Mini-Vacation Story One: Ted invited me to go golfing with him on Monday. The last time that happened was two summers ago on Mackinac Island (does that tell you anything about how well it went?) But hey – he was game to try it again, and so was I. Now I don’t play golf, and that day on Mackinac I just rode in the cart and took photos. But on Monday I was given permission to DRIVE the golf cart (what was he thinking!).
Georgia Veterans State Park has a beautiful golf course, and although right now isn’t exactly its prettiest time of year (give it another month), the day was gorgeous. Ted just wanted to practice up for the coming-up-soon annual Booger Bottom Classic, but he sure seemed to spend a lot of time explaining to me in his calm, sweet and patient voice all the rules about golf cart driving.
The cart path winds through the still-brown fairways. ("Honey, when I hit the ball in the middle of the fairway, you can drive the cart ONTO the fairway. That's the purpose of having a cart - to keep from walking so much."). Hmmm . . . I thought the purpose of playing golf was the exercise.
The clubhouse. ("Baby, just because it may take me more than 2 shots after I reach the green to finish the hole doesn't mean you can run the cart over to the clubhouse and look at the shoes while I putt.") Hmmmm . . . sure were cute shoes - on sale too!
If you squint your eyes up real good, you can just make out a little hint of green on this one fairway. ("Love, the grounds crew might frown on you doing wheelies on that patch of new grass.") Hmmm . . . they didn't look like they were frowning. I think they thought it was cute.
A little bit of springtime in the south. ("Sweetcakes, I have no idea what that white tree and those pink bush thingys are. Why don't you call Mary Valentine and ask HER. In fact, why don't you just call her and TALK for a while as you sit right there on the golf cart and not move!") Hmmm . . . I thought talking on the golf course was discouraged 'cause you guys are concentrating so hard on your game.
Ted putting. ("Sweetie, you CANNOT drive the golf cart up on the green.") Hmmm . . . drive it on the golf path, don't drive it on the new grass, drive it on the fairway, don't drive it on the green. Geez!
Water hazard. (SweetiePie, don't even THINK about driving anywhere close to the water.")
Water Hazard #2. ("Hey, Hon! My ball went in the water. Would you wade out and get it for me?") Oh, sure. Oldest trick in the book. I don't THINK so!
The rough. (No, babe, you can't just pick up the ball and throw it out of the rough.")
Me . . . having So. Much. Fun! I LOVE playing golf with Ted! (Maybe in another two years he'll let me go again!)
Mini Vacation Story Two: Another night struggling with Dudley. When I got up Tuesday morning, I called Paul, my respiratory therapist, and whined to him this just wasn’t a good “match”, and what else did he have in his arsenal I might try. “I’m coming to Cordele tomorrow to a clinic,” he said. “I’ll bring you a totally different mask, and we’ll see how you like it.” Ok – one more night with Dudley – I could take it.
After lunch I started that new book I had planned to read – The Confession by John Grisham – and finished almost five chapters before Ted said, “I’m thinking we need to replace the stove before we leave for Michigan. Let’s ride to Home Depot and look at some.” Now I’m sure most women would love to have a new stove – but Ted does most of the cooking in this family. Therefore, Ted wanted a new stove. I, on the other hand, wanted to read my book.
When we got to Home Depot, we were faced with a gazillion different styles and sizes.
“What kind of stove are you looking for?” Mr. Stove Selling Man asked me.
“A white one,” I said.
“Um, any other features you’re interested in?” he persisted.
“No – just so it’s white.” At that point I took pity on him, and said sweetly, “I don’t cook. You need to be talking to my husband.”
Ted had a black stove picked out in under two minutes. I asked Mr. Stove Selling Man if the same style came in white. It did. We bought the stove.
Mini-Vacation Store Three (last one): I rode into Cordele to meet Paul and pick up my new sleep mask. “Ok,” Paul said, “This is the 4th mask you’ve tried. You can’t seem to get a good fit with any mask that covers your nose. This mask doesn’t cover your nose at all – instead there are two nasal “pillows” that fit up against each nasal opening and an attached mouth piece that keeps air from escaping through your mouth.” Meet Elmo.
Elmo is the mask - not the guy in this pic (he didn't come with the mask). Elmo and I got along pretty well Wednesday night. Keep your fingers crossed that we have a long and wonderful relationship because geez, I'd hate to have to call Paul and say this one didn't work either. I'm sure he already thinks I'm very fickle.
Our daughter in law Blair finally returns to Atlanta tonight after her trip to India and then on to Orlando. She’s been gone over two weeks and is SO ready to be home. Her blogging adventure didn’t materialize after she had problems publishing from India. But she sent this great photo the other day of the Taj Mahal.
Have a great weekend and God bless!