You know, some days you should just stay in bed. Some days you land in poop and there's no way out of it. It seems like most of my golf rounds this past year have been pretty poopy. Maybe I should just hang the clubs up and simply stay in bed. Nah, I just know it's going to get better.
We had a nice Christmas dinner with the kids, lots of conversation, lots of food, and now I'm glad it's over. Not that I don't enjoy seeing my kids. I do. But the big dinner and the preparation and the cleanup I could skip. We had Mike, Staci, and William, then Jeri and Chris and his new girlfriend Paige, sister-in-law Mac, and Rosalie and me. Nine of us for ham, cheesy broccoli macaroni, Jeri's broccoli salad, Mike's sweet potatoes, Rosalie's Jello salad, Basha's rolls. And CostCo's apple/cherry pie (which wasn't very good, no matter how much Koolwhip you dumped on it). But between the ever increasing volume level of the conversation and the beeping of William’s new electronic game, my head started pounding along with the beeps. They all left around 8:00 and the blessed silence thereafter was balm to my brain. We didn't even try to straighten the house before climbing into bed at 8:30. Oh, how good the bed felt. We keep going to bed earlier and earlier. One of these early evenings we'll tumble into bed and just sleep till 8:30 the next evening. And we'll already be there. No need even to make the bed.
We're now in that bridge time between Christmas and New Year's Day, sort of waiting for the new year, hoping that it will be a better year than the last. Wouldn't take much for that to be true. And, of course, there's the annual vow to lose that ugly extra twenty pounds. I just know this will be the year, good old 2010. It has such a neat symmetrical sound, the year just has to be neat and symmetrical. Renewed health, twenty lost pounds to a neat and symmetrical 200, several neat and symmetrical rounds of golf, you know, like 72 instead of the really ugly and crooked ones like 85 and 87. Dream on, Travis, dream on.