Gut Rumbles

November 19, 2008

Should be interesting

Originally published December 26, 2005

On Christmas day, I went to my grandmother's house and had a nice dinner with some of my relatives. My brother and his wife were there, along with two of my uncles and their wives. It was a sumptious feast, and afterward we passed out a few presents for dessert. It was a nice get-together.

I met an aunt's nephew who just returned from a tour in Iraq. He is stationed at Fort Stewart, just about 50 miles south of Savannah, and my aunt and uncle picked him up when he flew into Atlanta on his way home. He was wounded over there. (Not in Atlanta--- in Iraq.)

What happened to him isn't funny, but it reminds me of the punch line from an old joke. He was on patrol when wounded by a roadside bomb. He had been sitting down. He stood up and seconds later the bomb went off, peppering his ass with shrapnel. Yes, his ASS. If the bomb had exploded a few seconds sooner, the shrapnel would have hit him in the head.

Anybody besides me ever heard the joke about the chandelier?

I've been pretty depressed for the past couple of days. I talked to my daughter on the phone, but I still don't know where my son is. He's not home and he hasn't called me. He has a birthday on the 28th and it's starting to look like I won't see him then, either. Whatta bummer.

My grandmother is going blind. She's 94 years old and still sharp upstairs; I think it's a crying shame that macular degeneration is taking her eyesight. She still likes crossword puzzles and scratch-off lottery tickets. She can't see to do either anymore. I don't know how much longer she'll be able to live in her house by herself the way she does now. The lights are still on, but she can't see out of the windows anymore.

If I were God, I'd have built the human body to last longer.

I thought about having myself a good strong drink. I didn't, for two reasons. First, I didn't want to break my string--- I haven't had a drink in 64 days now-- and second, I knew that drinking would make matters worse, because I wouldn't stop with just one. I would get drunk and wallow in self-pity, feeling more miserable than I did sober. Been there, done that, and I don't want to go back.

Instead of getting drunk, I made a date to play golf tomorrow.

That should be really interesting. I haven't touched a golf club since July 3, 2001, a date I remember well because of Elijah Clark State Park, fireworks, lots of liquor and some VERY surly and unpatriotic park rangers in a jeep that had flashing blue lights on it. Those bastards threatened to take me to jail. But that's a long story and I don't feel like telling it tonight.

I once was a pretty good golfer. I want to see how a three-and-a-half-year layoff affects my game. I've got a sneaky feeling that playing golf IS NOT like riding a bicycle and I'm not gonna step up on that first tee and hit the ball the way I once did. But I'm bound to have SOME muscle memory left, so I may not suck too badly. In fact, I'll go out on a limb.

Betcha I break 100 tomorrow.

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