Saturday morning Mick and I were up early preparing food for the Bedlam tailgating festivities. We decided a grocery store run was inevitable and made plans to go together, thus dividing and conquering the massive WalMart Super Store. I was finishing up something in the kitchen when Mick walked in and looked at me. He said, “Kelly. Something bad happened. Do want to see this?” He hesitated. “I’m not sure you want to see this.”
His face conveyed the kind of message sent when a pet dies, or one of our children has broken a bone. So then I hesitated. “What happened?” I asked.
“A litle bird somehow flew into our garage and got stuck in one of the glue traps. It’s really, really stuck,” he responded.
“Well, let’s see if we can somehow free it before we think about other options.” I was thinking out loud. I knew it would be frightened, so I grabbed a tea towel, a pair of kitchen shears and headed to the garage. I was just thinking that when you want to lead a horse somewhere, sometimes you cover it’s eyes. Maybe cutting out any outside distractions would help it stay more calm. I wasn’t thinking that the tea towel would ALSO get stuck in the trap.
He’s not the most sympathetic figure. He’s not easy to root for anymore and he’s made a colossal mess of his personal life. But Tiger Woods could use a hug.
The man was once on top of the world. Woods was at the pinnacle of the game of golf and on a collision course with history. He was one of the most dominant, mentally tough athletes of all time. He was married to a Swedish blonde so gorgeous that countries would go to war for her. With that wife and two beautiful kids, the Woods’ looked like the family that comes in the picture with the frame you’d buy at Hobby Lobby. In other words, Woods had it all.
Now he seems pathetic.
Everyone knows about his fall from grace off the course, his public humiliation, and his divorce.
But he’s just as pathetic on the golf course. Thursday’s 77 in the first round of the PGA Championship was Woods’ worst first round at a major in his career. He hit into 13 bunkers and played the last 13 holes at ten over par. After the round, Woods called it a “calamity.” Continue reading Tiger Woods Needs a Hug→
My first job was a great gig. I learned a lot about responsibility, customer service, work ethic and satisfaction in a job well done. I was a shoeshine boy.
In 1965 my dad gave me a corner of his barbershop and spotted me the money to buy Kiwi Shoe Polish, saddle soap and a few brushes. The pool hall owner, George, gave me a couple of strips of pool table fabric. I used the green felt to finish each shoe shine with a brisk buff.
The cost for a shine was 2 bits (that’s a quarter). Often times I would get a ten cent tip. I could finish a long Saturday with a pocket full of change, black fingers and the swagger of a workin’ man. (Oh the stories I can tell you about my years in the barber shop. Lord willing, I shall do so in posts to come.)
Of course you are wondering, “Hmmm, and just how do I get a cool job like that?”
Last weekend, I went bouldering at Joshua Tree National Park. If you are unfamiliar with what exactly bouldering entails, let me enlighten you.
Bouldering, by definition is “a style of rock climbing undertaken without a rope and normally limited to very short climbs. It is typically practiced on large natural boulders or artificial boulders in gyms and outdoor urban areas. However, it may also be practiced at the base of larger rock faces.” Thank you Wikipedia for that one.
In the simplest of terms, bouldering is basically just walking around, up, down, over, and under a bunch of big rocks. Rocks like these:
There is a small magnetic whiteboard on my refrigerator. The white plastic apparatus, clinging by electromagnetic magic to the fingerprint smudged stainless steel veneer, catches my eye every time I turn on my lights in the morning. The whiteboard has become a beacon, a challenge, and a reminder of things to think about I didn’t know I should consider.
Why? Because my future son-in-law puts quotes on the board and leaves them there. Sometimes I see him writing them. Other times I’m surprised with a new message. But they’re always powerful; they’re full of the angst and strength of young lovers and budding poets and young men and women discovering the world. They remind me of the troubadours of the High Middle Ages. And, they remind me that humans are passionate…that I should take care with the souls of those whom fate has placed in my family on Earth.