Busy Weekend

The writing was a bit scarce this weekend. It fell victim to a jam packed couple of days that left me exhausted and borderline immobile.

I played golf Saturday morning with a group from church. I don't play golf often enough to protect my unprepared muscles and other major body masses from the shock of 100+ swings of a golf club (those are the ones I counted). When I listened last week to countless analysts talking about the miracle of Tiger Woods playing the U.S. Open on essentially one leg, they were most amazed that his injured knee could absorb the repeated energy inflicted by his "violent" swing. Their amazement with Tiger would be tempered a bit if they only knew the kind of violence endured by so many more body parts during my round. Tiger swings with a consistency that keeps the focus of his swing limited to the same regions of his body – regions that over time adapt I’m sure. When you have a swing like mine, that if it ever occurs the same way twice it is accidental, you expose broader areas to the violence of far more erratic movements. Every one of my body parts trembles before each swing, wondering if it may be their turn to be fired upon.

When I was done with the round of golf, I helped our local police department host a midnight basketball event for the local youth. As it turned out, the best thing about the event is it was midnight basketball only in title. Most of these events take place late at night to keep kids in inner cities off the streets during times they are most likely to get in trouble. Our event started at 3 and was over several hours before midnight. I spent a great deal of that time running up and down the length of a basketball court with kids 1/3 my age. I still find it very difficult to put my ego on a shelf when I get in situations like this. And even though I realize there is little I can still do as well as I did when I was 14, I hang on to hope of one day reliving some of the magic of those years, if only for a moment. I believe it is Toby Keith whose song says "I'm not as good as I once was, but I'm as good once as I ever was." Well I spent the better part of Saturday looking for that once, and although I didn't really find it, it was rewarding in its own way to survive the effort of trying.

On Sunday after church, my body screaming in pain with each movement, I had to mow our yard turned small hay field. Grass is the only thing I know that loves heat and humidity. I thank God for the strength to get it finished, because that was the last ounce of energy I had left for physical activity for this weekend - my fuel gauge hit E.

I recharged enough overnight to take my new traditional morning walk with Elliott. We have extra time this summer since we don't take him to grandma and grandpas, so we take a little 5:30 stroll each morning through the center of the universe. For me it is such a relaxing time. Everything is quiet except for the many things that Elliott identifies. He actually points out things I would probably otherwise miss on my walks. The many squirrels, birds, dogs, trees, trains and planes, all of them one way or another, much like us, tending to their morning routines. I have always loved the mornings. I believe they are God's greatest gift - a favorable answer to the unspoken question that drifts off to sleep with us each night. I am grateful to share that celebration each morning with Elliott.