A lovely day here in the Valley--about 72 or 73, calm, sunny. And I finally managed to break 80 at Pebblebrook. But I've done it so seldom that I almost threw it away, spitting up on my shoes, choking like a dog on the ninth hole, after parring the first eight. All I could think about was what a nice thing it would be to shoot 36 on the front. Good drive, pull-topped second shot to the left, leave a forty-yard pitch short, chunk the next chip, and then 3-putt for a triple bogey. Choke! And on the back I was still only three over through fourteen. Then I had choke bogeys on the last four holes for a 79. Great, I finally broke 80, but it should have been so much better.
Son Mike came over this morning to put in a security door on our front. Rosalie had decided she no longer cared to answer the front door with nothing between her and the caller but a flimsy little screen door. So she bought a really beautiful white door that an elephant couldn't come through. It's not that SCW is full of muggers and rapists, but we do have a bunch of hispanic landscapers who come around regularly to see if we want our trees trimmed. And though we don't have a prejudiced bone in our bodies, there have been cases of home invasions all over the Valley and an unkempt hispanic at my front door does give me pause. And Rosalie even more pause, especially if she's home alone when the doorbell rings. Mike did a good job, something I couldn't do even if I were healthy. He takes after the Zimmer side of the family. Where I always believed in measuring once and cutting twice or thrice (needing at least two extra boards as backups), he believes as his Uncle Lyle believes, measure three or four times before cutting very carefully. See what a good job he did? See how nice it looks?