The difference between Wisconsin and Louisiana is we don't get that cool Canadian high-pressure system sneaking in between the slightly muggy days. That cooler, crisp, dry morning in August is the tap on the shoulder that tells you Fall is coming without invitation, and it expects to be welcome. It's that first time you can't find a golf ball because it rolled into a pile of fresh fallen leaves. It's the sudden drop in temperature when you ride or walk to the lakefront. No, none of that has happened here, and I don't expect it will. Maybe in November.
Speaking of golf. People that know me (and you all do) know of my love for a good story.
I love books, film, and theater. Any venue that delivers a good story. I don't need the performance to make me laugh. I'm old enough and wise enough to know that the swinging pendulum of joy to sorrow and back again is a need that ranks somewhere high in the order of importance in the Hierarchy of Need near where love and hate reside.
Last Sunday, a young Australian, Jason Day, won the PGA at Whistling Straits Golf Course near Sheboygan. I've been following this guy all summer as he suffered the regret and tingling of self-doubt by almost winning in almost all of the Major tournaments, only to be turned back. He has had a lot of drama in his life, which I won't go into, but it's worth noting that some of us experience many problems while just trying to live a life. Some of us skate by and try to look at our small problems as worthy of being called suffering.
In the microscopic world of Professional Golf, several young men are surging to the top of the pyramid of excellence that garners the attention, adoration, and respect that comes with mastering the fickle game of golf. Within the tour, Four tournaments comprise the "Slam." The Masters' Tournament, The US Open, The Open Championship (We used to call it the British Open, but for some reason, they took umbrage to that name.), and the PGA championship. Winning one of these in your entire career gives you status in the sport forever, but then you have to chase Jack Nicklaus, who won 18 majors.
This season, Jordan Spieth, a 22-year-old from Dallas, Texas, got every fan excited when he won the first two. The challenge was, could he win all four? He missed a playoff in The Open Championship by one stroke. American player Zach Johnson won that in a three-way playoff. Last Sunday, Spieth stood next to Jason Day, who beat him by 3 strokes and smiled. Spieth had the lowest combined score for all four of the Major's -54 and two trophies. Jason Day stood near him. Jason held his young son, Dash, and his arm around his pregnant wife; as he received the cheers and goodwill of the fans, he openly and unashamedly shed tears of joy and relief. That's drama, folks. Frankly, even if you don't know anything or care about professional golf, that is a good story.
We had the neighbors over for cheap wine and dry snacks. With no shame and her tongue in her cheek, my wife announced that the cheap wine and dry snacks were appropriate because she didn't know if she liked anyone yet.
Five couples and one child responded to our invitation. It was no competition, really. Our dog liked the child the best. However, the child is withholding judgment. At this point, it appears she wants to get to know Lucy better.
You know the Jeff Foxley thing, "You know you're a redneck if..." I am developing a variation to that. The people that came over to our house were wonderful. I'm glad we met them, and I hope we all become closer as neighbors. All of them thanked us because they said they had never really gotten to know their neighbors that well and enjoyed the opportunity. I can see the gals getting together; for whatever reason, women get together. I would enjoy watching football and golf with the guys. One of them has promised me a ride in his sailboat.
But you know you're in the south when somewhere in the conversation people slip in a mention of which church they belong to.
You know you're in the south when you're addressed as, in my case, Mr. Jeffrey.
You know you're in the south when the restaurant, no matter how pricey, has beans and rice on the menu. If it's a breakfast and lunch-only restaurant, they will have grits.
Speaking of golf. People that know me (and you all do) know of my love for a good story.
I love books, film, and theater. Any venue that delivers a good story. I don't need the performance to make me laugh. I'm old enough and wise enough to know that the swinging pendulum of joy to sorrow and back again is a need that ranks somewhere high in the order of importance in the Hierarchy of Need near where love and hate reside.
Last Sunday, a young Australian, Jason Day, won the PGA at Whistling Straits Golf Course near Sheboygan. I've been following this guy all summer as he suffered the regret and tingling of self-doubt by almost winning in almost all of the Major tournaments, only to be turned back. He has had a lot of drama in his life, which I won't go into, but it's worth noting that some of us experience many problems while just trying to live a life. Some of us skate by and try to look at our small problems as worthy of being called suffering.
In the microscopic world of Professional Golf, several young men are surging to the top of the pyramid of excellence that garners the attention, adoration, and respect that comes with mastering the fickle game of golf. Within the tour, Four tournaments comprise the "Slam." The Masters' Tournament, The US Open, The Open Championship (We used to call it the British Open, but for some reason, they took umbrage to that name.), and the PGA championship. Winning one of these in your entire career gives you status in the sport forever, but then you have to chase Jack Nicklaus, who won 18 majors.
This season, Jordan Spieth, a 22-year-old from Dallas, Texas, got every fan excited when he won the first two. The challenge was, could he win all four? He missed a playoff in The Open Championship by one stroke. American player Zach Johnson won that in a three-way playoff. Last Sunday, Spieth stood next to Jason Day, who beat him by 3 strokes and smiled. Spieth had the lowest combined score for all four of the Major's -54 and two trophies. Jason Day stood near him. Jason held his young son, Dash, and his arm around his pregnant wife; as he received the cheers and goodwill of the fans, he openly and unashamedly shed tears of joy and relief. That's drama, folks. Frankly, even if you don't know anything or care about professional golf, that is a good story.
We had the neighbors over for cheap wine and dry snacks. With no shame and her tongue in her cheek, my wife announced that the cheap wine and dry snacks were appropriate because she didn't know if she liked anyone yet.
Five couples and one child responded to our invitation. It was no competition, really. Our dog liked the child the best. However, the child is withholding judgment. At this point, it appears she wants to get to know Lucy better.
You know the Jeff Foxley thing, "You know you're a redneck if..." I am developing a variation to that. The people that came over to our house were wonderful. I'm glad we met them, and I hope we all become closer as neighbors. All of them thanked us because they said they had never really gotten to know their neighbors that well and enjoyed the opportunity. I can see the gals getting together; for whatever reason, women get together. I would enjoy watching football and golf with the guys. One of them has promised me a ride in his sailboat.
But you know you're in the south when somewhere in the conversation people slip in a mention of which church they belong to.
You know you're in the south when you're addressed as, in my case, Mr. Jeffrey.
You know you're in the south when the restaurant, no matter how pricey, has beans and rice on the menu. If it's a breakfast and lunch-only restaurant, they will have grits.
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