Par for the Course
Atlanta, GA
August 25, 2019
Some days you realize maybe you were better off not getting the first class upgrade, or retroactively relieved that someone else ordered the last filet mignon.
I spent yesterday afternoon sitting beside my father-in-law as he received one of his three weekly doses of dialysis. He was asleep for about half the four-hour process.
I wiled away some of that time reading, and some making eye contact or small talk with a few of the other dialysees whose faces are now becoming familiar.
Otherwise, the task is that of sentry…ensuring all medicine is taken at the proper time, that no tubes were inadvertently detached, and that the patient is safely transported to and from the facility.
Not particularly thrilling, but not especially arduous either. And, while my father-in-law is often sedate or asleep during the procedure, I think he enjoys the company. And, in truth, I am happy to provide it.
Besides, it could have been worse. I could have been at a prestigious golf tournament at an exclusive club!
While I was safely ensconced with a dozen dialysis patients, my wife and younger son were dodging lightning bolts at East Lake. Unfortunately, six people, including a 12-year-old boy, were unable to do so. All were hospitalized, but apparently will be fine.
The last several years Rita has hosted charitable organizations and co-workers at the PGA Tour Championship, held annually at East Lake and featuring the season’s top thirty golfers. Among the fringe benefits are that some or all of us can join her on the course or in the hospitality tent.
This year, Alexander and I seemed to have drawn the short straws. While I was in the dialysis den, Alexander was making his second assault on the SAT. He then belatedly joined his band at Mercedes-Benz Stadium for his school’s inaugural football game.
So, David joined his mother on the course. They had the pleasure of being there last year as well, standing beside the 18th green when Tiger Woods won the tournament.
Tiger did not earn a return visit, but Rita and David did. They arrived early afternoon to spend the rest of the day following golf’s greatest players around Bobby Jones’s home course.
Three hours later, they were headed home.
Like a drunken ex-husband crashing his former wife’s second wedding, a sudden storm cast a pall over the festivities. Lightning struck…cutting a tree, and the day, short.
Players scurried from the course, all patrons were ordered from the premises, with a half dozen hauled to the hospital. Play was suspended till this morning.
Today, naturally, was ideal for golf. Cloudy yet dry, temperatures did not crest 80, which in August is unusual. Like the stock market, Atlanta’s weather this summer has fluctuated wildly, with periodic comfort punctuated by extreme heat and violent squalls.
A tree beside our house succumbed to lightning a few months ago, and on several recent occasions hail has coated the deck over which a gentle cool breeze now passes.
But in a world of negative interest rates, sundry sexes, and meatless meat, anything is possible. Rivers flowing uphill? The sun rising in the west? Red wine with fish? White worn after Labor Day?
In such a place, and at such a time, that would be par for the course.
JD
