I cannot adequately express how much fun I have writing letters. For a guy who prides himself on a semblance of vocabulary and word-smithing (or in your view, faux word-smithing), it’s simply hard to describe. Really, it is play time for me.
That must mean I have transcended the boundaries of self consciousness or doubt and instead moved rapidly to a world of whimsy, inventiveness and flat-out fun. It’s that enjoyable to me. If writing were a chore or roughly akin to visiting my doctor for a shot then the letters would be few and far between. But as it stands, I can hardly wait for Monday or Friday to arrive because those are (red) letter days. To be sure, not all letters are fun and games.
FYI…Reid told me last night he sometimes waits a week to read the letters. That seems to validate my post of a few days ago.
FYI II…my friend Steve said the Wednesday posting about my letters to him was a cheap ploy to get more strokes the next time we play golf. So?
FYI III…here is today’s letter to mom and dad. 560 words in 9 minutes. Not a record, but close. No spell check, no proofing, no do-overs, no nothing.
March 5, 2010
Mom and Dad: So much for my braggadocio about the lettuce seeds and getting my hands dirty in the good earth. My alleged green thumb has turned a shade of dull brown. The seeds remain seeds rather than seedlings, but my excuse is that the weather has just been God-awful crappy; damp and cold by North Carolina standards. You’ll scoff at this but this was the coldest winter in 33 years and the wettest in 40 years. Just my dumb-ass luck to have that happen. But I’ll plow under the few seeds already in the ground and start over. I mean, I’ve got enough seeds to fill a 50’x50’ plot.
This weekend I’ll double dip on golf with my singles group. An outing tomorrow at a place called Stonebridge which reminds me of Miracle Hills. Then Sunday we drive down into SC for a round at a really nice course called Edgewater. We have a web site that is sort of the home base for our group, and I posted an innocent sounding message that I wanted to play Sunday and if anyone was interested, they could play too. Well, there were 16 such souls and now it’s become a full-fledged golf event. But that’s fine. This morning I wrestle with the pairings. The White House has an easier time placing warring dignitaries next to one another at state dinners than I’ll have. No doubt some will carp about who they are paired with but that’s just the luck of the draw. Had a 78 and 74 last weekend so perhaps my game has emerged from its protracted funk. I’ll report by phone on Sunday.
Not a whole heck of a lot of new news from the kids. Ellen texted me a photo of a new lamp and table, and her couch is now in the house. She hasn’t sent a picture even though I’ve bugged her about it twice. She’s happy their place finally has some furniture. She’s on a mission to get nice chairs for the dining room table because she has some sort of shower coming up next month. Heaven forbid you wouldn’t have chairs. Reid called last night and I listened for about 20 minutes. He’s navigating the tough working environment and, in short, he’s got to become more of a political animal. He really knows his stuff and is well-read, but the squeaky wheels get the grease in the agency business. I’ll try to help him strategize that.
So Ralph and Joe are in Copper Mountain this weekend. Good for them to get away on a guy’s retreat. This isn’t their first time. I told Reid last night that it is high time he stow his clubs on a plane and get his rear down here to his old man can kick his rear on the golf course. With his swing, I’d better do the kicking now before I become the kickee. He’s got good basic skills in that regard.
The scale is reluctantly making its way into the new bathroom. I’m lucky it’s not one of those talking ones because if I stepped on it, it would have a lot to say. I’d have a lot to say, too, given the weight I’ve gained but none of my wording would be suited to your sensitive ears. You’d think you didn’t raise me right.