Alone Time

It's a wonderful day in the neighborhood--temps in the low nineties, calm, clear--the kind of day I wish I were on a golf course. But that will have to wait a bit until I can get all my medical issues resolved. We were on the road early this morning, going to Sky Harbor where I dropped off Rosalie. Left at 3:00 a.m. Thirty-five miles and thirty-five minutes, with highway reflectors lighting our way as on a landing strip. She had to fly to South Dakota for her oldest sister's funeral, not a pleasant journey but a necessary one. The sister, Bonnie, was 95 years young and she went swiftly. Just the way I want to go. She complained on Sunday about not feeling well. Later, she was rushed to the emergency ward where she lost consciousness, respiration way down, all vital signs dropping precipitously. And Monday morning she died. What a way to go. With a morphine drip to send her on her way. Just the way I want to go. But not for quite a while yet.

So I have a week of solitude (except for the two cats, Squeakie and Charlie). What will I do with all this time alone? Lots of tv sports, I guess. I always feel so guilty about watching one sport or another, knowing Rosalie doesn't share my interest (obsession?). Usually, then, I watch other tube things with her, occasionally switching channels to see how one team or another is doing. Now I can just immerse myself in baseball, football, and golf. I hate how the Diamondbacks are out of the running but I still watch them. I love the gladiatorial contest between pitcher and batter. I love the slow-motion of baseball and wish I had known back when I was playing baseball what I know now. I was then totally ignorant of the nuances of the game, not having the benefit of televised games and all the patter of the announcers, not having a coach who knew any more about the game than I did. Ah, well, in my next life. College and pro football also fascinate me. With baseball I only observe, don't participate empathetically in the action. With football I squirm and strain and groan with every play. I'm physically exhausted at the end of a close game, elated when the Cardinals win, depressed when they don't. Over the past decade I've been far more often depressed than elated. But this year may be different. Golf is the sport I spend the most time watching. I know all the players, know their voices, their swing characteristics, their virtues and their vices. I must confess that I’m most intrigued with Tiger and his game, as are a lot of other people. When he’s contending I follow every shot; when he’s not contending I lose interest. And this weekend I have the Ryder Cup matches to feast on. I can hardly wait.