The End of the World!
April 13, 2008

The end of the world is near.  It is a quiet Sunday, and I have filled in the void created by an undelivered Sun Times with added devotion to the minutiae in the New York Times’ marriage announcements.  (There is a lovely NYT Sunday column extolling the warm Midwest virtue of Roger Ebert, but as my Sun Times is in delivery limbo, I cannot scan it for Answer Man or any such wisdom. And I cannot scratch off my bingo numbers to see if I have won $25,000.  At this point, I would feel guilty taking money from such an a financially ailing entity, but I long for the chance to make the big gesture of giving it back) At any rate, the end of the world is near because Steve is watching golf on TV.  My Dad would say that Steve has chosen the better way to pass time. 

But it is out of character.  Steve has managed to play golf one time only, and he became bored at hole 5.  He then started visiting other foursomes in the cart.  He mentioned to me that the morning shift might lead him to take golf lessons or join a Country Club.   In truth, both scenarios make me smile.  I KNOW Steve would have a great drive off the tee, but the short game rules.  I do not see Steve tamping blades of grass and calculating wind.  He is too impatient.  I believe he would invent a new style of golf, similar to home run derby.  The funnier scene in my imagination is Steve, at a table of Club Members, acting all impressed with them and humble about himself, just to get past the directors.  I know he would pay through the teeth to get in, and then get bored with the enterprise.  I am not willing to follow him in this particular folly.  There’s always putt-putt. 

And yet- as he fights off his cold/bronchitis/pneumonia by lying low, I can see that the lovely verdant greens, and the hushed tones of the announcers calm him.  I can get behind that, 100%.  And his viewing will give him small talk to make with my Dad.  I could shop for some plaid pants for Father’s Day so he could walk in the skin of a Golf Club Member.  But the most arresting notion is that if he took up golf in any way, shape or form- he would have a compelling reason to be somewhere besides at home from 12pm-4 pm. 

When he started suiting up for work at 4 in the morning, I announced that the moat would be filled and the bridge up until 1 in the afternoon. He is finished at 10, has a meeting or two, and then goes for his workout.   It turns out, 1 is too early.  He is in his car at noon, wending his way home.  There are too many fake courtrooms and cooking shows calling to Steve.  He stations himself in front of the TV, and makes me self-conscious about my random indolence.  When I spend three hours re-organizing my vacation pictures online, he smirks.  I used to be able to pretend I was full of purpose.  Now, the truth is out there.  I think maybe I will take up a sport.  I need to save face.