Lousy Golf and a Good Woman’s Love
If y’all have never heard John Cowan sing ‘A Good Woman’s Love,’ you need to. I don’t see how a man could take his wife for granted if he listened to it real close. When Cowan wails out that one, I feel his pain. The old boy would be lost without her.
I played golf today. It was a lousy 83 in a twenty-five mph wind, but we won a three way split on the back nine.
I always put my winnings on the table. “How’d you do?” Marfar asked.
“83,” I mumbled. “Fifteen bucks is all we won.”
“83 in that wind? I think that’s great. I’ll take Betty Jo to lunch tomorrow. I’m gonna tell her you’re the best.” She picked up the three fives off the table, put them in her pocket, and kissed me on the cheek.
I brightened up. Maybe I’m too old to rassle the rangatang at the County Fair or even hit that bell with the sledgehammer and win her a teddy bear, but she’s smart enough to know I still need to have a little bit of boy in me and bring home something for my girl.
Maybe fighting the elements on the links to bring home lunch money ain’t the same as a caveman who bags a woolly mammoth, but it’s all I’ve got. Thanks goodness she lets me pretend. It beats the heck out of checking in to the Nursing Home just yet.
I guess we all interpret music based on our personal soundtrack, but when I hear John sing that one, I know he has to be referring to my Marfar. Just has to be; ’cause there ain’t another one like her.
Somehow I feel good about not breaking 80 today. If she thinks it’s good, it must be so.
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