Sitting here in a neighborhood coffeeshop nursing a latte and my COVID fatigue. I'll alter my habits when Omicron starts sending the vaccinated and boosted to the hospital.
Played golf yesterday in the northern exurbs of the Twin Cities. The above picture is of a water hazard on the seventh hole, which was iced over—a potential stroke saver. I think it was 42 degrees when we teed off and fairly comfortable until it became overcast and windy on the back 9. For the record, I made a double bogey on what will be my last hole of the "season": good drive within a few steps of the 150-yard marker planted in the middle of the fairway; clunked a 6-iron about four-fifths of the way to the green; chipped it on; blew my first putt around 4 feet past the hole; missed it coming back.
Q: How'd you make a 6 on that easy hole?
A: Missed my putt for a 5.
Had a coffee, two tummy ticklers and some good cheer on the 19th hole before driving home. I've driven home from golf courses in the dark before but this might be the first time that it was also rush hour.
Younger daughter had a half-hour piano lesson at 6:30 and a 7:15 appointment for her second COVID shot at Mall of America, which is a bad place to be in a hurry. I try to watch my tongue around her and she was delighted when, on the way out, I let down my guard enough to refer to the Mall as "a hellhole" to which I would never return. We stopped by the house to pick up two other kids before going out for hamburgers at our favorite neighborhood spot (the LowBrow). The unexpected upside to the early evening activities is that the clock turned to Happy Hour while we were there. Half-price nachos! Two dollars off rail drinks! A fully vaccinated 11-year-old! Compensations for being "shorter of breath and one day closer to death."
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