Letters to Jim: The Golden years

Dear Jim:

Well at last I have achieved perfection in all aspects of my disintegrating body. Nothing hurts and I have never been in better shape. In addition to not drinking, smoking, looting and pillaging or anything else that is fun I am now a new Pilates convert.

Here are a few safety tips when doing Pilates or showing off your new found flexibility to friends at dinner parties.

When you are lying on your back, spread eagle position with your legs straight out held by your feet wrapped in straps it is really good to remember to wear shorts with a lining.

When you lie down in a door frame to show how you can push your leg flat up the wall you should try to do it wearing socks. No one warned me that the heels of your shoes leave black marks that require repainting to remove!

Similarly when you are standing beside a dining room table and want to demonstrate that you can put your leg sideways flat on the table without crying out in pain you want to be sure the place settings and particularly the butter dish have been removed.

You think jumping is easy? I am an action hero jumper in my mind and could leap over a 10 foot fence without using my hands. Try to stand on both feet and jump on to a ball that is 8 inches off the ground. Can’t be done!

Try not to do your session when there are women in the room. Nothing puts you off more than people laughing and pointing when you are trying to concentrate.

An hour is an hour except when you are doing Pilates when it is two hours. You will find yourself disoriented and you need to give yourself time for your muscles to stop their spasms before you try and pick anything up.

I have grabbed on to Pilates  like a drowning man reaches out for a piece of seaweed.  This will continue until I pull something or something breaks off or falls off and then I will look for the next new, new thing. With this new state of body I am now moved in to full  maintenance mode. Now to be clear this is not the program I followed for the past 30 years when I used to visit the doctor and a few specialists every year or two . They  would pat me on the back and tell me “Good Boy” and send me on my way and I would pick up a quart of Grey Goose for the ride home.  This is like keeping a 1978 Mustang in fine working condition where parts are hard to find and rot has set in to the main frame.

I have more people involved in my maintenance program than I had working for me when I qualified for the Young Presidents’ Organization.  My Chiropractor, Nero- Surgeon (back guy), Physio-therapist, Pilates Coach, Osteopath and Massage Therapist are all on regular weekly and bi-weekly visits. My Internist, Urologist (two of these), Dermatologist, MRI, CAT scan and Anal prober seem to require quarterly visits at least. My dentist is paired up with a Gum specialist so that I’m always gearing up for that pleasant cleaning process and wait for  “your teeth are fine but your gums will have to come out.” I won’t even mention my Nutritionist who has removed any food from my diet that tastes good. Blood work is done twice a year for fun and more often for reasons I can’t figure out.  I have a monthly parking pass at the Royal Victoria Hospital and the Jewish. My pharmacist thinks he is a member of my family and wants to come for Xmas dinner. My speed dial has no room for friends or family.

When we go out for dinner with friends we have had to add an hour to the visit so that everyone can explain the latest treatment revelation in their lives before we solve the problems of Greece or Wall Street. Normal aches and pains are not allowed for discussion. Only things that require operations or that are life threatening are really interesting except I find that medical gossip is nowhere near as much fun as the other kind that used to dominate our dinner conversations.

So you put this all together and I guess this solves the mystery of what people do as they get on. It gets even better since everyone who takes an appointment wants to call you to confirm the appointment …your phone is always ringing off the hook.

Ah…the Golden Years…

The only thing that is really going to tick me off is if I die suddenly and all my overweight, semi-alcoholic do- nothing friends live to be 100, giggling all the way. If I haven’t figured out a way to communicate at the time please promise me that you will tell them I hate them in my Eulogy.

Bill Meder

Letters to Jim: The Wedding

October 16, 2011

Dear Jim: Last Saturday's wedding note to the Schwarz clan.

Dear Gaston and Matte:

I woke up this morning after last night’s wedding party feeling depressed. As I try to get my big toe in to the trigger guard I thought I would share a few thoughts with you. As I looked across the room at all the beautiful people I realized that this used to be us! Then I looked around my table and thought, no, no this can’t be how it ends. (Possibly a life threatening thought...don't tell anyone I said it). What a crowd! If it wasn’t for the drooling and leering from my age group the picture would have been perfect.

I must say the Windsor is the best venue in Montreal, hands down. Elegant and sophisticated. Now that the Schwarz clan is complete I suspect we have seen our last party there. I feel sorry for the next parents who need to hold a wedding. You have all set the bar so high that eloping is the only option. I think of my daughter’s wedding in Barbados on the beach with just our family and a few drug dealers as observers and am thrilled that I dodged one bullet. When my son gets married, if I’m still alive, I’m going to have to suggest Bora Bora in August with just the two of them and ask that they take a lot of pictures.

The food was fabulous.  I would describe the menu as Lots and More. It was superb and the service was exceptional also. The wine couldn’t have been better and as you know I don’t drink. I did consider backing up the SUV and loading a few cases for my wine cellar but I thought the staff might notice and think I was interfering with their plans. It was difficult enough getting all those flowers in to the car with the rain coming down so hard.

I’m not a dancer but I did go to the floor to see that gang throw Nikole in to the air. I tried to get in on catching her but with my back and the under 40 bunch in front of me I backed off. The band was great and when my ears stop ringing sometime next week I’m going to find out who they were so I can recommend them. The two 80+ year olds dancing up a storm when I left really put me off.  I looked for a stretcher or ambulance waiting outside but they were well hidden. There is no way they survived the nite.

Funny, I didn’t talk to Matte all night.  I did follow her around hoping that her bracelet might fall off and I would be able to buy a new Porsche Panamera (Turbo) and maybe a Cayenne for the winter with the change. (I know that this idea doesn’t seem very nice and in fact I would have returned it for the reward and bought a Prius instead.)

Nikole and Karl were smashing and the speeches were the highlight. 90 seconds from the father of the bride is just about right and both of your sons spoke brilliantly. Really, it was the best I’ve seen.

So the perfect family, the perfect spouses, the fabulous careers, the perfect holidays and everyone fit and beautiful. You do understand how we can all agree to hate you!

Thank you so much for including us. It was the best and it was so much fun seeing so many of our friends and having the opportunity to get caught up.  You both have done such a wonderful job with your family and watching them and their friends celebrate this event was a real treat.

Bill and Sally Meder

Letters to Jim: Day 2

Dear Jim:

So, I know you want to know how day 2 of the Centennial golf tournament went. Without being dramatic it was arguably the worst day of my life!

I won’t bother you with the details (shot 100) but it was 5 hours of hacking and whacking in a non flattering display of crap. Don’t ask me how but we still ended up winning $10 after betting $500. (Skip Eaman shooting even par on the back nine may have played a role.  Our money man is a former banker and they are slippery devils at best so I’m not going to question how we did it but I feel like we stole something.

That’s it, that’s all. Golf sucks and I won’t be seen around the club again except when I go to clean out my locker.

The dinner/dance was everything I expected it to be. Black tie summer events are not to be missed. Sitting in the main room with the music blasting was a great idea. My ears are still ringing and I’m hoarse from yelling at the person sitting next to me to pass the rolls or whatever. The service was great , taking as long as our round of golf,  leaving no time for dancing. I made my escape by 11pm.

For some reason I look forward to this tournament every year. Unless I develop a mental illness this will unlikely be the case for 2012.

Bill

Letters to Jim: Life is becoming one big cliche.

Dear Jim:

I’m thinking about all the things that I’m saying to myself these days that I never thought would be part of my day to day life. It ‘s not age related but stage of life related and one cliché after another appears without warning. Here are a few samples of things I never thought I would say.

Are we too late for the early bird special?

Not again, I just went 10 minutes ago.

Get a grip man, she’s half the age of my daughter.

Nope, I don’t miss drinking a bit!

 I can’t get in the pool if it is less than 85 degrees.

I think this Black Tie dinner/dance in 35 degrees C will be a blast.

Lets do a breakfast meeting…9 am too early for you?

We can’t turn off the lights yet, it’s still daylight out there.

I would like to buy a coach ticket to Paris.

I sure hope I break 100 today!

Oh, and how did the first day of the Centennial Golf tournament go. Well after three holes I was considering suicide, after six holes the team was considering murder. Either way the threat of death hung heavy in the air throughout the round.

 It is amazing to me that a three foot putt is impossible to make under this pressure so I took them all and recorded my double or triple bogey for each hole. With a little luck after todays  second round and after paying $500 plus for lost bets the team will not want me to come to the dinner which will be held in high heat, low pleasure conditions this evening. For those who thought I was sandbagging my handicap by shooting 100+ in games prior to the tournament you were right. I shot a sizzling 99 yesterday!

Bill

Letters to Jim: How bad can it get?

Dear Jim:

So how bad can it be you ask.

On Saturday one of my golf buddies accused me of trying to artificially raise my handicap so I can be competitive in the Centennial. He thinks my attitude when I’m about to take  a triple boggie suggests that I’m faking it. In addition to insulting me (I’m used to that) he questions my integrity!  First time in 60 years.  When you are getting ready to putt a 30 footer for a 7 on the easiest par 4 on the course is it reasonable to expect deep concentration and careful execution. I think not. Of course he never takes a triple because when he gets to a double he picks up the ball and heads to the next tee.

On Sunday we played couples golf with Rick and  Valerie Doyle on the condition that I sign a release promising them that I wouldn’t name them in a “Dear Jim” letter. Of course I promised. What choice did I have? He is worse than me if that is possible but I’m not allowed to comment on that.

We have four of us who play twice a week. One of the members, who will remain nameless (Glenn Rourke), hasn’t played with us since last September. He always calls in with a conflict. I hear he has played with most of the members of the Bag Shop and his next game is with a few locker room attendants. He insists he is still a  member of the group! He keeps asking for my travel schedule.

At the Centennial where we are all supposed to stay for dinner at a team table my group wants to get home early to watch the weekend version of Wheel of Fortune so I will be at a table for two. This black tie event in high heat and humidity with ear splitting music and 400 people in a room built to accommodate 250  has always been a favorite of mine and I look forward to next years dinner/dance as soon as the current one is over.

The good news is that it is going to rain all weekend.

See you at your daughter’s wedding on Saturday. I asked her if she could move it to next weekend because I wanted  to get a new weed whacker that is on sale this weekend only. She wasn’t amused.

By the way , as Master of Ceremonies,  your instructions of no bad language, no making fun of people, no insulting comments and 90 seconds to speak have been taken in to account. I’ve now got my comments down to a barn burning 30 minutes and there won’t be a dry eye in the house when I tell them the stories of our travels together in the 70’s.

Bill

Letters to Jim: What a stupid sport!

Dear Jim:

My old swing came back! There I was on the Front nine of the Blue course whacking the ball here there and everywhere and suddenly it happened. Pars, birdie and bogeys…no doubles or worse yet triples.

I said to my old swing, “Where have you been? I missed you! I never gave up on you however as I knew that you would be back. All my friends told me so between snickers and rolling eyes. I want you to know I never said anything bad about you and believed in you all during the 2 years you were away. I love you, old swing.”

As I went by the Pro shop after nine I stuck my head in and shouted, “cancel all my lessons…no longer needed…my old swing, my buddy, greatest friend ever is back”.

Now you can see this coming from a mile away can’t you? I shot 42 on the front and 54 on the back nine. My second shot on the 10^th hole went in the water and I put down a 7..my first shot on the 11^th went in to a trap that I couldn’t get out of…and on and on. My new swing, version 22, was back with all the insecurities that only a new swing can inflict. I hate my old swing for showing up and then leaving me just when I needed it most.

If it comes back again I’m going to say “screw you and the horse you rode in on, old swing. We are finished and I’m sticking with new swing version 23 currently under construction.”

Someone sent me this analysis yesterday

"The stages of golf are Sudden Collapse, Radical Change, Complete Frustration, Slow Improvement, Brief Mastery, and Sudden Collapse."

Oh well, at least I can look forward to work this summer to keep my mind off this stupid sport.

Bill

Letters to Jim: And the winners are..

Dear Jim:

So yesterday our team won the Presidents Prize by 4 strokes playing on the more difficult of our two courses. When the Club President read my name, he and everyone who has seen me play this year had a puzzled look on their faces and wondered if there was a typo. As you know I haven’t broken 100 in a string of games that would make the very first time I played golf 30 years ago the best score of the year. I have a new swing that works from time to time but I have a very bad attitude that revolves around my deep hatred for the game of golf.
How did this happen, you ask. Well I was with new team members for the most part because my regular team, having seen my game recently all had headaches or sudden obligations that required them to play with other Bozos and I was on my own.
On the first tee, following my drive, I heard “Holly Crap” what was that. On the second hole when I was lying 5 and they hadn’t hit their second shot yet (I know you think I’m exaggerating but I’m not) I saw the beginning of anxiety on their faces. When I three putted from 4 feet on a hole where I had two shots they were in full panic.
If you are playing a tournament where four players are counting two balls you need all four guys to contribute. If one of the players is clearly out of control the pressure mounts on the remaining three to be careful because there is only one ball that can be screwed up on each hole. As a result the concentration caused by fear and panic of looking like morons to their regular colleagues produces great golf.
My contribution therefore was not related to golf but to forcing the team to really stay focused on every shot. Who knew?
 I will proudly display my winnings in the house and tell everyone who will listen about our team’s domination of this event. Only you know the real truth and you need to keep it quiet. This could change everything as teams look to find hackers to fill out their team to gain an edge.
Bill

Letters to Jim: Golf just keeps getting better and better

Dear Jim:
 
Jim,  the new season has begun and I can't believe how much I still hate this game.

First, those of you who said, "relax, it comes back" are full of Shit.
I've changed my grips, my shafts and my heads. I’ve changed my putter for a
new hydrafloppy power mesh backup tweaker model. New cleats on my shoes, new socks, new glove.

I even found a new Golf Pro who has dismissed the 50,000 swings I have taken under other Pro's over the past 15 years and given me 16 brand new swing thoughts that will change my life. It is going to take up to 3 years before it all falls in to place but every monday at 5pm you can see me thrashing away at the range.

I have discovered a new mathematical equation. The number of ways you can think of to kill yourself is directly proportional to the number of suggestions your wife offers during Sunday golf.

My last three games have been 96,94,95 and my handicap is climbing like spaceship Endeavour. I am now in the position where I can only play with another member once so it won't be long before my games will all be with guests!

The only theory that makes sense is that my new exercise program has destroyed the muscle memory of my fabulous swing of days gone by.

I did get the distinct feeling that a lot of peole are enjoying my pain. This is known as Schadenfreude or the pleasure derived from observing the misery of others. I actually have made this my main source of glee in other aspects of my life so I understand and forgive you all.

The one really good thing is that I no longer have to think about investing $100k in a golf membership in Florida. Who would want to do this 12 months a year?

Regards,

Bill

Letters to Jim: The golf game begins anew.

 Dear Jim:

In answer to the basic question, “ Is your game back?” I would have to say yes…it is back to about 1984.  I think that I must be facing death and this is clearly the “flashing before your eyes” that is reported to occur at the end.

At any rate, based on the suggestions I have been receiving I now have proof positive that there are more horse’s asses than there are horses.People have suggested I focus on the entire golf club experience and not just on the whacking of balls. In that spirit, I have discovered that I’m very good at showering. It also seems that applying talcum powder without making a mess is a skill worth bragging about. This was a good suggestion

I have discovered an enemy at the club…. it is youth! Young, fit guys with six packs and a beautiful partner on their arms should not be allowed to call you “sir”. It is demeaning and an obvious attempt to intimidate. In fact the whole raft of new members who are golfing up a storm is a problem. We need to recruit new members who don’t golf. What’s wrong with limiting new members for the next two years to swimming pool party types? Lets think out of the box.

Yesterday I discovered that when you are about to clobber someone with an errant ball your are supposed to say “ um…excuse me…Fore…I do say FORE!” This is another piece of BS that is theoretical only and in practice saying “Fore” doesn’t even remotely come in to your mind.

I was hitting my shot from under a tree with a three wood from the left rough on number four blue (yes it was my third shot). As the ball left my club I noticed that it was heading (sliced a tad I would say) directly at the wife of my friend who had asked us to play in the mixed-member. Shouting “fore” never entered my mind. My first shout was “ Holly Shit!” My second shout, much louder, was ”For Christ Sakes…DUCK!!”

Now, I couldn’t lie and say it was someone else because she saw the brand and ball number as it passed her face. I discovered several things in this incident. When someone is clearly in a state of shock humor probably isn’t appropriate. When I asked if she wanted me to drive to the clubhouse and get a change of underwear, none of the group was amused. Saying things like a “miss is as good as a mile” didn’t much cut it either. Asking, “ did you see where it landed?” didn’t bring a response either. The shock wore off after awhile and fortunately I was able to up and down, down for a six.

Lessons learned from this episode include, “ killing or maiming your friend’s wife during a game is probably not good and would ruin the whole match” On the other hand it would make a hell of a bar story. Also fairly clear is that when someone calls you an asshole more than three times in one minute it is probably not a term of endearment. I don’t think she will walk ahead of me again.

 In summary it is not going well on the golf front. Our new golf pro, Colin, has disowned me. Yesterday at the range I called to him as he passed by and asked him how he liked this shot. Without looking up he said, “Great Bob, keep it up”. Standing beside me was Ted Fletcher who also asked Colin to take a quick look at something in his swing. 10 minutes later, complete with a slow motion color video under his arm along with anatomical sketches in 3D, Ted said “thanks” and Colin moved on.

For those of you who are able to fake your sincerity in concern for my general state of emotional health, thank you for your comments. This is the last of Bill Meder.

Bill Meder

Letters to Jim: A medical update

Dear Jim:

Well, one month after my Green Light Laser procedure as advertised I am back to my old self and ready to rock and roll. It is a good thing as two weeks ago I was only able to stop from shooting myself by lying in the fetal position holding on to myself with both hands.

As you can imagine this greatly limited my social life and there aren’t many restaurants that are comfortable serving you when you are in that position.

This was certainly a case of misleading advertising at best and anyone contemplating this procedure should call me for the facts.  At the end of the day I learned some things about myself that are disturbing.

I am clearly a Wuss. As I moaned and groaned and leaned on my friends for pity I discovered that my pain threshold is non existent. If anything serious ever happens to me I’m toast. I also found out that everyone I talked to have much bigger problems that they are dealing with and aren’t whimpering in public. How weird is that?

Now you know there are some of my friends who are built tough. They bang in to a tree skiing at 100km/hour and rip off their arm and just pick it up and have it sown back on by the on duty doctor at the bottom of the hill. They then ski for the rest of the day and never mention it. These guys are well known and I’m not surprised.

What does surprise me is the number of people who never complain about anything. How can that be any fun? Self pity has always been a big motivator for me and having others feel sorry for me is the icing on the cake.

At any rate, here I am, full of beans and ready to resume life as I knew it. The good news is that I can’t exercise for two months and that has given me a lot more time to savor an extra donut at breakfast. I don’t have a muscle left in my body and a sudden stop involves a lot of wiggling and jiggling in places I didn’t even know about.

Another few weeks and I will be back to my boyish figure and looking for trouble.

I will keep you posted.

Bill Meder

Letters to Jim: A Mexican holiday

Dear Jim:

Well, as you have probably heard Sally and I decided (I was pushed) to go to Mexico to try an all-inclusive week on the Mayan Riviera. I went with very low expectations and was I ever surprised.

First of all, as you know we haven’t stayed in a hotel in the Caribbean for 20 years, either renting a villa or mooching off friends. Seems that during that time the resorts decided to upscale their offerings such that what I once considered luxurious is now the standard for poor people. The places I thought were great from my past are now $1500 per night but don’t worry, there are no vacancies till next year so Mexico becomes your default option anyway.

Although the resort was first class in every way the people at it were mainly bozo’s or like you, were from Antigonish in the Maritimes. Actually, that’s a little harsh. There were some smart people there. Out of the 960 guests there were two people we enjoyed talking to. Unfortunately they couldn’t speak English so our encounter was brief. Now I don’t like to make comments on physical appearance but strangely most of the people were huge way beyond any description that I could articulate.

When we checked in to the resort I asked what the capacity of the hotel was. The clerk said, on check-in the capacity was about 200,000 pounds and on check out about 220,000 pounds. All their calculations for staff and food service were based on this metric.

The beach was magnificent except when there were two or three people walking ahead of you and the sun was sometimes blocked out.

The bathing suits on the women were for picture taking but I didn’t have the courage to get close. I could outrun most of them but I remember when I was in Africa they told us that the hippopotamus was really, really fast for a short distance so I wasn’t taking chances.

I can just see the designer from “Omar the Tent Maker” (Bathing Suit Division) showing his latest collection. “Here we have a snappy number with a 60 inch waist and the fabric on the top section will allow for a pair of 42 D’s to rest comfortably on the second roll.” Fabulous, make 10,000 copies and send them to all the all-inclusive resorts in Mexico.

The men dressed much differently. Blue Jeans with a Harley Davidson T-Shirt and a pack of cigs rolled up in the arm were pretty common. The ones who really dressed up had collars on their shirts and some even tucked them in. I had no tattoo credentials so I didn’t fit in around the bar. Next year I’m going for one of those big snakes up my leg and over my shoulder just like the guys from Calgary were wearing.

Mexico, my new favorite place and by the way we didn’t get sick there at all. Sally has been in bed for two days with a raging fever and things flying out of her body in all directions since we got home but I’m fine. So for me Mexico is fabulous.

Bill Meder

Letters to Jim: The operation was a "success"

Dear Jim:

I know your sister is a Nun and probably talks to God fairly often. I don’t know if he has a suggestion box but here is a sure fire winner for Nun of the month. Get some decent Quality Control processes in place. If I was a car, the recall record would have put the company out of business long ago.  Parts that are critical for the basic operation of the body are failing at alarming rates and early i.e. just when you need them most and pieces that you have no use for are good for 100 years and more.

All this to say in introduction to your “how is it going?” question.

I’ve learned another bloody lesson. When they told me that Green Light laser surgery for the prostate was a simple daytime procedure, they meant it is simple for them. No muss no fuss. Chop him up, hose him down (they forgot that part with me) and send him home. Now I got that simple part and unfortunately that’s where I stopped investigating. It’s like reading the small print in your Travel Insurance. You have to do it or you could be in deep dippy doo.

What they really meant to say was this is a simple little job and oh by the way, with a recovery that will make you cry for your Mommy nonstop for weeks to come. Let me see if I can describe this for you.

Picture you are skiing and you drink 32 ounces of soft drinks or 6 beer and then jump on the Tram with 100 other people. Half way down the hill the Tram suffers a power failure. 30 minutes later, nothing, one hour later still there. 2 hours on you are still trapped in place. Now can you imagine the urgency you are feeling as you hop from foot to foot? Try and capture that thought and then imagine having that sensation every waking moment for two weeks with the promise that there are another two to four weeks left!

This morning as I was trying to get a hand grip on the railing for the Jacques Cartier Bridge to lift myself over the edge I suddenly decided to go to the hospital for a reality check just in case there was some hope that I was missing.

"So I need to go ever 5 minutes!," I scream at the Nurses and any Doctors within earshot.

I arrive at the hospital at 10am and they say go over there and let’s do a flow scan. I didn’t have to go!

I then drank 500ml of water, 500ml of coke, a coffee, another 500ml of water and walked up and down the hallway. At 12.30pm I was able to dribble enough liquid to use for testing for infections. A little chat with the Doc and I was on my way. I had to stop 4 times to run in to a restaurant or garage on the way home. Even now at 4pm I’m still sloshing around.

I have read every blog on this subject. I have consulted with Doctors, Nurses and on-line support groups. I can tell you without fear of contradiction that if Jonas Salk or Sir Frederick  Banting came back to life and wanted to work in Urology they would consult me for all of their work.

The bottom line is that this is a procedure that you WOULD recommend to your worst enemy. So if you know someone you really hate send him over to me for reference and I will put a smile on your face. In the meantime if you get a little peeved at my being I a little irritable talking to you on the phone it is nothing compared to the hell I’m going to have to pay for chewing the end off of the sofa this afternoon.

I’ll keep you posted. If I live, I could be committed and unavailable except for weekend visits. Come often.

Bill Meder

Letters to Jim: Golf at its best

Dear Jim:

I have had many requests for an update on my golf status since my Katrina like experience of last year.  And, no, it didn’t come back. I finished the season hacking and chopping my way around the Black course with a bag over my head, usually playing alone in the late evening. 2007 however is a new game.

January approached with the prospect of golf in Barbados and Florida looming ahead. Jeff was teaching at the Dome in Beaconsfield and with the same effort needed to book a hip replacement I was able to get him committed to fixing me up. A six iron is perfect for the  Dome and for ten weeks, several times a week, Jeff and I and the trusty precision camera, worked, hitting thousands of six irons. I would share the final videos with you but they have been forwarded to Augustine, Florida to the Golf Hall of Fame exhibit where Jeff will be receiving a lifetime achievement award later this fall.

 Perfect doesn’t describe it. From any angle and any criteria these were the finest six irons you could imagine. Here I come ready or not!

I lost 46 balls in Barbados in three games. It seems the six iron is not required on many holes on the Royal Westmoreland Course and my new, new swing doesn’t apply to any other clubs I currently own. We won’t be going back to Barbados for a long long time I’m sad to say as my picture has been posted in the pro shop with  “call 911 if spotted” instructions.

 Armed with my new swing for all clubs other than the six and my new, new swing for my six iron and my old swing that keeps visiting for old times sake I headed off to Florida. It’s not that I don’t like playing in Florida it’s just that we have run out of friends who can/will take us their club. Playing the public links is not that great and after three rounds I shipped my clubs home by Fed Ex in a plain brown wrapping, not wanting to be seen with them during the trip home.

Back to RMCG. After a painful session with most of the staff it was pointed out to me that the Clubs I bought two years ago are clearly intended for “range use only. ”Says so right there in the fine print. Ah Ha says I. New equipment!

This Thursday I hit balls with my driver and every driver in inventory at the club under the watchful eye of Jeff and Paul using the new radar equipped, GPS empowered, super duper measuring device that tells you everything that is happening to your ball. A complete statistical analysis is provided every 5 minutes so you can compute the square root of the clubface and other useful information in real time.  I hit for two hours. Now I don’t know if you have any idea how many drives you can hit in two hours but the last few were hit on my knees with the club firmly clenched between my teeth. I’m still having trouble making a fist two days later.

We picked one that is way better than my old one. I can get an extra 7 yards with the new one if I hit it right on the sweet spot. Cost $ 500. With 20 games this year that’s an extra 140 yards or $ 3.50 per yard. Sounds like it fits my investment criteria so lets go.

Saturday morning, new weapon in hand, one drive out of 14. I’m told, between snickers, to be patient so after they refinish the driver I’m going back at it.

Now to do every club in my bag this is going to take another 28 hours of hitting balls with the machine. I should be totally equipped some time in late August. I will give you the final results which I’m sure will be spectacular. ( Jeff will not be available for lessons in August since he has booked a one month Mediterranean cruise on a private yacht so I have to be finished by then.)

P. S. Recently, I have seen several people at the club with what looks like my new new swing. I discovered that like the decorator who sells the same chandelier to all his clients, Jeff is bootlegging my swing to new customers. I want you to know that I consider this swing Intellectual Property and there could be copy write issues. Consider yourselves warned.

Bill Meder

Letters to Jim: A speach to a room full of golf nuts.

Dear Jim:

Here is the talk I recently gave at my golf club.

Back in early February, our captain called me to see if I would speak at this dinner. “What could I possibly have to say?” I said, in a desperate scramble to get off the phone. “Why not talk about your love of Golf was the immediate suggestion? Hmm… I hadn’t really thought about love and Golf in the same sentence before.

What have speakers done before me? He said that the previous speakers were all smart guys who skipped several grades in school and spoke without notes for 25 minutes and were hilarious.

 I wondered if David would be impressed that the only reason  I finally  got promoted out of grade 6 was  because I had gotten too big for  the little desks and I  had spent 3 years in Grade 10.

Now, it seems to me that  everything funny that could be said about golf has already been said a gazillion times.

So I decided that I could probably say a few words in a respectful and thoughtful way that paid tribute to all of you and your love of this great game.

OK, how hard could this be I thought?

Sitting with a blank piece of paper in front of me I started out recording the things I like best about Golf.

I like buying golf clothes and I like getting my locker ready in the springtime.

First thing in the morning I really like driving at high speed down Ridge road , blowing past the stop sign at the pool.

 I like getting on my shoes and fiddling with sun tan cream, hats, gloves and all that stuff.

I enjoy walking in to the pro shop for a little banter with the team and taking a couple of hundred tees out of Bob’s secret drawer.

 I like saying hello to everyone around the putting green and hitting a few warm up shots.

Checking in with the starter and finding out who is responsible for the flag flying at half-mast this week is also part of the ritual. 

When I come in from walking 18 holes, I think, taking off your golf shoes is one of the great pleasures of life.

A few peanuts, chit chats in the 19^th hole and off to the showers and fresh as a daisy drive home for a summer dinner on the deck. What a Great Life! Golf is wonderful.

Reviewing my notes I noticed something missing and then it dawned on me.  

I love everything about Golf except the game itself.

Now there is clearly something wrong with me since I know that all of you are absolutely crazy about the game and everything that goes with it.

It is frightening to think that I hate Golf. My wife tells me that I am going to spend the rest of my life having it as my only activity!

After some deep reflection the only explanation I can come up with is that I’m kind of a logical guy and I like things that are easy to understand.  With Golf many many things just make no sense.

I’m talking about questions like these:

How is it possible that after 35 years of golf I still have the same handicap I started with?  Name one other sport where you can not get better no matter how much you practice, how many lessons you take, how much you improve your fitness, and invest thousands in yearly upgrades to technology. It makes no sense.

People who go to Florida and golf all winter come back with the same handicap they left with. People who stay in Montreal and ski every weekend start the season with same handicap they left with. How is that possible?

How is that in any other activity in life, lessons build on each other and you develop a deep understanding of whatever you are trying to do? A golf lesson has a shelf life of about 48 hours before every last shred of new knowledge has completely dissipated. What part of the brain is so screwed up that it handles this particular activity in such an inefficient manner?

I recently completed a one week total immersion golf school in Florida. At the end of the week one third of the instructors committed suicide. The other two thirds were so depressed they couldn’t deal with the dead.

Is there any other sport where the harder you try to hit the ball the shorter the distance it travels?

Why does the way you hit the ball on the practice range before you play bear no relationship to the way you hit the ball in the game? It doesn’t make sense.

The  ball NEVER goes where you want it to go and ALWAYS goes where you  don’t want it to go.  This is ridiculous.

Wouldn’t the law of averages say that a ball that bounces near the green would occasionally go on to the green? Never! How is that possible?

Why does it stop raining as soon as you put on all your rain gear?  Always!

How do the slowest players at the club always get the starting time just before yours? Do they do it deliberately? They must. There is no other explanation.

Why do people shout, “ I never do that” when they just did it? I don’t get it.

I love golf tournaments. How is it possible that your partner always shoots at least 10 shots over his handicap and the team you are playing against has the game of their lives?

Why is it that when you play a bad game you feel terrible for several days but when you play a good game you only feel good for two hours?

How is it that some men can take their wives out for an afternoon golf game and claim to enjoy it?  What could possibly cause so many good people to lie like that?

I can tell you that if there is a lot of this in my future I will be wearing a “do not revive” bracelet and praying that I get  hit by lightening.

If that doesn’t work I suspect firearms will play a significant role in my future.

I know I’m not the only one who feels this way. Goggle “faking your own death” and you will see that all the ads that pop up are related to couples’ golf!

How can so many  grown men with above average IQ’s, hit a golf ball and then start shouting instructions at it? Don’t they realize they are talking to a ball for goodness sakes?

How is that people who are stone deaf in the 19^th hole where you have to repeat every sentence three times before they can hear what you are saying, be standing over their ball 50 yards away and be bothered by your whisper to another player?

These same people are bothered by every little thing. “ Did you hear that noise in the woods? Was it a duck? What’s that smell?

Isn’t it obvious that you, “ hit it fat, hit it thin, hit it in the water, topped it, sliced it, pushed the putt, pulled the putt or whatever?” Why does everyone find it necessary to announce to the group what they just did? We saw you for god’s sake! And further more we don’t care!

And if all that wasn’t enough, there are mean people associated with every aspect of the game. For example, think of the guy building the course. He puts in several acres of sand in a fairway bunker and just as he is leaving he thinks…hmmm I think what this trap needs is a 12 inch lip right here.

Why is it that every day one category of your equipment, but never more than one, is working beautifully, Your irons, your woods, your  putter, are like complete strangers from different cultures. Wouldn’t you think that from time to time they would all respond to the same tempo, swing, weather etc and work the same?

Do you notice that you personalize your equipment? As I’ve gotten older, my driver, for example,  reminds me of my penis. I don’t take it out much any more and when I do get my hands on it…I don’t know..it just doesn’t’ feel the way it used too. I do have fond memories however of when it was my favorite and often think of how much I enjoyed using it.

And don’t even think of using Viagra if that’s what you’re thinking. Viagra lasts a long time in your system. One thing that will throw off your game every time is  the arrival of an unexpected boner!

How ridiculous is the custom equipment craze? First they had radar equipment to test your woods with launch angles and such. Then shaft analysis required you to get new irons. This year it seems that your ball spin needs to be studied so that you get the right spin ratios.

 I’m really looking forward to calling the pro shop and asking to have my balls fitted.

Oh yes. You have to be careful what you say when you are discussing golf. When I came in tonight I said to our grounds keeper that we  wouldn’t be able to play because it was freezing cold and there was still  snow on the course. He replied,” don’t worry, we will be able to play anyway” I said “will we have to paint our balls black?” “ Oh no” he said, “that won’t be necessary, just wear an extra pair of shorts and you will be fine.”

Even on the golf course every word has to be well thought out. When you say to your best friend’s wife “ Bend over, keep your head down and spread your legs a little further apart, loosen your grip a bit and now just slide it gently in to the hole” you had better be sure he knows you are just trying to be helpful.

People who don’t play golf hear all of this and think you  need prompt medical attention.

Of Course, an obvious benefit is that If you are one of those people who really, really, really  like this game, when you become Senile no one will know.

Someone said that Golf is a game that needlessly prolongs the life of some of our most useless citizens. 

At any rate,  isn’t it possible that Golf is God’s idea of a  practical joke?

As I continued to write down my thoughts I couldn’t help but think that I was missing something. All of you can’t be wrong. As I analyzed the excitement I feel about the upcoming season I realized that I can’t think of anything I would rather be doing!

Bill Meder

Letters to Jim: Taking the kids to Disneyland

Dear Jim:

The golf season is calling me and I can't promise you I will ever write you about it but I had to tell you about my inspired trip to Disneyland in California with my four-year-old Grand daughter. I picked up some valuable tips that you need to tuck away for the time when you decide to do this most enjoyable, one time only, unforgettable, trip of a lifetime.

First I need to warn you that if you don't really care for kids this is probably not the best choice for a vacation day.

As you know Disneyland is much different than Disneyworld in Orlando. If you live in LA you can do a day trip quite easily. The first thing you will notice is that the highway traffic is bumper to bumper although you will be traveling 80 MPH. When you have no idea where you are going this gives you that little extra shot of adrenalin early in the day that you are going to need…big time.

If you think because you exercise 4 days a week you are in shape to take a four year old to Disneyland for 8 hours in 100 degree heat with a cloudless sky and solid, black asphalt covering every square, unsheltered, centimeter, think again. Unless you are running a marathon every Saturday and can bench press 250 lbs you need help. Initially Sally and I were going to take Georgia alone but a discussion with my daughter resulted in her joining us. We needed all three of us and I would say that that is a good ratio to keep in mind. Actually to really be on the safe side you need 4 adults per four year old.

As Sally and I were preparing to leave, Jennifer told me to be careful that no one grabbed Georgia as kids disappear there all the time. Right…..just hold that thought for 8 hours I say to myself. You remember when I lost Robert in the Fairview Mall when he was four. No panic, I just waited till the Mall was closing and sure enough there he was wandering around having a great time. No biggie…. I didn't even tell his Mother!

Now if you lose a Grandchild it is clear to me that the only response is a dash for the border with the hope that you can buy a new identity from a drug cartel member and disappear forever.

Not being able to find handcuffs small enough or a rope suitable for attaching myself to Georgia I insisted that Jennifer come with us. Good thing as the three of us could barely handle the job.

The first thing you notice at Disneyland is a loud sucking noise as you approach the parking garage. This is not equipment related to fun but a monster vacuum that takes money out of your pocket faster than anything you have ever experienced.

The second thing you notice is a lot of Mexicans. Now you know some of my best friends are Mexicans but I'm sending a letter to congress telling them to stop wasting money on building a fence. If they had buses at the exit to Disneyland, in about three months there wouldn't be an illegal alien left in California.

This crowd is different than Disneyworld where cutting in line might provoke a verbal challenge from a fairly snooty looking North Easterner. The Disneyland  group on the other hand  looks like they would be very,very good in a knife fight. So no cutting in line would be my strong recommendation even if you were able to arm yourself.

Not wanting to be impolite but it seems that the American woman who goes to Disneyland brings new definition to the term " El Grande". Now I 'm looking at all these rides built in the 50's when the average weight of a woman was around 125 lbs. I only saw a couple of women in that range and the rest were pushing 250lbs if I were generous in my estimation. I'm watching the Dumbo ride as the arms of the baskets are groaning and bending under the strain. Mark my words; another couple of years of this and there is going to be a big disaster here. ( For similar reasons ,stay away from the bumper cars!)

The ride ritual goes like this. Thirty minutes of waiting in the sun (feels like 2 hours) and just as you are about to collapse you get a two-minute ride. You will find you are in terror at the end of the ride if your Grandchild liked it because you will be wincing at hearing  the word " again!".

The highlight of the day was waiting one hour to see Snow White and a couple of other babes in what is billed as some" personal time with the princesses". . Now here is an important tip. Apparently attempting to French kiss Snow White will bring security running hard, every time. I didn't see that coming.  I thought they could have spelled out better what personal time meant because after an hour in the sun you really want to connect with the activity. Georgia loved this part and I will send you the pictures of me sitting on Snow White's lap while she told me a story.

Here is another not so obvious tip. I hate sticky hands. Do not, in 100 degree heat or in fact under any circumstances buy your grandchild cotton candy which is eaten with both hands, up to the elbows followed by excessive licking and running of hands through hair, clothes and a special hug for Grandpa. The sticking power of that spun sugar baked in the sun would destroy the makers of super glue if it ever became common knowledge.

At any rate, Jim, it was a fabulous trip…8 hours non-stop, no place to sit down, and although we were on hands and knees  the last 100 yards we got  to the car in one piece and took off for the 2 hour drive through rush hour.  It was worth it. It was so good that I am telling everyone I can think of to do it. Heh Heh…..

Oh yes, I think Georgia liked it because she said I could come back for her 5th birthday if the newly renovated Small World is open.  Otherwise , "stay home!"

All the best,

Letters to Jim: A trip to Florida

Dear Jim:

Well I got back from Florida last night wondering why I had looked forward to going so much.  Despite all the hospitality everyone showed us  there is no question that I’m not  ready for Florida yet. Don’t get me wrong. Some of my best friends are Floridians! I think not being there all the time makes the difference as being a short timer seems to accentuate some of the quirks that  I never hear any of my friends talk about .

Driving is really a hoot. There are cars on the road that you have to stay far far away from. These are cars that appear to be moving along without a driver. Actually  there are little old men behind the wheel. You look for the telltale hairy ears sticking out of  either side of the headrest and that’s the signal to steer clear.

You need to carry a sharp stick in the car. This is so your partner  can stick it in your ribs to wake you up after a five minute traffic light. Waiting at traffic lights is one of the main activities in Florida and explains why people always say  “ I don’t know what I do all day but I’m busy all the time.”

A lot of type A executives end up in Naples. Those that  have recently  retired are roaring around at high speed, turning right on red lights without slowing down and generally can be identified by how close they are driving up the rear of some poor 91 year old. Gradually, they slow down and become like the rest of the population careful not to exceed the 30mph limit…anywhere.

Every morning, you wake up and attach your wife to your hip for the “walk”. You can see the couples by the hundreds. Those who need hip replacements are weaving side to side. The ones using Walkers try to stay to the right. Usually the women are walking just a little bit faster than the man.  The men aren’t saying a word and the wives are babbling on to them about Grandchildren or some shopping extravaganza. I am convinced this daily ritual alone accounts for the high number of assisted suicide requests found in Florida.

And by the way, I’m here to predict that  the Florida custom of never having your spouse leave your sight 7/24 is unlikely to catch on anywhere else.

You keep telling me to buy a place and I finally called a real estate agent for Bonita Bay.

“Hi, I’m looking for a condo in Bonita.”

“Great, what area are you thinking about?”, says the agent.

“The Sanctuary interests me”

“What street would you like to be on?”

“ Memory Lane"

“North or south side of the street?”

“North is good”

“What price range?”

“$500 to $525k tops?”

“How many days are you here?

“5”

“OK, if you can start before 8AM every day for the next 5 days we can show you most of what is available in the Sanctuary  on the North side of Memory Lane in that price range.”

Boy, I don’t know if it  isn’t a little early to be buying but the agent assured me again for the third year in a row that this was the perfect time and she really knows her stuff.

Golf in Florida has some strange features. You spend $ 175k to join a club, $12k per year for dues, $20 for “trail fees” (read golf cart) and when you are finished your round some goof ball is waiting with a dirty rag to wipe your clubs and you give him $2-$3 dollars out of your pocket. Go figure!

 Fortunately my friends all left Florida when I announced my dates so I was only able to organize a couple of games. This saved me tons of money! 

Have fun for the rest of the season in Florida and be careful on the migration drive home.

Bill Meder

Letters to Jim: The kids return for another visit

Dear Jim:

The Grandkids have just left and although it was advertised as a quick visit of only 6 days I could pass a lie detector exam claiming it was at least a month.

Now I know that some people think it is terrible to be critical of those little sweeties called Grandchildren especially when they are yours. These people (mostly women I’m afraid) are just plain crazy. There is no other explanation for the oooing and ahahing that goes on during these encounters. This is brutal work for any normal person. At one point, when the door bell rang  I was hoping it was a Home Invasion where the guy would shoot me when I opened the door. I’m experienced at this however and I decided this year to have a plan.

My first brilliant idea was to go tobogganing on a real hill near the house. I can summarize the experience by saying I lost my tobogganing license and have been declared a dangerous offender by my entire family. I shoved my 7 year old in a flying saucer (and I emphasize flying) down a bumpy part of the hill and she flew out of the sled halfway down and landed on her face. Now I think that’s part of the fun. Bleeding nose, scrape on a cheek…what the heck...no one was killed. What’s the big deal? As the sobbing continued I was instructed to send the 4 year old down from the half way point. No way, says I and from the top, lets’ go. I forgot to tell him to hold on and he and the saucer parted company at about 20 MPH over a rather large bump (think jump). He scraped his side pretty good and got snow up his clothes and in all kinds of uncomfortable places. So with two sobbing kids, screaming that Grandpa pushed them, we headed back to the car and home. Wife and daughter didn’t talk to me for two days which was a kind of bonus but I had planned to do this every day of the visit so you can imagine my disappointment.

Skating wasn’t much better. After buying all the equipment I then found out that the 4 year old can’t stand up on skates. This seemed like information that could have been provided in advance.

I made arrangements to get the 7 year old and me a special spot for the Cirque du Soleil show at the Bell Center. We had to dodge the sweat coming from the trapeze artists, we were so close. After the first Act, Georgia informed me that she had a friend at school who could do that! After 20 minutes she told me she wanted to go home and get something to eat. Since she was holding $50 of popcorn, Doritos, jube jubes, chocolate bars and a 60 ounce soft drink I found myself confused. I held on for two more acts and then she insisted on leaving. At least getting out of the parking lot was easy as there was no one else in the entire garage when we left. No one mentioned this outing for the entire visit although I had planned it to be the highlight of the visit.

The kids are fascinated by the cat which doesn’t share the same interest and can’t keep their hands off of it. The cat was last seen climbing the large indoor  tree and hiding under the leaves. Now that the kids are gone the expression “Nervous as a Cat” takes on new meaning as the slightest noise produces a look of fear that could be sold to Disney if I could hold her down long enough to capture it. We may have to replace the Cat!

As my 4 year old watched Scooby Doo he reached over to place a 10 ounce glass of milk on the coffee table without taking his eyes off the TV. He missed the table by six inches and you would be amazed at how much area can be covered by one small glass of milk. He got some on his robe which he whipped off without taking his eyes off the TV and handed it to me and told me to put it in the laundry. Who made the rule that you aren’t allowed to hit kids? My parents would have done 4 rounds with me, bare knuckled, for this. I wasn’t allowed to say anything because I would have interrupted the movie!

As you know we just installed a new kitchen. I was a little nervous by all the activity and toy throwing in the general area. I’m pleased to report that riding a bicycle at high speed in to the island only caused minimal damage and if the painter can match the original colors we will hardly notice. Why was someone riding a bike in the house you ask? Well, he is only 4 years old…what do you expect?

This week (and I’m not making this up) we have a plumber, carpenter, painter and handyman coming in to make temporary repairs. The cleaning lady arrived this morning and announced that she would have to cancel her other clients for the rest of the week.

Time to take them to the airport and I can tell you I had them there 4 hours before flight time. There was no way they were going to miss that flight.

Oh, and I shouldn’t forget to say…I really missed them this morning!

Bill Meder