Sometimes a golf ball is not just a golf ball

Not too long ago, after a somewhat epic afternoon and evening drinking wine on Tequila Hill, I went golfing with Chelle, Rick and Kyle. Some of us may not have felt very good. Some of us may have been on a clear liquid diet for a procedure they were having.

Here are the beautiful people golfing:

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In the meantime, since I don’t actually golf, I was providing social media commentary, photographs, general entertainment and a bottle opener. I mean, these are I people I love. I share my bottle opener with them. They are fun. So anyway, here I am. In the cart, drinking beer, taking pictures, playing “Enter Sandman” between holes whenever a golfer ended up in a sand trap, and online shopping:

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Chelle said she wanted some super huge tees, so I ordered her some online. She knew about that. Then she lost the pretty pink ball that Kyle found her, so I also ordered her a bag of assorted sparkly pink balls as a surprise to go with the tees.

They looked like this:

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Flash forward a few weeks. The other day, I had one of those really awful overly emotional days. I was really struggling with something and Chelle was my best cheerleader, as always. I made it through, but was still hovering on the edge of tears that evening. Maybe well over the edge.

Then I got a notification that I’d been tagged on Facebook. The tag said I was at a neighborhood golf course with Chelle and Rick. I was actually staring out the window wondering if I should go outside and be depressed in a lounge chair instead of being depressed in the house. I was definitely not at the golf course!

Then I noticed the pictures. Particularly this one:

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Hope.

I gave Chelle a little bag of golf balls, and in return she gave me a handful of hope when I really needed it. That is what people do when they love you. It isn’t about money or time. It isn’t about the grand gesture. Sometimes, love is just holding up a pink golf ball to a camera and showing a friend you love her and are thinking of her. Sometimes, love is just showing there is hope.

I say this a lot, and I will keep saying it: I am lucky almost beyond my own comprehension to have the people in my life that I do. Every day they show me the value of friendship and love, and the value of kindness in small gestures.

Even a small kindness feels huge when you need it.

Thank you, thank you, thank you. I love you.

A nonversation with my emotional attorney

You know, I don’t even give a shit. He should be making a grand gesture right now, and he isn’t, and it’s pissing me off on your behalf.

I love that you are defending my emotional honor.

I totally am. There is no one who is more on your side than I am.

I know. I love that about you. But, really. It’s OK.

No it isn’t. He should be here.

He’s got a lot going on right now.

He’s not even pretending to be interested.

Sure he is.

Pretending? Well, good. At least he’s smart enough to pretend.

No, interested.

Oh, really? How is he demonstrating his interest? It doesn’t seem to be manifesting itself in any sort of concrete way.

No..

And? And don’t tell me he’s busy.

But he is busy.

That’s just an excuse. He would make time if he thought you were important enough.

I guess. It’s not like I haven’t used that line myself.

I’m sorry. I am all about you right now, and that means being totally against Mr. Hugging On Other People. If he does something that makes you happy, believe me, I will love him. If he doesn’t, I will want to tear him apart.

The hugging thing didn’t mean anything.

Really? You didn’t care?

No. Well, yes. Of course I did. I didn’t like it. But he told me he was going with a group of friends.

I didn’t see a group.

Give him a break! It’s not like we’re even seeing each other. I would guess he’s seeing other people.

That’s what I mean. Why hasn’t he seen you yet? What is he waiting for? He shouldn’t want to see anyone else. Why is he seeing other people?

I feel like I am being interrogated by my emotional attorney.

Sorry. I’d like to be interrogating that asshole who can’t be bothered to make time to see you. I totally am your emotional attorney though.

You really are. But it’s not like there’s some sort of big hurry.

For you there isn’t, but there should be for him. He should be in a big fucking hurry. If he deserved you, he would be. Who could he possibly be seeing that would be better than you?

I don’t know if he’s seeing anyone else or not. We haven’t talked about it. We aren’t seeing each other, so why would I be worrying about anyone else?

Don’t you care?

Of course I do. But it’s not like we’re in a place where we should even be talking about not seeing other people. For one thing, we haven’t started seeing each other, which would normally have to happen before we talk about NOT seeing other people. Right?

No. He doesn’t need to see other people right now.

I don’t think you’re right about that. I wouldn’t want to dictate that at all at this point.

But I’m not talking about what you tell him or don’t tell him. He shouldn’t even want to see anyone else. He should only want to see you.

That’s not fair, though.

Fuck fair. He should only want you. It’s not about what’s fair. It’s about being crazy about you, which he doesn’t appear to be.

We don’t even know each other yet. We’ll see. We’ll crash and burn, or we’ll be nuts about each other. Who knows.

He’s too much of a dumb ass to even know he should be making a big effort.

Objection noted. Shall we have some more cider?

Definitely.

Thank you for being my emotional attorney.

Always.

Lost and found

You know what I love?

I love finding things that I didn’t even know were lost.
Like the bottle of Fireball that just turned up in my freezer. I left it in there so I can find it again some other day.

It’s like finding a little pot of gold, no rainbow or leprechaun required.

Oh, it’s true. I am easily pleased. A smile. An unexpected phone call. A note. Finding things I didn’t even know I had.

Not too long ago I found a bracelet I thought I’d lost, or thrown away, decades ago. I’d apparently hidden it away so it would be safe. So safe, I couldn’t even find it myself. I was happy to see it again.

Or money in the laundry. It’s my money, and it comes out of my own pockets. Why does it always make me so happy to find it? Or the change that inevitably falls out of my pockets and rolls under the bed when I get undressed at night?

Sometimes you find people you thought were lost to you. That is even better. I’ve had several of those recently.

Books. Books also turn up unexpectedly sometimes. Books are more reliable than the people who turn up sometimes. Oh, that sounds mean. Reliable isn’t the right word, either.

Maybe books are just easier–but what isn’t easier than people?

Know what? I have some very important staring out the window to do now.
So that is what I am going to do.

Maybe I’ll have a swig of that Fireball I found…

PS
And
I just got ready for work
And found a dress that I have only worn once and promptly forgot I had.

It’s either serendipity or a sign that I have to many things around.

Or both.