Number 18

The Quarry has Great Golf in its Sights
The word Quarry has two meanings.
One is more politically correct in these PETA days: a place where rock is mined. The second is the idea of prey, something hunted.
Both definitions were called to mind during a Media Day round on a gorgeous June Sunday at The Quarry.
The first meaning comes from the original use of the site, a sand and gravel pit that was mined by U.S. Steel for more than 100 years.
The second is the feeling this course is about to bite you—again—or it might refer to the lost balls you'll search the piney surroundings for.
Either way, The Quarry puts the golfer between—wait for it—rocks and hard places.
Course Background
The course is located near Biwabik, a village of 1000-plus souls in northern Minnesota's Iron Range northwest of Duluth, some 3-1/2 hours from the Twin Cities.
Despite its difficulty, and the aggravation it causes, its beauty and quality will bring you back again and again. I know the fellows I invited to join me on the round enjoyed themselves immensely.
Ron McIlroy, my coworker and playing partner from the Twin Cities, was at The Quarry for the first time. He said afterwards it was the toughest course he had ever played, but that he’d rather play there than at similarly-priced courses closer to home.
My old golfing buddy and our host at nearby Hoyt Lakes, Jim Whittington takes every opportunity to play this intriguing course. So does his friend Carl Overman.
Situated in an area of the country that deserves more recognition, there is no madding crowd. Instead; small mining towns remain that are starting to catch their breath, now that some mines have begun to reopen to supply Chinese furnaces.
(Mining is thirsty work. On our way up, some towns seemed to have a bar every other Main Street building. As we drove past The Big Guy’s Club in Aurora, I suggested to Ron they needed to paint a line on the door warning “If you’re shorter than this, you can’t enter”. Texan Ron, at 140 pounds, drawled “I’d have to have lead boots just to get in.”)
Jim told us 60 percent of today’s population on the Range is retired. After all, homes are inexpensive, the cost of living is low, and there’s wonderful hunting and fishing right out your backdoor. Many, such as he and Carl, are returning to their home stomping grounds after careers elsewhere.
Because mining has suffered so many ups and downs over the years, there is a constant drive to bolster the Range economy through technology and tourism. Giant's Ridge Resort on the edge of the Superior National Forest is one tourism tool in the economic development kit.
Begun in 1959 as a private ski hill, by the 1980s the facility had gone bankrupt. Minnesota's Iron Range Resource and Rehabilitation Board (IRRRB) bought it, developed Giant’s Ridge, and today it employs some 300 people. In the winter time, Giant's Ridge is a premier ski area.
During spring and summer, though, Giant’s Ridge incorporates two exceptional golf courses, The Legend and The Quarry, both Jeffrey Brauer designs, both overseen by Troon Management.
This duo of gems in such close proximity attracts golfers from around the world. “America’s 100 Greatest Public Courses” by Golf Digest, in the publication’s May 2005 issue, ranked The Quarry number 16; The Legend was poised at number 88. These are not your typical small-town munis.
(Another fine course I will write about soon, The Wilderness at Fortune Bay, is about 30 miles away from Giant’s Ridge in Tower, Minn.)
A Quick Description
The Quarry's 18 holes were molded from the tattered fragments of natural forest, blended with what remained from the struggle to feed hungry Youngstown and Pittsburgh blast furnaces.
Many of the tee boxes are raised and will require a carry across water or brush, wetland or even large boulders. Carcasses of old mining equipment jut out of the ground in places, their rusty surfaces dripping oxides back into the land from which they had been wrenched. Automobile to boxcar-sized chunks of rock stud the landing areas at other spots.
The fairways, mainly narrow and tree-lined, offer similar contrasts, with seldom a vanilla lie. You always seem to be hitting from a slight undulation, and the topsoil isn’t very deep. There is, after all, a layer of crushed rock under much of this new sod. Hit down too hard and you could suffer a short, sharp shock.
Some greens are huge, others could pass for one of Carl’s postage stamps. Putting is a constant challenge, as two- and three-tiered greens are the rule rather than the exception. I watched one putt on #11 climb 10 feet to the top of a rise, then change its mind, make a sharp left turn and roll another 10, to end up a couple of feet past the hole. (A pretty good putt, if I do say so.)
Few and far between are Texas wedge opportunities, as most greens are protected in some way that precluded putting from the fairway.
It is a fair course, however. I detest those tracks that have an array of pot bunkers lurking in the middle of the fairway, or gathering bunkers placed to scoop a well-hit drive into a pond. (The only thing lacking at such sneaky venues is a windmill and a clown with an open mouth.) No, The Quarry puts its dangers on its shoulder, and dares you to knock them off.
The Play’s the Thing
We went off the blue tees, at a rating of 71.9, and around 130 slope, playing at a total distance of 6,696 yards. (Behind those were the golds, at 7,000+ yards.) Naturally, being a sand quarry, there were a lot of traps. Perhaps because there were so many problem areas, however, they didn’t seem to bother you much. (Not to mention that the best-ball scramble allows us to avoid almost all of them.)
#4 is the first par three – and it's a long one at 269, playing downhill from a former taconite spoil pile. The green is ample, featuring a wide frontal entrance to allow some to hit a driver. Any shot that reaches the green is a candidate for a birdie putt. Each hole is named for an area mine. This hole commemorates the giant Mahoning mines that produced more than 130 million tons of iron.
On the 369 yard par 4 6th hole, a gathering bunker into a tee-side swale nearly divides the green into two. If you go straight at the right side of the green and fall short, you’re in that swale, and it’s filled with deep rough. Fly in from the left, and you’ll be on the long green in two. Should that depression lie between you and the flag, however, par is almost impossible.
The 468 yard #18 carries the Embarrass mine label. It is perched next to what today is a 550-foot deep mine-pit lake, the deepest on the Mesabi Iron Range. (Embarrass, Minn. also claims title to being the coldest place in the nation during winter.) The lake can be seen from the tee, the fairway, and the green. After a good tee shot to the corner you dogleg left. There’s a fairway entrance to the left that lets golfers reach the green, which slants toward the lake. Luckily, bunkers keep you from rolling into it.
Carl, Ron and Jim on #3
Even though he hit very well, Ron’s round emptied three sleeves of balls. Jim’s back spasmed on him at one point, so he eased up and drove his easy swings 250 yards or more. (At 6'3" and 290 pounds, Jim would have passed muster at Big Guy’s.)
Carl, a retired postal employee celebrating his 73rd birthday, didn’t let the course’s difficulty stymie him even though he normally hit from the senior tees. In fact he played best of all of us, with a Furyk-looking waggle at the top of his backswing that resulted in long, straight drives and iron shots. (Asked about the waggle, he said “People tell me I have one, but I don’t want to think about it: it might throw me off.”)
Architect Brauer was quoted as saying The Quarry combined “virgin land, iron ore open pit mine and sand quarry, that gives the course its name, and its distinct character. You might say it's the `most unnatural’ course I have ever designed, because most of the land has been scarred into land of great charm and character by these previous industrial operations.”
In his design, Brauer leaves you an easy way to make par, and a hard way (sometimes more than one hard way) to break par.
Should you have some free time in your spare time, try the fishing. The walleye is a very popular game fish in Minnesota, and northern pike, crappie and other species abound nearby, not to mention lake trout in nearby Lake Superior.
Keep an eye open for Paul Bunyan (not the Giant of Giant’s Ridge, by the way) and his Blue Ox. (I was told that the Giant is called Mesabi, who when he lay down to rest, ended up with trees, moss and grass covering his body.)
For more information, the website is http://www.giantsridge.com/.

Lake Hiawatha muni, then the TPC
A week of rainstorms and assorted weather events behind us, my playing partners and I sported weather-resistant apparel when we showed up at Hiawatha Golf Course Sat. June 2, 2007. We were prepared to chase some hail-sized golf balls, and as a result, the sun beat down throughout our round.
Hiawatha is a gem in the magnificent Minneapolis Park system. The parks were created by immigrants from the New England area, familiar with such elements as Boston Common. They believed a park system was necessary for mental health, and were willing to pay for it.

Theodore Wirth, Minneapolis Superintendent of Parks from 1906 to 1936, set the goal of having no child in the city farther than a quarter-mile from a park, no family farther than a half-mile from a full recreation center. That goal has been reached, with 6,400 acres of park– 1,400 of which are water – and 58 miles of parkways.
Minnehaha Creek winds from Lake Minnetonka through Minneapolis and its suburbs, some 22 miles. It's canoeable. I once accomplished the task of being up the Creek without a paddle: if I hadn't lunged knee deep into the water and made one last desperate grab for it, the implement might have floated downstream, dropped over Minnehaha Falls 53 feet, then made its way a mile on to the Mississippi River and eventually the Gulf of Mexico.

A few hundred feet of the creek doubles as a water hazard within Hiawatha GC, and golfers teeing off on the par 3 12th sometimes have to hold up so canoeists floating a few feet below toward Lake Hiawatha aren't put at hazard. (Lucky we delayed, too, as my shot across their stern sent ripples racing along the side of their canoe.)

Originally, this area was a swamp; in the 1920s the swamp was drained by the Army Corps of Engineers to create Lake Hiawatha, and the course was installed in 1934. For many years it hosted the Upper Midwest Bronze Tournament, a prestigious event for the Negro golfer.

Just recently the Park Board renovated the course, removing the last of the boggy spots, and they've done an admirable job. It still has some old elms fringing the course; one of my foursome had grown up playing the course, and was returning for the first time in 20 years.

Brian Wilson setting up on #14 at the TPC.

With that for a warmup, on Monday, June 4, I took a turn at the Tournament Player's Course (TPC) in Blaine, MN. This northern suburb hosts the National Sports Center, billed as the largest amateur sports facility in the world, with venues for soccer, hockey, golf, track & field, cycling, lacrosse, skating, broomball, football, ultimate disc, rugby...phew.

At the TPC, though, it's golf all the way, in elegantly-appointed surroundings. I played in the Minnesota Golf Association (MGA) Media Appreciation opener, on a course with greens as slick as glass, on a day that made the redwing blackbirds trill from their cattail perches and the Canada geese proudly enrich the grass as they shepherded their broods.

At over 7,000 yards, this Arnold Palmer/Tom Lehman design on a former sod farm hosts the 3M tournament, one of the most successful on the Champions Tour.

It is a lovely course, with water and native grass roughs both taking their toll. I told my playing partners, "I don't write my name on my ball, because I don't keep them long enough to get acquainted." It was certainly true on this course; I went through a brand-new sleeve and was reduced to rummaging through my bag just to--pardon the expression--stay afloat. When the day ended, I was down to my last two aged orbs...and that was after having rescued several from a watery grave.

Stu Groskreutz, Dean Lavato (the southpaw) and Brian getting ready to putt.

I told one of my foursome (a southpaw), after watching him set up and swing, "Watching your swing is like trying to read Chinese writing...everything's backwards." Unfortunately, when I would swing, my aching shoulder was more like the Chinese death of a Thousand Cuts: it had a tendency to twinge at precisely the wrong time, which would allow my shot to go even more awry than normal. I did make some good putts, though, and won a door prize drawing: an hour's evaluation at GolfTec.

Perhaps my comment to the starter, when asked for my handicap, that "Golf is my handicap" made them earmark the golf lesson for me...just to speed up everyone else's play.

The Trifecta

This Memorial Day weekend shone bright and clear, for the most part. But Saturday morning, first day of it, I woke up with a third ache in this old body.

Now, for years I've been an ardent volleyball player, going up against men and women half (now a third) my age.

For years, I've had problems with my right shoulder.

Last October, though, while running across the gym floor, I heard a loud pop and a tearing pain in my left knee area and I collapsed in a tumble of arms and legs.

X-rays and a doctor's visit later, I had been diagnosed with a bursa sac bursting. Now, six months later, I'm still limping (perhaps from still playing volleyball), so I may go in for a look at the soft tissue.

Then, Saturday morning, I added a third ache to this tired machine: my back was stiff and sore. It was from carrying my golf bag in and twisting to get it through the door. Hey, what can I say? I originally hurt it helping lift a stove into a pickup a few years ago, and it goes out occasionally for a few days.

I need to swing a golf club a few times, just to see how that affects all three segments.

• I'm doing exercises for the shoulder.


• I can wear a brace on my knee.


• Time will take care of my back.

The doctor told me that after 50 years, the warranty runs out. I guess my equipment was made better.

Coming Attractions
Blogger can cause problems. I just lost everything I had worked on for an hour because it automatically saved when I tried to do something fancy with HTML and accidentally removed a section of text. I don't see an Undo, so there was no way to renovate the deathless prose I had lost. And now it doesn't appear online. Who knows why?

At any rate, since last November I have:

• Folded my 6'4" lankiness into a train coach seat for three days and nights to Calif.;


• Been waitperson ("Hello, my name is Dale and I'll be your server. We have a special on alfalfa flakes and various mixed grains.") to a herd of assorted horned and cloven-hooved critters, plus some angry geese (talk about honkys), a turkey that put some moves on my lady friend, and other fine feathered fiends;


• Driven 100 miles to give a sample so my new employer could feel satisfied I wasn't a drug-crazed luny; (luny is OK, it's the drug-crazed part they had a problem with)


• Visited beautiful Silicon Valley and passed through the James Lick Observatory on our way out of town;


• Slept in the Garlic Capital of the world (Gilroy, Calif.);


• Driven down Highway 1, 200 feet above sea level, as the sea came crashing onto the rocks below us;


• Driven through Death Valley in 40 degree temperatures, and walked 134 feet below sea level;


• Strolled across London Bridge in the foggy evening;


• Toured the Casa Grande prehistoric Indian ruin near Florence, AZ;


• Bought a hot chili ristra in Tuscon;
  
• Skirted the flying saucers near Roswell, NM;


• Fled from Arizona to Minnesota in two days, ducking through a gap in the December march of blizzards that put the Midwest in traction.

During the entire trip it was warmer in Minnesota than in either Calif. or Ariz.

And all of that happened in December!
In this new year of '07, I'm working as a tech writer for the USPS (after receiving the interview request about five minutes after I'd decided I might retire).
I've been out practicing my golf twice already, using a pitching wedge to see whether I could replicate my swing on a regular basis.
I practiced putting, pointing my left elbow at the flag and letting my body do the work. (I seem to guage the distance pretty well that way.)
Chipping, I tried keeping my hands absolutely still, while I swiveled only my wrists. It's as if I had my hands touching my leg, and not moving from that spot while my wrists did the work. As a result, the club chopped up and down and picked the ball out cleanly. The technique seems to work well up to about 50 feet, so I'll have to keep trying to perfect it.
Now I'm getting excited because I've been invited to play the TPC (Tournament Player's Course) in Blaine, north of the Twin Cities, June 4, and the Quarry in Biwabik June 10. I'll keep you posted.

Sioux City, IA--A Necropolis

It isn't really. It only seems like it.

I drove down to Sioux City for Thanksgiving to visit my Army captain son, who lives at Dakota Dunes, an Arnold Palmer-designed course in the very southeastern tip of South Dakota where it butts up against both Iowa and Nebraska. Just across the border is Sioux City, Iowa. I term this sleepy Missouri River town a necropolis because its historic sites often have something to do with dead folks.

Most famous, of course, is the Sergeant Floyd monument. Floyd, the only member of the Lewis and Clark Expedition to die during their two-year trek, was also the first U.S. soldier to die west of the Mississippi. The poor guy kept having to be buried: first when he died 20 Aug. 1804, of course. Two years later on the expedition's return, they found his gravesite had been disturbed, so buried him a second time; again in 1857, when the bluff he'd been planted in washed away; and finally (I hope) 20 Aug. 1895, with a big marble slab on top, and an obelisk on top of that. I guess you can't keep a good man down.

Then I happened to notice the First Bride's Grave monument. This was built in 1938 by the Woodbury County Pioneer Club near the grave of Rosalie Menard Leonais. The Pioneer Club called her the "first bride" because she was believed to be the first bride of a non-Native American in the area.

In 1918, during remodeling, the Hedges Block collapsed on workers, storekeepers and shoppers, killing 39. The contractors were trying to lower the first floor to ground level...and succeeded beyond their wildest expectations.

Then there were floods. The Floyd River (maybe the ol' sarge was mad) killed folks in 1892, and again in 1953.

In 1949, the Swift and Co. building exploded from a natural gas leak at 11:33 a.m., Dec. 14. Twenty-one died from that.

The city keeps bouncing back, though. They're remodeling (oh, oh) the area where the stockyards were; the aroma of money still wafts through the nearby streets when the breeze is in the right direction. There are new restaurants downtown.

Corn palaces (what else, in Iowa?) that predate the one in Mitchell, S.D., the Missouri River flowing through ("too thick to drink, too thin to plow") with casinos lining its bank, South Dakota and Nebraska buttin' up against it. Meatpacker John Morrell still maintains a strong presence making BBQ, and the local convention center is named after Tyson of chicken fame.

As for family doings, we deep-fried a turkey outdoors on Thanksgiving Day, which in the upper midwest is a Thanksgiving miracle in itself.

Shoals

Working downtown in Minneapolis for the first time in years, I rely on the local bus system. It takes me half an hour to get home, and costs about $3.50 a day. Compare that to the local parking situation: $5 for the first half-hour? I don't think so.
And rush-hour traffic? Standing at the bus stop during rush hour, I watched the shimmering, sleek forms as they slipped out of parking lots and side streets onto a one-way street. Tires would squeal a complaint as they would rush a few feet to slip into a space just large enough to advance upstream. Darting from side to side, individuals would leap ahead of their slower-reacting fellows.
Channeling all this was the conductor in a blaze yellow vest, standing in harm's way like a tiny grizzly among giant salmon, gesticulating wildly as she filled the air with shrieks and squeals on her whistle. She would attempt to halt onrushing behemoths in their path by pushing the air against them. Those whose turn it was, she would pull on an invisible cord.
The object of all this franticness is to get the contents of the shiny forms to the suburbs, where they will mate, reproduce, and die. And their offspring will add to the next generation's problems.

(Pic at left near Tightwad, Mo.)

Missed the trip.

What a disappointment. I caught the first cold or flu of the season, and was out of commission for four days. So, I decided to forego the trip west.

After all, I would have had to drive for three days straight, coughing and hacking all the way, stop for a week, then drive back...and start work the day after my return. No, I don't think so. I'm getting a little mature for that.

Speaking of mature, have you watched "Last of the Summer Wine"? If not, I recommend it. No sex, no violence, no nasty words, just a gentle teasing and situations right out of England's north country. Elderly gents and ladies put into different situations that leave you feeling good when the show's over.

In Minneapolis it's on Channel 2, our public television station, so it may be on your public TV channel also. I've gotten so I like it better than the Red Green Show, our Canadian neighbor's offering. "Quando Omni Flunkus Moritati", as the saying goes.

California Bound with a stopover in Carson City
This earthbound life in Minnesota is going to come to a halt for awhile, as I gather myself for a trip to Carson City, Nev., to go to the Golf Today tournament.
I'll start by making my way down to Sioux City, Iowa, to visit my son and his family for a few days. Then I'll make the long trek by auto toward the west. Who knows, while I'm out there, perhaps I'll bump into Tioga and George. George travels around in a secondhand motorhome, summers north, winters in Baja, and as of this writing he's in Santa Cruz, Calif., where I went to high school in the late '50s.
I won't be able to really use this blogsite for my golf and rv writing for another couple of years, God willing. (I own the RVGolfer.com website as well, but haven't begun to develop it yet.)
When my appointed stint in the workaday world ends, I plan to go on the road, visit strange and unusual courses and people, and write about them.
For now, it's the infrequent article for different publications, such as the ones I've done for Golf Today: Siren National, for instance, where a town recovers from a tornado touchdown; Voyager Village, where I scored a hole in one on an airplane (maybe); and the Governor's Golf Opener at Braemar in Edina, MN.
We'll see what happens in Carson City.

Sep. 12, 2006--Bored!
At least, that's how I'm feeling now. I've been working at a temp job for the last week for a pittance, entering a couple thousand records a day. (Yes, I type that fast: I was production manager at a magazine, and can hit 100 words per minute.) These entries, however, are dull: addresses and zips and amounts--four lines, one after the other. Dullsville.
And because of my palsy from last year, I've gotten into the habit of taking a nap: at 2pm last Thursday I found a screen full of Es after I woke from a 2-second nap. I should have had my hand rest on the ZZZZZZZZZZZZzz if I'm going to do that.
Early retirement beckons, but I'll lose a couple of hundred dollars a month in Social Security if I stop working now. So I can go on the road and start writing about golf and travel, if I want to give up that extra $$.
(Look at my post of May 25 to see what happened)

Keller Golf Course, Maplewood, MN
This is a classic course, just off Bob Dylan's Highway 61. It was a favorite of the gangsters of the 1930s who stayed at resorts outside the gangster haven of St. Paul, including such dark luminaries as John Dillinger (who it's said once hopped a freight on the old third hole to escape federal agents) and Ma Barker and her boys.
I talked with one of the old caddies years ago, and he recalled the high-rollers settling their bets in the men's locker room, with thousands of dollars changing hands. He said that the gangsters were always friendly, and good tippers.
Sam Snead won here, early in his career, as did Patty Berg. Jimmy Demaret and Raymond Floyd were winners. The St. Paul Open was held a year after the course opened in 1929, and continued until 1968. The PGA Championship was played here in 1932, again in 1954. The ladies came to town for the Patty Berg Classic in the 70’s, too.
Everything has changed over the years. John Dillinger was betrayed by the Lady in Red, while Ma Barker was apparently demonized by the FBI, perhaps to justify the killing of an old lady when they tried to arrest her son Fred in Florida in 1935.
Number 12 at Keller (Dillinger's old number three) is a 475 yard par 5. You leave the antique clubhouse and go down a path to the tee box. Your tee shot, unless you're a big boomer, will leave you with a second uphill shot. At the top of the hill, you're faced with a steep downhill shot to a green protected by a water hazard on the left, sand trap and trees to the right.
The course is in splendid shape. The fairways are lush and green even in 2006, a drought year. The greens are fast and tricky. You should really try to stay under the hole, because if you're above, you'll need cement to stay anywhere near it on a downward putt.
When you're finished, plan to spend some time wandering through the clubhouse to enjoy all the memorabilia. This course is highly recommended for anyone who visits the Twin Cities.

Biwabik Golf: The Quarry at Giant's Ridge
It wasn't a quarry, I'm told. This splendid course just outside the little Iron Range town of Biwabik originated as a gravel pit that was shuttered in the early 1960s. Of course, I suppose gravel could be considered boulders that had nervous breakdowns. After all, gravel has to start somewhere.
There are two courses here. In addition to The Quarry, there is The Legend. They get superb ratings from golfers and golf writers alike; and I'm no different.
Oh, it had its down side: the course was bent grass, and after a week or so of rain, it was very soft. Divots were the size of muskrat skins (after all, this was the North woods), and it was impossible to get backspin.
I visited with a friend from the Twin Cities, Jim W. He had been one of a trio of us that had visited Branson a couple of years ago, and had since retired. He leads an idyllic life: lives in the town of Hoyt Lakes, Minn., where he grew up, next to a beautiful lake. He hunts and fishes, traps and most of all, plays golf. In the winters, he heads down to Texas and plays (when he's not picking grapefruit off his trees).
Jim's a bear of a man, down from 300 pounds to about 270. When he connects, the ball takes off. We were paired that day with two Canadian women, a golf writer and a photographer. We played from the blues, while they played from the reds. Big difference.
Even when we hit well (which I can do on occasion, with the Big Bertha 454 Bob Koczor of Golf Today Magazine gave me), the ladies outdrove us anywhere from 20 to 40 or more yards. We couldn't buy a putt, however, in the scramble format, so ended up with our foursome right at par: the winners were 13 under!
There were many pleasing vistas at Giant's Ridge, and the course is beautiful. I'm told, however, that the lodge lacks insulation: you could hear the people in the next room talking, at the very least. If you're in the North country, however, and want to take a turn at a nice course, Giant's Ridge might be a good choice.

Best Three Out of Four

Now, this weekend is the kind I like: golf three out of the four days (OK, Monday isn't the weekend; so sue me).
Friday May 19, 2006, my pal and I played Voyager Village near Spooner, Wis.
Saturday we played Siren National, Siren Wis.
Monday I was at the Minnesota Golf Opener at Braemar G.C. in upscale Edina, Minn.
The full articles will run next month in Golf Today.
I don't have an RV yet, so can't look at the weekend from that aspect. Instead, Doug and I stayed at his "cabin" (actually a lake home two hours northeast of the TC), watched hummingbirds flash up to the feeder (the storekeeper advised they don't like red koolaid, only sugar water tinted with red food coloring), listened to loons, ate steak and drank beer. Doug paddled his kayak around the lake while I sat and listened to the quiet.
More later.

Golfing Wisconsin

The golf scene in the Upper Midwest is rather like the crops: get up and grow fast, because there isn't much time. Actually, I've been out once already this year, at the "Country Club of the Army."
That's the name that was hung on the Fort Snelling golf course on Minneapolis's Fort Snelling. This fort, glowering on the bluffs above the meeting of the Minnesota and Mississippi Rivers, controlled river traffic. It was established the year after the last war between England and the U.S., i.e., 1813, and yet never saw a shot fired in anger.
Men came to Fort Snelling from around the territory and state to go off to war, from the Civil War (Minnesota was the first state to volunteer troops) through the Spanish-American, WWI, and II. It had a polo field, and a huge parade ground.
Today the large brick buildings where young men trained and slept before going away to die are withering away, neglected, given over to the elements and nature. It's heartbreaking, really: they could be sheltering homeless, perhaps.
At any rate, Fort Snelling is a little 9-holer that's run by the Minneapolis Park Department, after it dislodged long-time leasor Curt Walker years back. I used to edit his Golf Association newsletter for him; we've been friends for a long time.
The course is flat and wide open, the first par-4 hole running in a dogleg toward the airport, then alongside it for the approach shot. There's a little sand, not much, and a stagnant little pond near the 7th. Six out of the nine holes are doglegs.
I tried a new technique. For years, I've believed that when you keep your left arm straight, that meant "stiff." Then last fall, a speaker on TV explained that "straight" meant that at the time of impact, your arm should be straightened out. The stiffness, of course, meant I never got that extra bit of distance. Instead, I would have to twist myself into a pretzel with that stiff left arm, and then really try to whale through the ball.
When I'd forget and just swing easy, I could nail it.
This year I just tried to relax and swing back, allow my arms to bend, then come back through the ball. My goodness, what a difference. I hit it much longer than last year, and much closer to the pin as well.
So there's my tip: don't keep your left arm stiff. Allow it to bend on your takeaway, then come back to straight just before you hit. See what you think.
This Saturday I'm off to Wisconsin to a pal's cabin. His wife and daughter are tied up, and my girlfriend has things to do, so we're off together for two days of golf. I'll see how my "new swing" holds up.
Oh, and I'm in the market for a little fiberglass trailer, if anyone has one for sale. 13 feet or 16: I want to get this RVGolfer business established. If you know of one, leave me a Comment, or email me as Dale at golftodaymagazine.com.

I was bled twice April 15!
Once was when I went in to have a blood test as part of my annual physical at the VA. The second was when I finished my taxes at www.statetaxfreedom.com and realized what I was going to have to pay in income taxes.
It's ironic. When I got hit with Bell's Palsy a year ago last April, I was afraid I would go bankrupt. Instead, I made enough doing tech writing that I have to pay a hefty chunk to Uncle Sugar. As a writer, I can find little jobs that need done. If I were a factory worker, it would be much harder.
Of course, I do technical subjects. I just finished two books on Voice over IP, one of 450 pages, the other of 950. I didn't write them, per se, simply edited, copyread, did the layouts, and output them using Framemaker.

The New Orifice

I've used a room in my house for years as an office to write from. For a long time, however, it has been a shambles. I had mismatched bookcases, an old dresser, two file cabinets of differing sizes, as well as bits and pieces of flotsam and jetsam from all over.
That has changed. I have a newly-designed office that isn't fancy, but is certainly a lot more open and inviting to write in. In place of all the bookcases, dressers and file cabinets, friends helped me bring up a massive set of kitchen cabinets from my basement that are probably original to my house (built in 1935). It has four sets of shelves on top, seven drawers and a potato bin on the bottom (I'm using that for recycling). Between them I installed a piece of granite, shoulder-level in this photo.
I plan to add some sort of boxes that will lift the upper set of shelves about a foot, so the granite wll be more visible and accessible. I'll also replace the doors to all the cabinets. Only the middle two are visible in this photo.
The typing table I'm working at here is going to be supplanted by an old library carrel I found somewhere. It's served in my basement as a workbench, but it is made of oak and--although the top is ragged and paintsplotched--will make a dandy desk. I have to replace the tattered top veneer, but I'm hopeful that won't be too hard.
I have drapes from Ikea on the windows, and two chairs in the office, all on a cast-off rug someone threw away. It all looks very good together, and I'm excited about the changes.
Not just the changes to my office, either.

• The doctors opened my left eye all the way, since my palsy has receded to about 10 percent.
• My son has moved to Iowa from Massachusetts, which means I'll get to see him and his family more often.
• I've got a technical writing contract that will last until Sep. 1.

Next job: fix up the upstairs bedroom so my son's family can visit often.

Daydream RVer

and a Homecoming Queen. (I can't help it, I love puns. The highest form of low humor. Full wit, as opposed to the half that has become regular fare on the tube.)
I daydream about traveling all the time, visiting George and the crew at least once every day as he bumps around three countries in Ms Tioga, his motorhome. He was in Canada a year ago, now he's in Baja. Some of his income is generated via Google, some from donations. I donated because I read it so often, it was like a subscription. I fund his trip, and fuel my fantasy of doing something similar.
At the moment, I'm enmeshed in working on my house, tearing up carpets, and trying to make it appear as if someone civilized lives here. I found an old oak library carrel that I've used as a workbench, but now I want to use it as a desk. Actually someone else had mistreated it before I discovered it, and it has spilled paint in the center and several bolt holes where vises were screwed on. Plus there are a lot of gaps in the wood veneer top. Work to do.
Next day: the Bell's Palsy continues to recede, after 11 months. I had my eyelid cut open today, to allow me to use it normally. Last year, since I couldn't close or blink my left eye, the doctors sewed my lid partially shut to protect the retina. A month ago they cut it about halfway; today they finished the job.
I wasn't aware that it had closed partially after the first operation, when the raw edges healed together. So this time, I have to be careful to wash in the corners with a q-tip often. And apply ointment three or four times a day that will act as a grease, preventing the closing again.
It's nice to have peripheral vision, however.

Surfing for RVs

I have been dreaming about buying another RV. I own a Prowler 19', but it leaks, and would need a lot of work to get back out on the road. Plus, it requires a pretty heavy-duty (read gas guzzling) tow vehicle. I have a 1986 Chev Beaumarchais (is that right? I can never remember) full size van.

It has a 305 engine, and pulls a treat, but only gets about 12mpg. My brother used to say I had jacked up the radiator cap and driven a new vehicle underneath, I've repaired it so often. Tires, brakes, alternator...at one point I had the front end fall off! In California rush-hour traffic. On an expressway. In the fast lane.

I went from 55 to 0--without brake lights--in about 100 feet or so. I'm lucky I didn't get rear-ended.

With 250,000 miles on it, though, the van's starting to lose its pizzazz. Going up a steep mountain road without a tow slows it down a lot; add a trailer and I'd go backwards. Plus lately it's been draining the battery, and now rain has started coming through the roof. Apparently the metal has gotten thinner over the years.

I've been eyeballing fiberglass trailers such as Scamp, Boler, Casita, etc., because I also drive a Honda CRV, and thought I might be able to tow with that. These little (as short as 13 feet) jobs are light and appear homey. Keeping an eye on what they sell for, watching on Ebay, etc., I saw one 1972 model on Ebay that sold for $3700 or so. For a 24-year-old 13-footer made in St. Cloud, MN.

However, the towing capability of a 2001 4-banger CRV is only 1000 pounds, and most of these little jobs are heavier than that. Oh, I suppose I could get a tent trailer or an A-liner, but those don't add up to something I'd like. New ones, too, sell for $12,000 plus.

Once I get back out on the road visiting farflung golf courses, I'll be happy.

A Sparkling Smile

7:10a.m. to 9a.m.--In the dentist's chair. A bunch of x-rays and a cleaning. There are a couple of spots of decay that will need looking after eventually, plus a number of fault lines from old fillings and other reasons. By fault lines I mean cracks in the enamel. Over time, the stresses on teeth around fillings can cause the teeth to crack. So they need to be watched. If you've ever had a tooth break off, this is probably the reason.

My lady dentist in Minneapolis is one of the best. I had a friend who worked in the dentistry business making fillings and false teeth, and he swore by her, saying privately the majority of other dentists he did business with were "butchers".

In fact, she is on the board to check other professionals in her field. She was also listed near the top in a recent magazine article poll by patients. So she must be good.

Plus, the Bell's Palsy makes things a little more difficult, as the cheek on my left side sags. It's harder to brush well, and I'll admit I'm not good at flossing. So, they gave me an implement that looks like a Y: I have to wrap the floss around it and work it around my teeth. I have one of those Butterfly flossing gadgets, but it doesn't seem to do as good a job, and the little plastic heads are expensive.

My electric toothbrush was OKed; I just need to use it longer.

I've also been referred to Act mouthwash. The dental technician said I should begin using it to kill the bacteria that cause plaque.

I guess from now on I'll have to Act on all the good advice.

Swedish Hell's Angels Sick, Sick, Sick

According to a Swedish police investigator, "It seems to be depressing being a member of this club." According to a news report, 70% of the Stockholm biker's club have been diagnosed as depressed by the same doctor and are getting sick benefits. Sweden's welfare state seems to lead to problems: 20% of the workforce is on long-term sick leave or has taken early retirement.

Of course, if you've ever watched Swedish movies, you'd know how depressed the whole country is. Have you seen "Da Duve," the short Ingmar Bergman parody that came out years back, where the pigeon kept pooping on everyone from The Professor to Death? No wonder they're depressed.

Crisis Nursery

Around 8a.m., the telephone rang, and I was summoned to the Greater Minneapolis Crisis Nursery to be gatekeeper.
This has nothing to do with plants; this is where families go when they can't take care of their toddlers or infants for the short term. This nursery can care for them up to 72 hours, to take stress off the parent and to help prevent child abuse. There are two such nurseries in Minneapolis.
I worked here once before, so when their regular receptionist had a sick child, they asked for me. After all, I was experienced.
It's a quiet place, with the occasional taxi driver buzzing to be let in to drop off a family or pick one up. It's my job to make sure visitors have a reason to be on the premises. It isn't always so quiet: the lady I'm helping pointed out the panic button she can hit if she needs the police.
Occasionally the wail of a little one echoes down the halls. Most of the time there's only the sound of the aquarium's filter buzzing in the background, and the warm air blowing through the building at a child-high temperature.
They have a place where the kids can eat, and sleep. And, they accept donations of all kinds. For example, the church I go to has a quilting group that makes warm blankets and contributes them to this organization. But they can use all types of items, such as disposable diapers and training pants.
Many volunteers arrive daily to help. Today a group from UPS will help prepare lunch; a number of people in a business organization will help do dinner. Others push toddlers in strollers, comforting and cajoling.
It's a nice place to act as the guardian of the gate. I'd want someone to do the same for my granddaughter, if she were ever in need.

Animal Ethics

I'm a vegetarian one day a week. My girlfriend asked me to do so, in hopes I'd understand how hard it is for a vegetarian. Restaurant after restaurant has little or no choice for a vegetarian.

I certainly don't eat as much meat as I did when I was younger. What with Mad Cow and factory farming, it just doesn't taste as good. I eat fish a lot, but not farm-raised salmon. Farm-raised has more PCBs than any other fish. (Although salmon raised in the Shetland Islands [I think] is considered very safe, according to my local fishmonger.)

Really, if you ever listen to the folks that are concerned about animals, cut through the propaganda and ignore the occasional stupid terrorist trick, they have something to say. For example, making egglayers live in cages for the few weeks of their life, barely able to move, beaks cut off...what sort of chemicals does that impart to the egg? Then there are all the antibiotics they're dosed with.

Organic eggs are just ones where the feed given to the chickens doesn't have chemicals added. It doesn't necessarily means the chickens are happy.

So I was very pleased when I found a couple of brands in supermarkets where they proclaim the chickens are on nests, not in cages. They're a little more expensive, but it doesn't cost my conscience as much. And maybe they're healthier.

At my local co-op, eggs from free-range birds are a good alternative. At least the clucks get to chase an unwary grasshopper occasionally, and scratch around in the dirt. Hey, it's a living.

Research Guru

Writing is easy. It only requires three skills. 1. Gather information. 2. Organize information. 3. Write.

Right.

I've been writing for many years, and as a result I've learned to interview, research, photograph, file, and write. Then rewrite. Then rerewrite.

When interviewing, never ask a question that can be answered with a Yes or No. For instance, don't ask "Are your sales up this year?" Instead, ask "How much have your sales changed this year, and why?"

As a freelancer for business magazines for many years, in a small ledger book I picked up, I had a list of questions that could be used in every interview. I numbered these. When I interviewed using a tape recorder with a fresh tape and the counter set to zero, I would go through the questions in order. Sometimes a question would generate an interesting aside and I'd jump to a question out of order.

Upon transcribing the interview, I would scribble notes and put the question number next to the number on the tape counter. As a result, if the flow of the article called for information from a particular element of the interview, I could go right there because I had the tape counter number.

The internet is helpful, as well, and learning how to research on it is vital. Talking to my local librarian, he suggested I should write an e-book on how to do research, and said families are always coming into the library asking for help.

I proceeded to show him how second-generation search engines such as Clusty make research much easier. With an engine such as this, information is not just listed one link on top of another the way Google does it. Instead, Clusty makes clusters of sites that have the same attributes. It also can cut the number of listings to a third or less. For instance, I entered "investing" in Google and came up with 100 million sites; Clusty showed some 25 million, and brought 261 up in roughly 40 clusters, such as Funds, Mutual; Money; Socially Conscious Investing; and more.

No Sweat

As long as I suffered only blood and tears from my eyelid slitting, I was fine. However, during the fast-paced game of volleyball last night, the sweat began to flow. After a while, it was too much for me, and I sat the rest of the night out so I didn't hurt the team.

Now, at least I have a little peripheral vision, even if it's blurry from the ointment I was given. For months I had almost none at all on the left, and phenomenal (almost to the ear) on the right. When I drive, my head goes back and forth like an ostrich's.

I finally talked Bob Koczor into publishing a blog again. He wrote once last year, but didn't maintain it. Now he's starting again, and I hope he can maintain the discipline. With all the golf trade shows in the new year, he always has a lot to talk about that wasn't suitable for Golf Today Magazine. Gossip, personality tidbits, tips...a lot.

As for me, in the midcontinent, there's no golf. It promises to dip down into the single digits this weekend, and perhaps even into minus temperatures. Ah, well, the weather keeps the soft riffraff out, anyway: we just enjoy the tough riffraff during winter here.

However, I am interested in learning about golf. I found a company that makes a golf swing game/machine for the home. You can use a wireless driver and putter, and play the course. However, I tried to check on them at some of the stores they list...and a searcj didn't show them at ToysRUs or Linen n Things. A search on eBay did turn up a few.

Then as an alternative I began to google "computer golf swing", and it turned up almost 2 million possibles. Of course, there weren't. When I used Clusty clustering software to narrow the selections down, it discovered 179 that met its criteria out of 1/3 as many sites as Google had. And it broke those down by category (clusters) to make searching easier.

As a result, I guess I'm stuck with the indoor driving ranges and indoor simulators here in the Midwest. But, hey, it's almost March. Isn't it?

An Eyeopener
I came across OlderMusicGeek's Stupid Stuff: POLITICS: Natural Disaster and thought I'd put a link in here. I liked his jokes.
I still haven't run across any technical writing work, but I keep trying. So meanwhile I putter around with private projects, particularly some golftravel videos I'm interested in creating. I realize I've never made one, but when I started Computer User magazine I didn't have any experience either. I started that 24 years ago, and haven't worked there since about 21. Lot of fun, though.
Anyone interested, I have a book with articles and editorial from the early years. Drop me a note if you'd like one.

A Real Eyeopener

Yuk, I just got back from the VA. I had a blocked tear duct in my left eye, which had been sewn shut to protect the cornea because of the Bell's Palsy. So...the doc gave me shots of painkiller in the eyelid (which hurt like crazy and lanced the duct as well), took a pair of scissors and--snipped half the lid open. Horizontally. Eyelashes on the correct lid? Yep, I guess so. He said in a month he'd probably finish the job.

So, I have a mix of tears and blood (no sweat) in my eye now, but tomorrow I can play volleyball. How's that for fast healing? Apparently the docs don't think anything of such a simple operation. I have to use hot compresses (rice in a sock) and baby shampoo to clean the eye three times a day for the next week, and use antibiotic ointment. But I'm getting closer to being normal (or what passes for it with me).

It was April 2005 when the first symptoms appeared, followed by a May craniotomy to relieve constriction of the facial nerve #7, then eyelid sewn shut in June. At first you could only see teeth on the right half of my face when I'd smile; now you can be dazzled by almost the full set.

Apparently the titanium enrichment (screws) they used to put my skull back together after the craniotomy work exceeding well. Two weeks ago a vball teammate charged into me from that side and we met skulls: he was out cold for a second or two, while I wondered why he was laying down on the floor.

Healing is a slow process, but I'm grateful to the VA. They take good care of all us grizzled--and young--veterans. I hope Bush doesn't try to privatize that.

Will You Be My Valentine?
That's what I feel like asking my granddaughter. She'll be four on her next birthday, and she appears to have her grandpa's height (6'3" in my case), being at the 85th percentile for height, 50th for weight. I remember when I graduated from H.S. I weighed 142 pounds and stood 6'2". I joined the Navy, and when I graduated from boot camp nine weeks later I stood 6'3" and 165. 23 pounds in nine weeks?
Then I smoked for years, so my weight stayed at 165. When I quit, my taste buds returned, and so did my appetite: I went to 185.
I'm up around 193 now, many years later. I walk, golf, and play power volleyball, so that's not a bad weight. At one point, I ballooned to 215, but my lady friend and I went on the 10% solution and I dropped to 185, she lost about 40 pounds. Although you'll Google a lot of 10% solutions on the net, the one I used was from Raymond Kurzweil, inventor of the flatbed scanner and other interesting things.
Among those interesting things is a software way to keep track of information, even on the internet. Check this and this site out to see if you aren't fascinated.
Who knows, it may give you a new way to track information.
As for Valentine's Day, give your sweety a hug and a posy. And maybe a small piece of candy.

Experiments with RSS

For those who haven't investigated it, RSS stands for "Real Simple Syndication." At least, that's one of the bacronyms (see www.wikipedia.com if you don't know what this means) used. A bloggiste can syndicate the pearls of wisdom that drop from their keyboards, and those who love their style, thoughts, or lack of same, can receive them on a daily basis.

Having read some of what passes for insight on the 'net, I would compare that to subjecting myself to the Chinese water torture at digital speed. That is, dripdripdripdripdripdripdrips to the umpteenth power. "Edginess", I realize, is a marketer's buzzword, but a lot of the blogs are only edge with not enough substance to form a blade.

Having said as much, a person can also subscribe to news feeds. I thought it might be interesting to put golf news in this blog, with links. After all, I work on the Golf Today Magazine website every month, and have a link here from there. Why not, therefore, add a little golf coverage here?

I put a listing on with a few headlines, but it didn't have the links. Perhaps it's the way I did it. I'll try again later, with more. Golf, and RVing, together. After all, that's what I want to do once I reach a grand old age. Or even not so old.

Super Bowl Party is over

And we're all suffering from overindulgence (if we're lucky).
In my case, I wandered over to a neighbor's a few blocks away. I walked, since it was so close, in temps around 18 degrees. (I walked to church yesterday morning as well, since my car doors were frozen shut after a carwash. OK, only the driver's side, but since that controlled all the automatic locks, it seemed as if they were all frozen. After church and the brisk walk, my lady friend reminded me I have manual locks--i.e., keyed--on both front doors, so I could have climbed in the passenger's side rather than through the back window on the CRV. Another Homer moment.)
At the SBP, we ate ham and turkey, green bean casserole, mashed potatoes and gravy, cranberries, and much more. I brought a salmon/cream cheese pate doused with Liquid Smoke, surrounded by Triscuits. Sort of lox and cream cheese in a tube. Very tasty: one can salmon, one brick cream cheese or neuchatel, two tbsp Liquid Smoke. Great on bagels, too.
And we drank beer and punch.
I liked some of the commercials, particularly the Dove one, the foal trying to pull the Budwagon, the modern cargo cult where the fella hiding his beer spins his frig into the next apartment only to have it rifled by the natives; and the FedEx caveman. Oh, and the Burger King Busby Berkeley spectactular, with the dancers dressed as elements of a Whopper--onions, lettuce, burger patty, etc.--stacked on a bun.
The game was ok, the commercials weren't great, and a good time was had by all. I did like the Rolling Stones. Mick Jagger may have crepey underarms, but he can still shake a leg.
I rooted for Pittsburgh, as my vote against Microsoft. The lousy service I received after I installed Windows XP Home still has me upset...and I'm not sure yet they fixed the problem.

Another inch of snow in Minneapolis

At times this January 2006, it appeared we golf fanatics might get out earlier than usual. Then again, the weather always leaves you guessing, doesn't it? They will have the Golf Show later this month, in the Metrodome. That will start the wannago juices flowing, you betcha. Long drive contests, putting, all the different resorts...it should be fun.
Last night, one of my hardcharging volleyball teammates bullrushed into me and we cracked heads (on my titanium-enriched side, of course) hard enough to knock him out for a second or two. I shook it off and kept playing for another hour and a half, and danged if I didn't get hit in the head with a hard-driven spiked ball. After I had to duck when a third zipped by, I told my pal I felt like I had a target on my forehead.
I haven't noticed any ill-effects from our meeting of minds, aside from a very minimal soreness. Certainly no bruising, seizures or anything. But I thought I'd mention it to my doctor.
My friend who had a similar skull operation said his doctor told him if he ever had a fracture, it would not be where they had screwed him back together. So, I assume the same goes true for me.
At any rate, one does tend to get paranoid about such events. I keep getting this image of the doctors putting pointed screws in my skull, or nuts and bolts. I know whatever the surgeon used is an approved medical device, but my imagination keeps adding ruffles and flourishes.

No Golf Today
The weather forecaster is predicting 2-4 inches today. For a January, we're staying warm. In Minnesota, warm is above zero this month. But you'll notice folks peering out the window at the sky. They're putting the last touches on next month's golf show here. So the saps are beginning to flow.
The big news is the new coach of the Vikings. The new ownership had to show they were in charge, so they got rid of Mike Tice. Regardless his coaching abilities--and I don't think they were that bad--he is a colorful character. He'll end up as an NFLnouncer before too long.
On other Vikings fronts, they hired a big-time PR agency to ram a stadium down people's throats. But don't talk about a referendum; heavens, no, they're pulling the Jack Abramoff ploy, trying to elbow up to the public trough without the public being consulted. Should the deal go through, it would cost an affected family of four in the neighborhood of $250 a year for increased sales tax; and that's a pretty exclusive neighborhood.
The U.S., though, can claim to be #1 in other fields: now it's torture.
As for the attack on Pakistan (a friendly nation, btw), explain the difference between attacking office towers full of defenseless people and houses full of women and children? By that reasoning, if Osama were invited to a state dinner at the White House, we would be justified in destroying it to get him.
Doing bad things for good causes leads to doing bad things for bad causes.

No Golf in Massachusetts

Just before Thanksgiving, I received word that my son had been named an "alternate" to Iraq. This means he goes through all the training the designated hitter goes through, but if that fella gets an owie my son goes...for a second tour.
So, for about three months, he learns how to teach Iraqi soldiers how to drive armored Humvees. These are much heavier than normal ones, and have a high center of gravity. Thus, take too sharp a corner, and you're a statistic.
With that looming on the horizon, I dragged out the old checkbook and bought a roundtrip Amtrak ticket to Worcester, MA, leaving MSP on a Tuesday at 7a.m., and supposedly arriving on a Wednesday early evening at around 5.
If you check Amtrak's website, it can give you the train's status at the bottom of the front page. I saw it was running 55 minutes late from Seattle, and so got to the station an hour early as requested. Then I learned it was two hours late. So, away I went with my golf buds for an early breakfast, and back to the station, to sit and wait.
Sure enough, two hours late, we left MSP. St. Paul receded in the background as we followed the west bank of the Mississippi down towards the little river town of Winona. Almost there, the train stopped. A detector had gone off, signaling the engineer of a problem. We had a "hotbox" where the lubrication had failed on one of the wheel trucks. So, they had to take the lead engine down and leave it on a siding, then take the reversed second engine down to where they could turn it around, and come back to hook up again.
At 4p.m. (about four hours late now), we crossed over into Wisconsin and headed for Chicago.
Once in Chicago--where they had been waiting the train for the connection--we went east on the Lakeshore Limited, along the shores of the various lakes. It was nighttime, so no lakes were visible; after a little while, I realized no heat was either.
We plowed on through the night as the temperatures dropped and I burrowed deeper into my long wool coat. After a few hours, they got the heat to work again, but then the bathrooms started to freeze up. They were filthy from the first.
At 2p.m. the next afternoon, we pulled into Syracuse, NY. At that point, everything went bad. The heavy wire that carries 480V went bad, so we lost lights AND heat. For an hour, we sat there in the station while various workmen adjusted the offending item with sledgehammers and a 18" long screwdriver.
Next, they pulled us about a half-mile out of Syracuse so other trains could get through. And stopped.
We enjoyed:
*No heat
*No lights
*No bathrooms
*No ventilation
*No information, despite the conductor's promise he'd update us every 15 minutes
This went on for three hours while the search went on for someone who could make a decision as to whether to bus us or not. (This was four days before Christmas, by now.) Apparently the crew had the authority to wring their hands and shake their heads. We needed someone who had the authority to nod their head.
At last, back to Syracuse we crawled, to detrain and sit in the station for another two hours while the stationmaster worked valiantly to get transport for us. At last we left for Albany via bus coach. There, another train awaited to take us toward Boston. And gee, to make it up to us, they fed us free sandwiches and soft drinks.
The final straw was to arrive at my stop at 3:30a.m.--10 hours late--and find the station sealed tight as a drum. We were on a level a flight above the entrance, where our rides waited, if we were lucky. I carried a bag down for an elderly priest, and saw him into his taxi. And as I drove away with my patient son, I thought "All we lacked on this trip was a tattooed number on our wrists."
(Update: In late Jan., Amtrak has given me a voucher for $200 to make up for the inconvenience. Let's see, where can I go now?)
However, I had a wonderful time with my son, his wife and my granddaughter over Christmas. The little girl has me practicing Grandparent's Yoga for flexibility, she has me wrapped around her 3-year-old little finger so easily. She must have gotten my height: 3'4" at 3 (85th percentile), but gangly at 50% percentile for weight. Her favorite picture book is Gray's Anatomy? She knows a lot of the bones already.
The train trip back was uneventful, except for a two-hour delay in Albany for the NY connection; then there was some sort of screaming bearing in the car I was in they were able to stop after four hours in the wee hours; and of course the door that had to be bludgeoned to slide open. I was only a few minutes late back to MSP.
Happy New Year. Let's get out there and beat our scores from last year.

Getting ready for Thanksgiving
This year, I've been invited to my niece's for turkey and all the fixin's. It's a first for her. At 25, she's gotten settled and ready to grow.
My nephew and my brother's ex-wife are also expected in Rochester, MN. It should be interesting.
My brother was a junk food junkie. As a result, he died of colon cancer Nov. 10, 2003, at the age of 56.
It was all the fat in his diet. Chocolate and hamburgers and pizza, meats and cheeses, etc. That, coupled with the fact that he was frightened (this time) to death of doctors, sealed his fate.
Bob's fear of them began when he was tiny. He was diagnosed with bacteria endocarditis, a hole in his heart. He wasn't given much chance; in fact, my parents were told he'd be lucky to reach two years old. But, thank God, he hung in there. Always, though, because of his early experiences, he avoided doctors. He almost died of a gall bladder problem in 1998; our stepfather had to force him to go to the hospital that time.
As for the idea of getting a regular colonoscopy when he turned 50? There was no way on earth he could have been coerced into it. As a result, by the time they found the tumor, it was the size of a grapefruit.
So, for the next year and a half, he walked around with a colostomy bag. He was surprisingly positive about having to wear it, seldom complaining. He would sit in the San Jose, Calif., sun, while living in my trailer, and bask. He'd had enough of the Minnesota cold. At times he'd go in out of the sun and watch old Westerns on TV.
We'd often meet for coffee. He looked like one of the old sourdoughs in the movies he loved so, with his scraggly beard and plaid jackets. In place of a patient little burro, he had a canvas bag that had his round cushion to sit on, to ease the pain.
Finally it got too much for him. He went and lived with my sister for a few months. Then two Novembers ago, I got the telephone call I'd been dreading. "You'd better get out here quick," my sister warned.
I gathered his son and daughter, then away we went. My girlfriend drove through a nightlong blizzard to Reno, and I took over to get us through the Sierras, steering slowly through the blowing snow, the only four-wheel-drive on U.S. 80 that early morning.
We got to visit with him for a day before he passed away. God rest his soul.

"What would Barney do?"

The trip back to Minnesota from California was less eventful than my trip out,
although we began to measure the distance in "Barneydo" miles after a
budding grade school comic cornered my acquaintance and I in the
lounge car.

"What did Barney do to the cow?" Answer: "He kissed it. Haw haw
haw." "What did Barney do with the barn?" Answer: "He
kissed it. Haw haw haw." Everything that caught his eye became a Barney target: "the barn", "the freight car", "the telephone pole". Barney as the osculatory bandit.

Henny Realyoungman had also been appointed to take care of a 2-year-old girl, and while he was going through his 14th "Barney do" repertoire she looked at me, teddy bear tucked under her arm. "Kill him", she recommended solemnly. I don't know whether she meant her babysitter or Barney, but it was...certainly advice.

The 7-year-old second-grader kept his routine up for about half-an-hour, but finally left to the applause of heartfelt sighs of relief. A nap and 100 miles later, the peanut comedy gallery showed up again.

I grabbed for my bottle of wine after Barney Leno started his second set, at which point my acquaintance observed "I imagine happy hour sales are going to skyrocket now." I finally told the boy that there was a hunting season for purple dinosaurs in season in Montana and North Dakota, and that we didn't want Barney to get shot, so would he please quit! Then his dad came and got him. At last.

From the Sonora Library

Oh, my. From saving a lady's life on the train across Montana to playing golf in Carson City to visiting Jamestown and my mother, it has been an eventful trip so far.

The elderly lady on the train was sitting next to me when she began choking on a piece of prime rib (why is it always prime rib that chokes people?). I asked her if she wanted me to slap her on the back, and when she nodded I banged her on the back with the flat of my palm. Once...then again. She leaned forward and a piece of meat dropped out of her mouth, onto her plate, and she gasped for breath. Me, I finished my salmon.

After trains from St. Paul to Pasco, WA; a bus from Pasco to Portland; back on the train to Sacto; and another to Reno. Then a city bus to Carson City (only $3.25) and a taxi to the Pinon Plaza resort and a meeting with Bob Koczor to work on his fun tournament--I was ready to relax.

He had more than 100 golfers show up for two days of golf in Carson City, hundreds of dollars worth of prizes and gifts, free drinks, and two wonderful dinners and breakfasts. I was dragooned to act as a club carrier to winners at the Saturday night dinner, and I carried a lot. There were a lot of great prizes, I must say, and it was fun meeting the various golfers. Bob, Charley Coppola (In the Clubhouse columnist) and I played both days, and picked on each other unmercifully the whole time.

Now I'm at the computer in Sonora's public library, trying to catch up. Perhaps I'll be able to play another course or two while I'm out here. That would be nice, I must say.

As for weather? It was 85 in Mpls the day I left, it snowed in N. Dakota and Montana; was in the 50s in Washington, and today it's about 65. So it varies.

Doubletime at Keller

Not really doubletime. My buddies and I went back to historic Keller in the St. Paul suburb of Maplewood last week. It was a gorgeous day, one of those early autumn wonders. The light always seems to turn into golden honey this time of year, the weather isn't hot, and everything seems to be getting ready for winter.
I was doing well at Keller when we got rained out the beginning of the month. So, with my new Big Bertha, I was hoping for a replay. Needless to say, it didn't happen. I was playing my usual army golf: left, right, left...
Actually, though, I ended up with a 51 on the back, which is pretty good for me. 55 on the front. And since I haven't been out but three times this year, I'm satisfied.
Next week, though, I head for Calif. on the Amtrak. Three days, through the Rockies, to Portland, to Sacto, then by bus to Reno and Carson City to play in Golf Today's tournament.
I'll keep you posted.

Rattler in your pocket

In 1973 I went to a trade show in Chicago. In a gift shop there I noticed a little keyring timer. It looked like an egg-timer, in that you twisted the dial to the time desired, and it wound a little spring. When the time ran out, it made a buzzing noise. The idea was to set it when you parked your car, then run out to plug the meter when it went off.

Nifty idea, I thought, so I bought it. Back in Minneapolis, I drove downtown one morning and parked at the meter in front of the office building I worked in. I twisted the dial and took the elevator up to the third floor, had my cuppa and started work.

I was talking to the foreman in the back shop when this rattlesnake buzzed at me from inside my pants pocket! I about leaped over the table that separated us, to get away from whatever it was. (Although if the beast was in my pocket, what good would that have done?)

Once I realized what it was, of course, I had no further problem.

Let's segue up to recent days. I've been doing a lot of research on the internet while working at home, and one day I was laying down to take a nap because of my palsy (I need a lot of rest). Suddenly, at 4:00p.m., I heard this weird music for about 15 seconds. I rushed downstairs to see if there was something on my computer, but there was nothing unusual there.

The next day, at noon, I heard it again! What the heck was it? Then again at 4p.m.

Had I picked up something on the internet? I began trying to find "unusual noises at 12 and 4" on Google. No luck. Microsoft's website, no luck. I checked my system for odd viruses: nada. Same result when I ran a spyware checker. Every day at 12 and 4, weird music. It sounded as if it were coming from inside the desktop cabinet, but hitting the volume control on Windows made no difference. It was driving me crazy: I was getting ready to put my plaint on a newsgroup or two to see whether anyone else had such software.

Today I had my Virgin cell phone on the desk instead of in my pants pocket. Suddenly the red light on it lit up--at noon--and it began playing weird music.

I had programmed an alarm into the phone to remind me to put ointment in my eye every four hours, and selected a Technotunes ringtone. Then promptly forgot what I'd done.

Dumb and dumber.

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Oh, I've put pix of how Ramsay Hunt affects you in my May 2005 and June 2005 blogs. It ain't purty.

The 1930s Gangster Golf Hideout
Perhaps Keller Golf Course in Maplewood, MN, wasn't a hideout, but it was certainly a place where the hoodlums of the 1930s enjoyed golf. Founded in 1928, the course entertained the likes of John Dillinger (who fled the Feds on the freight that happened to be passing the 3rd green) and Ma Barker and her children.
An elderly man who'd caddied back in the 30s remembered watching the pimps from St. Paul and Minneapolis paying each other off in the locker room after their rounds, $1,000 per hole.
Of course, Keller wasn't all gangsters. Sam Snead played there, and later Arnold Palmer and Ken Venturi, as did Patty Berg.
And the PGA was there as well. In 1932, Olin Dutra pulled one out over Frank Walsh. In 1954, Chick Harbert topped Walter Burkemo for the PGA Championship.
It's a classic old course, with a classic clubhouse. It's been freshly renovated in the last few years, but still has the feel of the hookers and hustlers that spent time there.
If you read about the '30s in St. Paul, you realize how the amnesty they offered crooks led to some high times. The Hamm kidnapping, for instance, was in St. Paul. The agreement, however, was that if you didn't commit a crime in St. Paul, the paid-off police would leave you alone. So, a Minneapolis bank robbery chase ended in the middle of the bridge between the two cities.
Today, of course, the law is the same on both sides of the Mississippi. Only memories remain.
A favorite hole is the par-3 4th, with a huge tree growing right in front of the green. I used an 8-iron to sail over it and land on the green for a par (one of two I got in the first 6 holes, before lightning chased us off the course). We received a rain check, though, so sometime before the end of the season I'll make my way back to see whether that was a fluke.

On Hold Forever!

After I spent so much time in hospital beds for this Ramsay Hunt syndrome, my lady friend thought I needed some exercise. After all, she felt, perhaps the flow of blood would renovate my facial nerves and I'd get my normal face back. (Well, she liked it.)
At any rate, she talked me into buying the $14.95 fitness program from Beachbody's TV infomercial. It took ten seconds to buy it, and the video arrived, fine. But I missed the fine print that said unless I told them, they were going to send me more stuff. So one Saturday I looked at my checkbook and discovered they'd nicked me for $40+. After telephoning, they told me I'd have to call back after I received the package.
Once again, I'm on hold. It's been 16 minutes so far, I've been disconnected once... The thing is, these mail order companies don't do this accidentally. My friend worked at QVC, and their return policy was to stall, enough that 20% of the people would get so disgusted they'd hang up and never try again. I'm one of the 80% that won't give up: I'll put the phone on speaker and sit here, writing this, while I wait. And now it's 19 minutes and...holding.
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After playing at Highland National a couple of weeks ago, I thought I'd try to discover why a course that's been regular Highland for years suddenly feels they are a National course. I haven't been able to find a reason, but have sent a note to my friendly library to ask them. When I learn what caused the upgrade, I'll put it here.
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Oh, I did finally get through to Beachbody--after 22 minutes on hold--and it took the woman two minutes to give me a return number. Funny: It's the same number that was printed on the box. If they'd told me where to look on my first call, I wouldn't have wasted time this second time.
I am going to work out to the video, though. It promises to get me a six-pack. Funny, I could have sworn that was part of the problem in the first place.

Big Bertha Rocks
And socks. I finally got back on the course again, after months of trying to recover from this Ramsay Hunt syndrome that locked the left side of my face into paralysis. It was only the second time this year I've been out.

My pals and I went out for some twilight play at the newly refurbished Highland National golf course in St. Paul. They totally changed the look of the elderly course, and eliminated a lot of the standing water that used to swamp players' shoes; in their place are nine ponds that affect play on 10 holes.

We got to play 14 holes before it became too dark, so we failed to see the new Snoopy-shaped sandtrap on 15, in honor of St. Paul's own Charles Schultz (of Peanuts fame). I'm just as glad: since I can't blink my left eye, the thought of getting sand in it terrifies me. As it was, I naturally collected a gnat in the offending orb as I drove the cart, forcing my artist pal to fish it out with a grimy finger.

One of the course's big problems is slow play. Perhaps it's because the patrons are so busy oohing and aahing over the changes. Compounding that, there were no rangers out shepherding people along.

At any rate, I drew the BB456 out of the bag to try on a real course, and I love it. I'm not a good golfer, by any stretch of the imagination. In fact, I often say that if I ever shoot my age, I'll live to 130. But BB was very forgiving, and long. I consistently outdrove my friend, and this was a first for me.

Even with so little practice this year, I never strayed that far off the fairway. I have a real swaying problem, often ending up with my weight on my heels, so a pro suggested I put all my weight on my left foot and just touch the tip of my right foot down. So when I swing, I've got one good eye to keep on the ball and one good leg to stand on. I resemble a heron out frogging.

The course itself was in wonderful shape. The clubhouse hasn't been touched; it has the same aroma it had before all the renovation. There's a new, swanky driving range, with an area for sand work and a huge putting greens. Not to mention the putting green near the first tee.

Overall, it was wonderful to get out again. I'm looking forward to doing it again soon.

PGA Championship

TNT will air 12 hours of live first- and second-round coverage and five hours of early third- and fourth-round coverage of the PGA Championship this week as Tiger goes for his third Major win this year after the Masters and British Open. He missed winning the U.S. Open by one stroke, as well.

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Local LPGA pro Allison Hanna, a non-exempt player on the LPGA tour and a Futures Tour member, fills a spot in the 2005 Safeway Classic originally set aside for the winner of the US Amateur. That event was won by Morgan Pressel, who has already accepted six exemptions into LPGA events this year, the total allowed under tour rules.

Hanna, an Oregon professional, was an All-American at Ohio State University and currently ranks 19th in earnings so far this year on the Futures Tour. The other sponsor's exemption was won in a one day qualifying tournament by Oregon high school golfer Rebecca Kim.

The Safeway Classic will be held in Portland, Oregon August 15-21 at Columbia Edgewater Country Club. For more information, visit www.safewaygolf.com.

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New Titleist Forged 735.CM irons offer continuity in performance and aesthetics with a fluid transition from cavity back long irons to muscle back short irons. Progressive blade heights, blade lengths, offset, topline, center of gravity and moment of inertia allow each club to perform to tour level standards for every shot that is required.

Titleist 735.CM irons are available in two different alloys - forged 410 stainless steel and chrome plated forged 1025 mild carbon steel.

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TaylorMade Golf Company introduces the new rac Black TP, a wedge with the same dark finish and teardrop shape as the original rac Black wedge, but which is claimed to incorporate three distinct improvements:

Sharper groove-edges grab the cover of the ball more effectively, and the added groove-width provides more room to channel debris into.

The ground sole configuration, developed on tour, allows players to open the clubface around the green to play high, soft chips and pitches.

Larger Feel Pockets more efficiently channel unwanted impact vibration to strategic locations in the clubhead, promoting improved feel at impact.

Third Tom's the Charm!

Tom Purtzer finally pulled one out. For the last two years, he's led the 3M Championship in the Twin Cities at the end of the third round, then...dropped the ball. Once with not one but two waterballs on the 17th of the TPC of the Twin Cities, the following year with a 74 final round.
This year, once his one-stroke victory over Lonnie Nielsen and Craig Stadler was official, he admitted to a bit of Saturday Night Fever.

Jason Zuback and Bobby Wilson captured the Nokia Champions Challenge at Thanksgiving Point Golf Club in Lehi, Utah. The two are Pinnacle Distance Team members.

Michelle Wie's going to be on with Letterman tonight, Mon., Aug. 8, at at 11:35 p.m. ET, 12:37 a.m. PT on CBS. Isn't that past the 15-year-old's bedtime?

Tiger's Unfair Advantage

The average kid growing up in the U.S. doesn't get to play golf that often, unless they've got parents with moolah. Even then, it's a pretty costly hobby. (And getting more expensive all the time.)

Tiger's dad, Earl, though, was in the U.S. military. One thing about the military: they enjoy a lot of golf courses, and they get to play at a much lower rate than you and I. There may not be as many courses available now, with all the recent base closings, but for a while they had some premiere ones.

So, Tiger got to play...and play...and play. I'm sure he had the natural skills already, but it certainly didn't hurt to get a lot of time on the course.

Take a look at this article by David Holland to read about some of these military courses. One is listed in its top ten by Golf Digest, for heaven's sake.

Golf in the Midwest

90 degree days may be common in California and the West, but they certainly aren't in Minnesota. Thank goodness! Because all the humidity from 11,000+ lakes gets sucked into the air.
So far this year, we've had almost 20 such scorchers. The rainfall was an inch below normal last month, and now we're heading into "high summer." Things could become a bit parched around here.
I plan to join Bob Koczor, Golf Today's editor/publisher, at the Carson City gettogether in October. I hope to meet some of you there.

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Now for some Golf news:

Jim Lucius, The Olympic Club's PGA director of golf, died July 27 at California Pacific Medical Center in San Francisco. Lucius, 69, is survived by his wife, Judie and their children.

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Juli Hilton, a former LPGA tour player, is the newest Total Golf Adventures licensee, having bought the rights to Placer County, Calif. Total Golf Adventures (www.totalgolfadventures.com) of Santa Monica, Calif., has 22 national programs in 18 states. Since its launch in 2004, TGA instructors have taught more than 20,000 children in over 400 K-8 schools.

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Total rounds of golf nationally are down 1.1% from last year, according to the National Golf Foundation. Central and south Florida appear to be hardest-hit because of heavy rains in the region, with rounds down 12% in June. www.ngf.org

All the News that Fits

As webmaster at WWW.golftodaymagazine.com, I receive a lot of press releases. So I thought this might be a good place to start listing some of the ones that don't make it into the magazine. Or to list them again. Let me know whether you like this information.

RVGolfer

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Don't forget the Golf Today Magazine tournament in Carson City, Nevada, beginning Oct. 7.

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Central Coast Invitational, October 11-15th, Cypress Ridge golf course in Arroyo Grande, Calif. A pro-am tournament format.

A Peter Jacobsen/Jim Hardy signature design 18 hole golf course will play host to a newly created event modeled after the Pebble Beach pro-am.

Professionals play 72 holes, 'no cut', for prize money and amateurs play the first two rounds to qualify for the central coast invitational trophy tournament during round three on Friday October 14, 2005. The top 20 teams qualify.

Tournament information at www.cypressridge.com.

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Author Dr. Bee Epstein-Shepherd has written "Building Champions: A Guide for Parents of Junior Golfers" (Becoming Press, 2005) that is being released this week.

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Tour Golf Products, Inc., Columbus OH, continues its weekly newsletters directed toward customers, clubmakers and golfers around the world. Each features a section related to a specific Tour Golf product and a weekly sale section with substantial discounts on current products. Plus a weekly technical information section written by Jeff Jackson. The newsletters are archived at www.tourgolfproducts.com.

Power Performance Rankings rate the performance of Champions Tour players over the last 12 months. A player can move up by dropping a bad finish from 2004 and/or move up by having a good finish in 2005. Tom Watson moved up from 8th to 2nd position in the Rankings after his victory at the Senior British Open. Jay Haas moved ahead on pointsand retook the #1 slot as many others lost ground.

Peter Jacobsen dropped to 3rd, and Craig Stadler climbed from 7th to 4th with his British Open performance.

Biggest moves: Andy Bean, down from 24th to 36th; Jim Ahern up from 46th to 39th; David Eger up from 21st to 15th; Bob Gilder up from 37th to 32nd.

For more information on the Power Performance Rankings, contact Kathy Bissell. Email golfshow@bellsouth.net or call 904-273-8078. This system is not compiled by the PGA Tour.

The Blind Hypnotist

"Do you see this heavy gold watch?"
"Yes, I do, doctor."
"Then I want you to look into it while I let it swing back and...ouch."

Bertha Rules

Unlimbering her 454cc is rather like having a watermelon on a stick. That's a big head. But she's a lightweight overall, with her titanium shaft.
I definitely felt a difference between her and the WarHawk I used before on the driving range, and so does the friend that repossessed it from me. Now he's suffering Driverlust because I'm using this one. He's a long, straight hitter, and admitted the 454 seemed to add from 10 to 20 yards.
For me, it just means a bigger banana ball. When I do uncork a good drive, though, it reaches out there much more.
Overall, I think my pals are envious of it. Lucky me. Now I've got a good club, I've got to find a way to get onto a course, and not just a range.
My eye is the thing that gives me problems. Because I can't blink, every four hours I have to smear ointment onto it, to keep it from drying out. When it's a windy day, I put a patch on to keep grit out of it.
As for walking a course, I think I could if it's flat. (And in Minnesota they're almost all flat.) Of course, I could rent a cart. Maybe I'll do that later this week.
If I do get out, it'll be the first time since April. Oh, Joy.

Calloo, Callaway

All hail Big Bertha

The blowsy blonde with the 454 measurements.

Boom boom Bertha.

She hits it here, it falls to earth there.

(I would say "we know not where", but I don't want to
jinx her.)

She has only straight drives in her. I will have to
teach her kinky ways. Not purposefully, but through
maximum ineptitude.

So far, I have only unwrapped her from her jewel case and tenderly
stripped the shiny plastic from her. She resides in my bag,
waiting for her debut.

This is reputed to be the longest driver on the market.
It's like combining the many e-mail lotteries I'm told I've won
with Nigerian dead letter offices (10% of millions can be mine
if I'll only give them my bank account info) to the endless penis
expansions.

Unfortunately, like all the others above, the long drive claim is
subject to human intervention. And with me as the human involved,
the claims may not pan out.

Even so, I'm excited about this driver in her titanium dress. We'll see what
happens when the fat lady sings.

Lives of Noisy Desperation

Thoreau would be heartbroken at the idea of blogging.

His whole philosophy was simplicity. The first conscientious objector, he went to jail rather than pay taxes he felt supported an unjust war. (In his case, the Mexican-American one, waged by the United States to take over Texas and the Southwest...and perhaps also extend the area of slavery.)

He built the cabin at Walden with his own hands. Although he only published two books before dying of tuberculosis at the age of 44, he kept journals that have been published in 20 volumes.

His conscience was his guide.

INC = Incompetent

In Minnesota politics, after the state government ground to a halt while R's tried to stall so the D's would look bad, and D's walked out at the last minute to play hardball, they're all losers.
At least, that's the feeling from most citizens of the state. On television, one voter said, "If they have an INC after their name on the ballot, I won't vote for them."
This may be the first election in years where being the incumbent works against you. Minnesotans are angry, and it just remains to see whether they'll be unforgiving.
Our governor had promised the Indian tribes that are heavily into gaming that he wouldn't tax them. Then, in the age-old tactic of "Divide and Conquer", he tried to enlist the impoverished tribes in the state's Northern, less-populated regions, to come together to make a racetrack near Minneapolis over into a taxpaying "Racino."
Gambling is growing so fast it's replacing Social Security as the way to ensure a comfortable future after 65. Oh, I'm sorry: that's the stock market, isn't it?
It's lucky the state legislature decided to get back to work. Those 9,000 folks sitting, twiddling their thumbs, were about to gain the advantage of a contract that said, after two weeks of shutdown, they would get a check for all their stored vacation and sick leave.
That would have run into tens of millions of dollars, and have made the taxpayers even more irate.
As it is: Throw the rascals out.

Forehead Lines

This palsy acts as a sort of "poor man's botox", in that it erases all the age and care lines (read "wrinkles") on the paralyzed side of my face.

So when I'm told that I'm beginning to get a wrinkle or two, I'm actually thrilled. That may mean I'm getting a little bit of the use of my nerves, see? And that could lead to being able to wink and blink and nod...no, I can still nod. It's the winkin' and blinkin' that I can't do.

It keeps swelling up at times, and now I've started losing my balance when I tilt my head back and then up. The doctor who did the craniotomy says that's normal, though, so I guess I'll keep on going.

The 4th of July was uneventful. I worked on a writing project, but I did get to see Chubby Checker one night, and the Lettermen another day. Chubby puts on a high-energy show, and really got the people involved. The Lettermen tried, I guess, but they would only sing bits of their songs. There's only one of the three originals anyway, so perhaps the old guy couldn't hit those high notes that were so easy in the '60s. I'd say their Letter was a C.

The Lettermen's act was more a revue in the Las Vegas sense. Show tunes, impersonations, and the like. It was a beautiful day at Taste of Minnesota, though, and it was good to get out and get fresh air.

Golf Lab's Free E-Mail Newsletter

As keeper of the flame for http://www.golftodaymagazine.com I get regular reports on the popularity of our writers and the articles we publish. Near the top almost every month is Leith Anderson's look at equipment, Equipment Chronicles.

He explores the ways to fine tune what you're already using, to squeeze out that last bit of control, to push the ball out that much farther. If you want to get shafted, Leigh's the guy to do it. (He's always examining the various shaft/head combinations in depth.)

Now he's introducing a new idea, a free e-mail newsletter for members. The first issue has an invitation to come out and play 9 holes with Leith at Palo Alto (Calif.) Muni, free stuff, and much more.

Contact Information

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

email: leith@calgolftech.com

phone: (650) 493-1770

web: http://www.calgolftech.com

I wish the Bay Area weren't so far away from where I am at present, or I'd take him up on it. The bad thing about this eye is, I can't drive for far without becoming exhausted. Perhaps it's trying to clear up the double vision, but I get tired easily.

So the thought of driving 2,000 miles is insurmountable. Soon, though. Real soon now. (I hope.)

The Case of the Disappearing Money

After all that's happened to me lately? This is the icing on the cake.

I needed to send off a payment for auto insurance, so to make sure I had the funds, I took out a Visa loan from my Minnesota credit union for $500, kept $20, and put the remaining cash into my credit union's ATM to send to my Calif. credit union. (There are laws about their accepting money inside unless they're affiliated, I guess.)$480, right?

They are now claiming they only got $280. I've been raising cain, but they just give me this runaround. The one here that got the envelope says they have two teller's signatures, and there was only $280. So I wonder where it went?

Could I have not sealed the envelope? I remember licking the envelope. Could the teller that gave me the cash pulled a short-change on me? I remember fanning out the bills to be sure.

So, it appears as if I'll be changing credit unions shortly. After all, I don't need a California one if I'm working in Minnesota.

But, boy am I mad.

The moral of the story is, don't put cash into an ATM. My credit union here will give me a free cashier's check every day, and that's what I'm depositing from now on.

Ah, well, life's too important to be taken seriously.

7_19_05 The credit union has searched high and low, looked at tapes, etc., and decided that rather than waste any more time on it, they'll return the $200. After all, I've been a customer of theirs for more than 30 years, and never had a problem, so....

Home on the Range!

After an eye scare Friday, and clarification Saturday, I hit the driving range for the first time since my Ramsay Hunt attack in late April.

Friday I was driving home near the VA hospital, and my eye started feeling very scratchy. My left eye started to water, so my right eye began to as well. (They're in the same union.)

"Don't be Mr. Macho," I had been admonished. "If it hurts, go see the doctors during the week, while they're open."

Of course, I had waited too long: the eye clinic closed at noon. So I hied to the Urgent Care room, and sat for three hours. The M.D. on call--who had been one of the people who saw me in the ward when I was there--remembered me. "Oh, you had such a bad case of Ramsay Hunt," she said in her lilting Indian accent.

"I was Exhibit A in a lot of white-coated Show and Tell, that's for sure," I said.

Her diagnosis was, something bad was going on in my eye, but come in the next morning to see the eye doctor.

Next morning the eye doctor took a gander. "Not much wrong," she said, contradicting the Urgent Care doctor. She proceeded to rout out my eyelids with a cotton swab to get built-up mucus and grit out, turning them a bright red.

"Don't wear the patch too much," she admonished, "because it breeds bacteria."

"What about the Speedo swim goggles I've been using?"

"Same problem," she responded. "If you want to wash your eyelids to get rid of summer sweat and dust, use a q-tip with baby shampoo." Of course, no tears. Why hadn't I thought of that? For that matter, why hadn't they told me earlier? (The leftover soap also cleaned the oil off my nose, making the Breath-Rite stick all night.)

I drove home, much relieved.

On to Golf

So, when my pal telephoned and asked if I wanted to go to the driving range, I leaped at the chance.

It felt good to be out in the warm afternoon air, splitting a bucket.

I only took three clubs, and I sincerely tried to slow everything down. I have a tendency to sway a lot, so one pro suggested I stand with all my weight on my left foot, and just my right toe on the ground.

One-eyed, one-legged...there was a song about that, wasn't there?

Actually, I made pretty good contact much of the time. My shots weren't straight, but they were out there a ways. And when I remembered to tuck my right elbow in...I hit what I was aiming at. At least that time.