Sunday September 1st, 2013

The exercise:

Write about: the golfer.

With our farm intern and her daughter leaving us tomorrow morning we wanted to treat them to a bit of a special day. So we took them to Rattlesnake Canyon for mini-golf, rides, and ice cream.

I've never been much of a ride person so I just stuck to golfing, which was loads of fun. It's been too long since I've done that.

Tomorrow I'm dragging my ass out of bed early in order to harvest them a surprise produce box to help them fill their fridge in their new place up in Penticton, where Brittany has already found work that will hopefully get them through the winter.

It's going to feel quite different around here starting tomorrow night, that's for sure.


Rain falls as though a faucet in heaven has been left open and unattended, forming monstrous puddles and washing away unsecured equipment. We watch from the safety of the indoors, just as the foxes peer out of their dens and rabbits look out of their holes.

The storm will pass eventually. Some angel is bound to notice the gushing tap at some point, at which point it will be a reasonable option to venture outside.

Of course, not all men are born reasonable.

Like Kevin, for example. No, he's not here for me to point him out to you. He's out there, just like every Saturday for the last five years, warming up for his 10 am tee time.


Anonymous said...

That sounds like a lovely way to end your intern's time with you! And the surprise produce box is another very nice touch. I hope all go well for your intern and her daughter :)
Heh, your last paragraph is a lovely denouement to the visceral words of the preceeding ones. I really enjoyed reading that today.

Mine's... a parody I suppose. You should recognize it easily enough :)

The Rime of the Ancient Golfing-chap
It is an ancient golfing-chap,
And he stoppeth one of three.
"By thy mashie and thy niblick,
Now wherefore stopp'st thou me?

The nineteenth hole is never dry,
And I do long to drink.
The golfers meet, I have my seat:
I wish to sit and think!"

He holds him with his skinny hand,
"There was a hole," quoth he.
"There always is, you bearded twit,
Now off! And let me be!"

He hold him with his glittering eye –
The nineteenth hole must wait,
The golfing-chap will tell his tale,
Of passion, lust and hate.

"The sun was bright, the green was clear,
I teed off like a pro:
The ball soared high in a deep blue sky,
But where did that ball go?

[That's all I have room for here....]

Marc said...

Greg - ah, that's a shame to see yours end there! It's quite fantastic, and I hope you'll find the time and space to continue it at some point :)