Grandpa raised my brother and me. Grandpa’s country vet services rarely netted cash but mostly chickens, eggs, or a goat. There was always plenty to eat. Toys were scarce so my brother Jimmy and I entertained ourselves with nature’s bounty of sticks, rocks and bugs. One day we started out with a friendly game of cops and robbers, and somehow, it turned bad. A robber (me), chunked a rock at a cop (Jimmy), it popped his forehead open and the blood ran. He fell on the ground screamin’, I was scared to death and thought he was dyin’. Grandpa used kitchen stuff on animal wounds, so I rummaged around and found a box of rock salt. That should do the trick! It did. I dumped that salt into Jimmy’s gash, and he immediately came up off the ground. Grandpa came home, iced down Jimmy’s head and my black eye.
This past Wednesday morning I received a phone call on my cell phone. The person calling me was my friend Rex. He was calling me to see if I wanted to play some golf later in the day. We have played golf with one another in the past, and usually have fun. At one time I got so frustrated playing golf, I began to think I hate golf. Thankfully, my game has picked up since that time.
We played a good game on Wednesday. I wound up losing, but I had a good time. One of the reasons I lost was because I got stuck in a silica sand bunker, not just once, but twice. I always have had problems with sand when playing golf. I need to imporve my game so this is not a problem any longer.