a little better every time…

Urania cleared her throat. “Your title Cal… she shot a 60… which would be off the charts for 18 holes, but Typist played… ,” Urania shouted the last word in her sentence, “NINE!”

“Two pars and a bogey Nia — that’s nothing to sneeze at. I wasn’t talking about our score though.”

“What’s better then, if not the score?”

“Well… her enjoyment of the game. Golf is an exercise in presence. Each time Typist sets her feet, shifts her weight, slows her swing, and keeps her eyes on the ball — she’s practicing. Can she set aside the last shot? Can she focus on technique… instead of fretting about where the next shot will land?”

“And that helps her to enjoy the game?” asked Nia.

“Yup!” said Cal. “And when she enjoys the game, she makes space for her fellow linksman to enjoy too. Nobody likes a grumpy golfer!”

Thalia entered the room in her pajamas, rubbing sleep from her eyes. “You started without me?”

“Some of us take our responsibilities seriously around here,” quipped Urania. “Did you enjoy last nights fireworks? Set anything on fire?”

“Nobody likes a grumpy muse… but I digress.” Thalia poured herself coffee and took a seat at the table. “Golf… Twain called it a good walk spoiled. Perhaps he didn’t see it as a practice for life’s bigger games?”