We're About 1.75 Inches...

 

...into a 3.5 inches of rainfall weekend;  I'm sick of politics and can't get anything done outside, so...

...let's talk movies.

Hallmark movies, in particular.

I'll be honest; as much as I love Fall - cooler temps, vibrant colors, fun activities -

- that's how much I dread winter.

Yes, there are some great holidays during the winter, but when they're over - like that unwelcome house guest that doesn't know when to leave - winter still remains.

Days shorten, cold settles in and for those of us who are not winter sports fans, life turns claustrophobic as it scurries indoors.

No more working in the gardens...

...mowing the lawn...

...swinging my hickories...

...relaxing in the command center.

Thankfully, there's Hallmark to the rescue.

In a world that's increasingly angry and chaotic, Hallmark is reliably upbeat and stable: they always deliver a happy ending (with a kiss, no less).

And while you shouldn't spend endless hours sitting on your butt watching movies...

...they do provide a welcome respite from the storm.

Yes, they can be corny.

I used to be a card carrying member of the rock throwing camp that disdained the light, happy fare Hallmark represents.

But life - and age - are changing me.

In 2012 at age 75, actor Dustin Hoffman received the César Honorary Award from the French Academy of Cinema.

In his acceptance speech he became teary eyed and apologized.

"Forgive me," he told his audience, "but at my age I can cry at weather reports."

There's some truth there.

When we've seen enough, hurt enough, lost enough, a hard heart can be tempered, and cynicism can sometimes mellow into understanding.

For Karen and I, it's hard to beat a couple of hours sitting together, enjoying a well made Hallmark movie.

In fact, we'll be enjoying one together later tonight.

But first things first on this rain drenched afternoon.

There's some college football to attend to:

Go Miners!

I'm going to let you off easy on the HGU; it was another split week (5-4 loss Monday, 6-3 win Friday), so not much to brag about.

One unexpected circumstance in Friday's round:

I'd won the match by the time I parred #7 (5-2), but got careless on 8, losing the hole.

As I walked to the 9th tee I chastised myself for letting down, and then got a surprise.

From the 9th tee you can see people getting ready to tee off on the 1st hole of the 2nd course (there are 3, 9 hole courses where I practice the black arts of hickory golfery).

More importantly, they can see you teeing off and playing all of the par 3, 9th hole.

And Friday morning there were 13 golf carts all lined up and waiting at the 2nd course.

With not a whole lot to do while they wait, guess which old duffer with hickory sticks caught their attention as he stepped onto the 9th tee?

Reaching for my lofting iron, I dropped a ball and took a couple of practice swings, trying to ignore the makeshift gallery on wheels idly eyeing me up.

Reminding myself easy does it and to keep my eye on the ball, I swung away.

Imagine my relief as I watched it arc gracefully straight ahead, landing just off the edge of the green.

Hiking to my ball I told myself this next swing was the hole:

Nail it and walk off with a par;

Blow it and prove to my bored audience with their expensive bags filled with the latest and greatest of modern golf technology that I and my handful of old fashioned hickories are wasting time with "gimmick golf".

Another couple of practice swings with my lofting iron, then the shot: a little pop up from the grassy edge that landed on the green and rolled to within 3 feet of the hole.

Acting like I knew what I was doing, I reached for my putter, lined up the putt, then stroked it confidently into the back of the cup for a par.

Inside I'm doing backflips, outside I'm affecting my best imitation of Joe Cool...

..as I stroll casually off the green, relishing a small but satisfying victory for hickory golfers.

Just another day at the office.

As the rain continues to fall, I say we head for the dry, barren desert of 23 Skidoo:

decided to give our kitchen island a facelift...

...and used a rustoleum paint kit with a high gloss finish to lighten the mood a bit.

there's no better use for a kitchen island than harboring one of Karen's fabulous apple pies...1st of the season

recently found a dead chipmunk on one of my golf greens, so was ridiculously happy to see that "our" Chippy had not met an untimely end.  here he is posing for his portrait by our a/c unit.

it appears this year's corn crop is going to be a little light

great news from our local weather guru; now we're on the lookout for big male spiders trying to gain entrance to our home...

"honey, where did we put that can of RAID?"

Just before the start of my freshman year, I and a host of other athlete wannabe's reported to the high school gym for our football physicals.

When my turn came, the Dr. took my blood pressure, paused a moment, then asked me seriously:

"Have you been running around the gym while you were waiting?"

I started to answer but he interrupted me.

"Because that would explain why your blood pressure is high.

"Otherwise I'm going to have to fail you on your physical and you won't be able to play football this year."

Alarmed, I quickly gave in to temptation:

"Yessir," I lied, "that's what I've been doing."

I've occasionally wondered how life might have been different had I told the truth and admitted I had been sitting quietly, waiting my turn - which in retrospect, I'm certain el doctor already knew.

In any event, I played a couple of years of football, high blood pressure and all, before Dad moved us north to a tiny town in Maine where "football" apparently meant "soccer".

That put the kibosh to my dreams of football heroics.

Fast forward to the present where I still have the same issue, though now controlled by meds.

Well, sort of.

After enjoying a donut and a cup of coffee just before bed - my 6th or 7th cup of the day - I woke up in the middle of the night gasping for breath.

Struggling out of bed I staggered to the bathroom and took my bp - 160 over 91.

Guess what I don’t drink anymore?  And I love coffee.

Just another concession to the relentless forward march of the years as old age slowly settles over me like a heavy overcoat on a hot summer day.

Some of us meet our end suddenly, but for many of us it's truly death by a thousand cuts - the slow but steady accumulation of physical issues until finally, this frail earthen vessel we inhabit gives up the ghost.

I'm reminded of King David's prayer in his old age:

¹⁷ O God, thou hast taught me from my youth: and hitherto have I declared thy wondrous works.

¹⁸ Now also when I am old and grayheaded, O God, forsake me not; until I have shewed thy strength unto this generation, and thy power to everyone that is to come.

    - Psalm 71 

Forsake us not, O LORD!

Amen and amen.

later, mcm fans...

Overload Week...

...as we paused to remember both <9/11>...

...and <Charlie Kirk>.

Decent people view these events as tragedies and comport themselves appropriately.

On 9/11 at Ground Zero in NYC, people gather in solemn reverence to honor...

...and mourn the lost.

Unless you're a morally bankrupt D, that is.

Here are Alexandria Obviously Clueless and Mamdani the Ugandan Commie...

...yukking it up during the reading of the names of those who died on 9/11.

Makes sense; they're cut from the same cloth as faux-prez Dementia Joe...

...seen here impatiently checking his watch in August of 2021 during the sober transfer of the remains of the 13 troops killed in the bombing of Kabul.

If you love America, you'll never vote D, and Bobby Kennedy explains exactly why...

...<here>.

Scroll down to the bottom for the best speech given at the Republican midterm convention.

In it, this lifelong democrat - descended from old line political royalty with a pedigree including a president...

...attorney general and senator -

- lays out the devastating case against his former colleagues.

He brings all the receipts of how they obliterated the Bill of Rights during Covid, suppressing free speech and abrogating our rights to assemble and to worship.

Further, the party of "No Kings" canceled their convention in 2024, and without a single vote being cast or delegate consulted, anointed Queen Kamala as their candidate.

RFK Jr concludes he did not change, they did - and his long held values are now embodied in and embraced by - not the D's and their commie upstarts, but the republican party.

Folks, a Kennedy abandoning his uncle's and father's party to become a republican is akin to a lion swearing off meat to become a vegan.

I never thought I'd see it in my lifetime; take note and vote accordingly this November (and beyond).

Let's segue to a subject that does NOT angry up the blood...

...hickory golf.

Yes, unlucky you, I won both rounds this past week, 6-3 and 6-3.

Most satisfying hole: #6 on Monday.

Hit a good drive to the left side of the fairway, leaving a simple approach shot to the hole.

A mower showed up to service the green, but pulled just to the left to wait for me to finish.

Ah, an audience...did I choke on the 2nd shot?

I did not.

Hit a lofting iron to the front of the hole, then managed a 2 putt for par.

Retrieving my ball from the cup, I turned and acknowledged the mower (translation: "did you see that?  I parred the hole!"), he nodded briefly (translation: "<yawn> whatever, even a blind squirrel finds a nut now and then"), then skippety doo dah'd to the 7th hole as if I knew what I was doing.

Of course, there were 6 holes out of 18 that I blew, some in spectacular fashion, but we shan't be discussing those now (or ever).

You're welcome.

Time to 23 Skidoo, y'all...

a freighter in lake huron as seen from Karen's home town of rogers city

Q: when does a football game last 60:01 instead of 60:00?
A: when you play michigan at the big house and they need one more play to win

beautiful sunset from our courtyard.  we've had our last 8pm sunset for this year as we're now rapidly approaching the autumnal equinox

a pretty triptych painting at the lab where I had blood drawn recently

there's a monstera plant guarding my philco v-handle in our bonus room

black eyed susans still hanging in

coffee nook all dressed up for fall.  cookie, anyone?

The first two weeks of September have done a pretty good imitation of summer, but Autumn is finally knock knock knocking on our door now.

According to the weather soothsayers, when I tee off tomorrow morning at 7:30 it will be a bracing 48°.

I hope they're right.

Sweater weather is always welcome on my early morning forays to the links, as are the glorious fall colors that will adorn the countryside for the next two months.

Gotta love Michigan in the fall.

¹ To everything there is a season, and a time to every purpose under the heaven;

    Ecclesiastes 3

later, mcm fans...

The Last Hibiscus...

 

...of the summer. 

Those holes in its petals pay homage to its seasonal longevity, but alas...summer hath drawn to its inevitable end, taking its prettiest accoutrements with it.

Dirty summer...go ahead, take your ball and go home!

C'mon, Fall...

there's supposed to be a fairway 'round here somewhere

so many jack-o-lanterns, so little time

when the chair pillows are flannel it must be fall

every kid's fave night of the season

...let's have some fun together.

I know you won't pack your bags and leave us in the lurch like summer has...

...right?

We're already 2 games into the high school football season, and it's not even Labor Day yet...

...when we honor the men and women who built this country and continue to make it run.

This year, Labor Day is as late as it can be - Monday the 7th - and that's gonna make September zip by even faster than usual.

So enjoy your long weekend, the less popular of the twin bookends to summer...

...then get after the rest of this glorious month.

And taking my own advice, let's HGU:

Not much to tell; 'bout the same as usual, though I did manage a 6-3 win on Thursday which should have been a 9-0 win.

But that's golf...

when perfection is the goal, you spend a lot of time looking like this

...a game of failure.

It's how we manage those failures that makes the difference.

I can pinpoint the stroke on each of the 3 lost holes when I knew exactly what I was going to do, and then proceeded to flub the shot.

And it's not like I was hoping for some extraordinary save -

- from an impossible lie.

Far from it; just a regular fairway wood, chip onto the green, or putt I wanted to lag up close to the pin.

oops

But my body told my brain to stuff it, I booted the shot and that was the hole.

In Harry Vardon's wonderful book, The Gist Of Golf, he opens the first chapter with this profound sentence:

"A great deal of unnecessarily bad golf is played in this world."

Ain't it the truth.

There are days I wonder why I bother but oh well; something to work on next week.

For reasons known only to the Atomic Monster Cafe's resident photog (didn't take many pics), we have an abbreviated 23 Skidoo this week.

No need to thank us; it's what we do:

some ideas to get you started...I checked the boxes that are most important so please don't screw this up

a perfect day from the command center, before summer showed its true colors and ran like a scalded dog

saw this sign recently and gave it 2 thumbs way on up...didn't buy it however since they wanted $60 for it

strawberry transformation complete

king bumble caught <in flagrante delicto> with princess rose (of sharon)

This summer did not play out as expected.

Not that we had any major plans for it - just the usual:

Work, take Fridays off for golf, spend time in and around the pool, keep up with yardwork, enjoy the shade and refreshing breeze from the command center on warm summer days, hit the farmer's market for fresh produce and visit Fenn Valley for wine occasionally.

Losing my job and stumbling into unexpected retirement changed that.

Instead of serene, carefree summer days when the livin' is easy, this season morphed into a heapin' helpin' of stress and a healthy side dish of something I usually detest:

Waiting.

While many of the issues we faced have been buttoned up satisfactorily by God's grace, others are still unresolved, floating in the ether of the unknown.

I'm not good at this.

I made my living fixing problems, most of which required solutions "now".

"Waiting" conjures visions of people sitting around in hospitals, anxiously twiddling thumbs while doctors and nurses actually do something to fix the problem.

But waiting is biblical and even commanded.

It encompasses active trust in the LORD, coupled with the certain knowledge He loves us and is doing what's best for us.

When King David was in dire straits, his life in danger and surrounded by enemies, he turned to the Lord:

¹⁴ Wait on the LORD: be of good courage, and He shall strengthen thine heart: wait, I say, on the LORD.

    - Psalm 27:14

The prophet Isaiah echoes these same sentiments:

³¹ But they that wait upon the LORD shall renew their strength; they shall mount up with wings as eagles; they shall run, and not be weary; and they shall walk, and not faint.

    - Isaiah 40:31

Biblical waiting is the exact opposite of how we typically view it.

Rather than sitting idle and doing nothing, Isaiah says it involves action: getting stronger, rising up, moving forward.

It's prayerfully seeking God's will while actively trusting Him for the results.

It's not necessarily easy for those of us raised with that prevalent "need it now" philosophy, but it does come with God's promise of results:

²⁸ And we know that all things work together for good to them that love God, to them who are the called according to His purpose.

    - Romans 8:28

And so we wait.

later, mcm fans...