… to play golf. Especially if you’ve only played twice in the last 12 months or so, and your last round was six months ago. But, one has to put everything into perspective. Ten years ago, “a lot of balls” (I’m talking about losing them) would have been a dozen or so; yesterday, I lost three. So, as I used to enjoy telling my fellow duffers at Spicewood Beach after they’d hit a bad shot, “Well, you’re gettin’ closer!” In other words, what was a bad day yesterday was really good compared to those days of yore.

Son Bill hit the nail on the head last night, after I described my “horrific return to the links” to him. I told him about all the bad shots—like my drive on hole number five that found an unexpected water hazard. I couldn’t see it from the tee box, but there was a pond in the fairway—left over from Monday’s rain—right where my well hit shot landed. Imagine my surprise when a spray of water erupted when my ball came down. And to top it off, the “pond” was just big enough that I couldn’t retrieve the ball. Anyway, after I finished describing the horrors of the day, I finished with, “At least I managed five pars,” and Bill said, “Five pars! That would be considered an outright miracle for me!”

I guess that proves everything’s relative… pun intended. Speaking of relatives…