The End of Patriarchy?

    For the past four or five years, the Goodwife and I have greeted the end of each summer’s day with two or three rounds of pasture golf.  Whereas I used to have to sometimes force myself to stop working, as I have signed on to Medicare and have qualified for full Social Security benefits, it’s much easier to surrender the day’s labor to experience a pleasant evening.  It’s not exactly because now that I’m on the public dole I don’t have anything to worry about.  It’s more like the old tank runs out of gas a lot faster than it used to.

    Well, it was bound to happen.  Those bobbers thumping up against the glass ceiling have either broken through to the attic, or have levitated the ceiling so high that we mere males can’t reach it.  And I, I am ashamed to report, am complicit in this feminine takeover.

     It happened like this:  One evening earlier this week, the Goodwife came in with a one-under par 26.

    And I came in for that round with a three-over par 30.

    It won’t be too long before some lady somewhere demands that her husband-to-be changes his name to her name.  Maybe it has already happened.

 

In other news, old number 118 returned to service this week.  Two cranes migrated out of Wyoming, gently lowered the injured blade, and after about a five day wait, raised the new blade into place.  Another couple of days and it was turning as usual.  Let the wind blow, and let a little rain fall.

    We got .27” on Friday.  When I was in high school, we had an English teacher who used a workbook and a Handbook of English to teach grammar.   We each had our own workbook, but to save money, there was just one handbook for each pupil’s desk.  So, we shared a handbook with students in other classes.  Well of course certain someones had to leave messages at various places in the handbook.  The teacher discouraged such defacement of public property, but found one so amusing he shared it with us:  “In case of a flood, stand on this book.  It’s DRY!”     

    As there is no dearth of dry places to stand here now, that handbook would be more worthless than ever today.

     In the movie “Cincinnati Kid” Steve McQueen (I think) is the lucky gambler who never loses.  Periodically, a little newsboy runs into “The Kid” on the street and insists that he and “The Kid” match coins.  “The Kid” reluctantly matches and takes the newsboy’s hard-earned coin.  Then he tells the boy that the reason he never wins is because he’s trying too hard.

      In the last scene, “The Kid” has finally lost, lost everything.  In a state of shock he wanders out of the building and there’s the newsboy who wants to match coins.  “The Kid” contemplates, fishes in his empty pocket, finds one last coin.  Sure enough, the newsboy matches and takes ”The Kid’s” last coin.  The newsboy looks up at “The Kid” and says with a smile, “You tryin’ too hard, Cincinnati.”

     Neighbor Lee told a story about a long-deceased neighbor, Babe Jones, who famously said, “Well, when it does rain, we’ll still need it.”

      In the meantime, we really must try to stop tryin’ so hard.