initial problem, ordered me new ones, and sent me a link to confirm the order.

I clicked through to the link, which caused me to lose her chat.

The link was on a self-replicating loop of Click Here/Blank Page, over and over again each time I started over and clicked through again and again and again.

I gave up and hoped for the best.

The next day, I got a message from FedEx saying that they'd deliver a box to me after having failed to do so before, but only if I'd send them $1.85 for their troubles.  For two bucks, why not?  I hoped it was my Comcast/Xfinity order.  I set Sunday for the delivery date, knowing we'd be home all day.

Did the FedEx truck come to your house?  It certainly didn't come to mine.  I'm trying to figure out where it is, but no one can find that ticket, either.  There was no indication of the sender's identity on the request for $1.85.  While I wonder what I'm missing, I've still got the Comcast/Xfinity issue looming.

So, it's Monday and I'm home from Pilates and have had lunch.  With the Women's College Softball World Series game between Oklahoma (undefeated in 51 games) and Stanford on mute in the background,  I started again.  

GunGun was my first live agent on chat.  We made similar progress, getting me all the way to the confirmation link which, once again, malfunctioned.  GunGun's chat had also disappeared; I had no choice but to start at the beginning.

This time I knew to bypass the first few prompts by typing Agent in the first box.  Annekia was also helpful, encouraging me not to swipe away to anything else so that her chat would not disappear.  She sent the link to my email, which I opened on the computer and which did exactly the same thing as it did on my phone.

Live chat was obviously not going to help.  I thanked my latest agent and tried, once more, out of frustration, and was rewarded with a new screen:

 Looks like something went wrong

Please use the back button in your browser, and try again

If the issue persists, please call 470-903-4674 for assistance
placing your order

Relishing the notion of speaking to a real human being instead of a keyboard (were they all AI???), I dialed that number, listened to the prompts because they had recently been changed, and was once again in a self-replicating loop of pressing the correct prompt and being sent right back to the beginning again. Over and over and over again, I pressed 1 for an existing customer only to be rebuffed, refused, denied access to anyone or anything until, one momentous time, I heard a quick busy signal before being disconnected.

I was so peeved that I went back to the computer and clicked on the original link with enthusiasm vigor  fury passion my finger and, lo and behold, I got something new.

I saw a sign-in screen with my user name already inserted.  I typed in my password and got another new screen.  I was on a roll.

This one was greyish-bluish with a friendly font telling me This should only take a moment above 3 dots blinking in a row.  One......two.....three.....one....two....three..... I was mesmerized and channeling calming thoughts as I stared at the damn dots for a lot longer than I should have.

Then I stopped and began typing to you.  Nearly half an hour later, the dots have disappeared, replaced by the generic company home page.  I didn't witness the switch, but the dots were still blinking when I checked about halfway through this post.  

Only a moment must mean something different in their world.

I'm done trying for now.  Maybe the phone number will be less busy tonight.  At this point, it's hard not to take it personally.

I Wish.....

This started in the subjunctive, then moved to the passive, toyed with the future and ended up stuck here, in the present tense, wondering what sounds right.  

I don't want to whine.  I don't want to be dogmatic.  I want to be understood in that wishing-on-the-first-star, blow-out-the-birthday-candles, if-only kind of way.  

I know I can't have my wish.  I know it's irrational to demand it of the universe.  But I find that some part of my brain goes to this strange, how-can-I-make-this-happen place and I find myself being comforted by believing that it could be true

But it  can't come true, and I'm peeved at the Universe.

What do I want?  

I want to do a Superman move a la Richard Donner and turn back time.

I want this to be the year that Joe Biden enters his 8th, not his 9th, decade.  

I read a quote in Vanity Fair that sums it up for me.  A friend, referring to Rupert Murdoch, said People say that 60 is the new 40.  But everyone agrees that 80 is 80.  

I like Joe.  I like him as my President.  I think he's doing a great job wrangling an ornery Congress and the Progressive wing of his party and getting things done.  After all, RBG was 87 when she died and, except for hanging onto her job too long, seemed to be making smart decisions up until the end.  I will vote for him again, if given the chance.

But 82 is 82 and if that's the age of the next incumbent then I'm looking pretty closely at the Vice Presidency.... and I'm not sure I want to go there right now.

A girl can dream......

I'm Taking An Early Weekend

There are tapes - there are always tapes! - that may send the lying liar to the pokey for espionage.  But rather than revel in the how stupid is he? realm, I'll leave you with this photo, from the my son, filed under Times Have Surely Changed.

Take Your Daughter to Work Day...
(but isn't that every day?)

Sunflowers, Vol. 2

 When I first wrote about them, 

I had no intention of creating a series.  But, they are impossible to ignore. I was doing laps and admiring this at every other turn,

until I stopped and watched my planter become a cafeteria, an automat, a free lunch kitchen for three and then four little yellow finches.  They* were balanced on the lower leaves' petioles,

nibbling on the stems and the leaves 

and the petioles themselves. 

The flowers are happily untouched as they begin to unfurl at the top of the highest stem.

And when they begin to fade away, 

they leave orange tentacles to attract the birds who might be interested in what's left inside their gently wilting plumage.  

I had my Do not go gently into that good night moment, then turned to revel in the giant stalks popping up in every corner, seeds I planted in a lone pot at the far end of the yard 

Even if their ungrateful faces are facing defiantly away from she who gave them life.

*Unfortunately, you have to make do with my avian avatars since I don't swim with my phone in hand.  And, yes, chicks don't fly but they do eat bugs and they are yellow and it was the only icon with feathers, which makes a bird a bird as The Golden Book taught us so many years ago.

https://tinyurl.com/29szpubb