We live on a golf course backing onto a long par 3 hole.  Opposite our back yard is the white tee box.  About 160 yards from the whites to the green.  Not long and one of the easiest holes on the course.

Great part is that we live across the fairway from the tee box and where we are positioned, never get a golf ball in the yard and seldom hear the conversations.

Over the years we have sat on our patio in the afternoon or in the evening watching thousands of guys (and occasional gals, as the Red tee box is further to our left) hit off.  Now you might think it is only because we are bored, but we look up and just judge the practice and the real swing.

Pat, who does not play golf, has become an expert on a good swing.  Loose hips and a full follow through.  She can nail a bad swing every time.

But as all golfers would know, you do a couple of practice swings where the body flows through, and then step up the 2 inches to the real ball and you end up stabbing at it.  Not even close to the free swing.

Pat knows that very well.  As soon as she sees a poor hit she declares that it is going wrong.  I try to tell her that there is an intimidation from the little round orb that changes your swing.

It is July 1 and we went off to watch the parade downtown.  It is a small community, and aside from one pipe band and a group of all the fire trucks from Oyster Bay to Fanny Bay, it was basically a parade of kids on decorated bikes and clowns.  A certain highlight was one guy walking his goats.  The highlights were all the attendants throwing off candies to all the little kids.  I suspect it was a success.  I took the bride off for brunch at a restaurant , where we had Eggs Benedict which is one of the few brunches I do not prepare for Pat on a Sunday.

The weather finally became warm enough for us to sit outside on the patio this evening for BBQd rib steaks.

As we sat there dining, listening to soft music and sipping wine, we watched the rare golfers go by.

Pat would observe and critique the swing.  She was always right.  If the swing was the same as the practice, they would stand there and admire.  If the swing was not what they hoped, they would hang their head and drag their club back to the cart.

Who says retirement is boring….