It is a commonplace that golf serves in multiple ways as a metaphor for life. Let me mention some of these metaphors and lessons of the links.
It is a weekend during which I appreciate my freedoms and liberties more than I do most other weekends. Yesterday I took MBW and the HA to downtown Portland’s waterfront to enjoy the Rose Festival. We ate reasonably good food, listened to sub-par music (sorry, kids, I know you meant well. Perhaps your voice will sound as good as it does in your imagination a few years after puberty hits.) We walked the midway, bought overpriced inflatable toys and watched performers with talent suited for the venue.
Father’s Day has never ranked as a red letter day on the calendar for me. Today marks something of a shift in that perspective. Today is my first as an honoree. I received some lovely photographs, a professional shoot of my beautiful and talented wife along with my beautiful and talented daughter.
I also played golf, poorly and in the pouring rain. So, yeah, terrific photos. I’m going with that gift as the memory.
It is possible to pack in a lot of fun over a weekend, especially when you cut out early on Friday. (It’s OK, I requested the time off officially.) It’s important to break routine, to get away from our usual haunts and activities. If not, we stagnate, even if our usual haunts and activities are pretty damn keen to begin with.
The Oregon coast, for those of you not familiar with it, does not provide that So-Cal bikini and surfer dude vibe. Yes there are surfers out catching waves but they are few – and wearing wetsuits. The August beach goers along the Oregon coast are tossing tennis balls to romping dogs, flying kites, carving three-wheel tracks in the sand on rented tricycles, setting out a picnic, piling up wood for evening bonfires. And toting a sweater, just in case.
Now it wasn’t all vacation. I did get some writing done in the hotel. And I spent some time searching for sasquatch, though I never did catch a glimpse.
But I was primarily interested in recreation, recharging my batteries. I got in nine-holes of golf, tossed the frisbee on the beach, and sampled some beer. I chanced upon a copy of M.A.R. Baker’s “Flamesong” for three dollars at a used book store. And I was able to hear your favorite band http://www.redelvises.com/ play in a small venue. There is a certain increased immediacy to the music when the musicians perform in a small pub without a stage or any sort of barrier between them and the audience.
So with the batteries recharged, bring on the work week. I’m ready.