Nothing in Particular

Oh, what a year.  It’s the year of cancelled plans.  Never before have we had so many plans that did not pan out.  Biorhythms on the fritz?  Stars not aligned?  What gives?


Me and my shoes somewhere in the Caribbean.

And then there is the question of why women love shoes?  I adore shoes.  Sandals, boots, low heels, flats, moccasins, slides, golf shoes, deck shoes, loafers, tennis shoes, water shoes, slippers, flip flops.  Admittedly I do  not like high heels or toe shoes.  Seems like torture to me.  That’s probably an age thing but it reminds me of bound feet like the Chinese used to do.  As I said, at the risk of repeating myself…torture.  But why?  Why do I like and many of my female friends love shoes so much?  I think it is because of Cinderella.  That was a shoe story.  And Wizard of Oz.  That was a shoe story.   These movies preprogrammed us as youngsters to be programmed us into loving shoes.  And so we do.  If the dear reader has another idea, I’m all ears.  Speaking of ears, you could argue that Walt Disney also preprogrammed us to like mouse ears (Mickey and Minnie).  But, really, people, that’s not the same.  Or maybe he preprogrammed us to like elephant ears. (Dumbo).  But this theory loses umpf because those ears didn’t sparkle and shine.  And ears interfere with our crowning glory, such as is it.  Our hair.  So, I dismiss that theory.

But I digress.

Summer has twisted our plans.  It’s too hot in the mountains.  It’s too hot in the desert.  It’s too hot inland.  The only place it isn’t hot is here at home.  And this is where we will stay most of the time.  And then Uncle Ralph had us plan a trip for him and then he decided he didn’t want to take the trip.  Cancelled.  And then our trip to Canada got cancelled because the home exchange couple in Quebec ran into a back problem.  He hurt his back.  So, no Canada.  What is Rayman going to do with that maple leaf sweater?  Don’t know.  Just kidding.

However, as is always true of life, just as soon as something got cancelled something else presented itself.  A golf invitational for me.  At the newly redone Salinas Country Club.  It’s now known as Crazy Horse CC.  I really like that name.  It makes me conjure up a “rearing” horse that would be suitable for a logo.  Horseshoes anyone?  Ah, ah.  The shoes again.  I can honestly say that I like horseshoes.  Not sure that horses like their shoes since they are nailed on (ouch).  So there is that.


One of my favorite horse pictures.


I’m hopeful I’ll do as good as I did at Dairy Creeks’ Invitation.  Came in low gross in our flight (63) and missed low net overall by one stroke!!  For non-golfers, forgive me for bragging.  Golfers, to be sure, will understand my delight.  I will not trouble you with my bad game stories except to say that a week later I played Dairy Creek…I shot a net 83 with two 5 putts and at least 3 sand shots the following week.  What happens?  Where does it go?  It’s a crazy, crazy exercise in futility, frustration, elation and all points in between.  You never arrive.  It’s just that simple.  Perhaps the powers that be should rename some of these courses.  How about Hell’s Golf Course?  or Putt Me if You Can Country Club?  Or how about Sand City Links?  Drown Your Sorrows Lake Course?  Slicing and Hooking Golf Ball Hills?  Just an idea for matching the reality with the game.   Again, what shoes will I wear?

My friend, Donna, in her shoes.

And then there is Jury Duty.  Darned if I don’t get summoned every year.  It’s annoying.  I plainly don’t want to serve on a jury.  Last time I was summoned, they were trying a man who as accused of shooting a horse in the foot.  Really?  Really.   The prosecutors have too much money.  But I pride myself in getting dismissed will the help of my active imagination.  Or maybe we should call it unique and thoughtful thinking.  Your pick.  So, July 20th I must burnish my excuses and head to the court house.   What shoes should I wear?

The other thing I refilled my time with, as it were, is a Writer’s Conference.  Yep.  That’s right.  I’m going to a conference to learn a few new things.  About writing.  Publishing.  Blogging, of all things.  I’m not sure why I signed up for the blogging session since I just noticed that this is my 167 blog on this website.  And, in case you, the reader, thinks that’s not much, consider that I started all this blogging on my website,  Then Apple came along and stopped iWeb, their proprietary software and I had to come up with a new website provider.  Here’s my very first post.

Yes, I started all this on Dec. 20, 2007.  That is hard to believe.  You may have to copy and paste the URL into your browser to read it.  If you dare!!

Rayman does Mt. St. Helens.

Rayman does Mt. St. Helens.


Number one son at Mt. St. Helens.

Finally, what is the Rayman doing?  Well, he’s been running away from home a lot.  He flew to Portland to help Ryan move, only Ryan didn’t move.  So they had fun.  Then he came back and ran away again to Truckee to play golf and poker and bocce ball with his Indian Guide buddies.  Now he is back.  With funny stories and plenty of memories.   Mostly unshared.   And you understand why.  With my ability to wax on about silly things, he guards his friends’ privacy like a guard at the gates of Buckingham Palace.  This leaves me with the opportunity to imagine what goes on.  Things like eating all the wrong kind of food, belching, scratching, laughing at dirty jokes, telling lies, giving each other the raspberries.  General foolery.  That’s my theory and I’m sticking to it.  And these guys are good at what they do since they have been doing it the best part of 30 years.  The Choctaws.  Yep.  That’s them.  And they are awesome in every way.  I love when they include us women.  The repartee is delicious.  Can’t wait to see them all again.  Alas, what shoes will I wear?







add comment

Leave Comment