Mr. Fix It.

Dear Jim:

Since I was 20 years old I have successfully ensured that I would never have to fix anything around the house by delegating all responsibility for making things work  to Sally. I don’t know if we have any tools and if we do I don’t know where they are. I considered giving Sally a jig saw that had caught her eye  for her birthday last year but at the last moment  gave her an array of screw drivers instead which she was thrilled with.

So here it is, 10.30 am Saturday with nothing to do. Sally is at the Hospital Gift Shop fooling around with inventory and making like Bonny Brooks running the Bay.

I look over at the gas fireplace which hasn’t been turned on yet  for the season so I figure I will get it going. Never having done it before I get down on the floor and play with the controls getting the pilot light going.  Not as easy as one would think but doable. Next , over to the thermostat  to start the fire. Nothing!

My immediate conclusion is that the thermostat is broken. For someone of my technical aptitude this is a piece of cake,  I can easily replace this before lunch. Where are the screw drivers? I remove the thermostat cover and look at the wires. Wiggle the wires and one breaks off. No problem, just need to strip the cover off the wire and reattach. Tiny little wire. Hard to strip the coating off. I will have to buy some more wire and splice it.

 I unscrew the plate and disconnect the remaining wire. Now I have the thermostat in my hand and off I go to get a new one.  So far I’m one hour in to the 5 minute job. The hole in the wall and the wires hanging down can probably be fixed with some plaster and a few coats of paint. I’ll bring in a handyman to clean that up.

I won’t bore you with the details but I went all over the island,  to Canadian Tire, Rona, Reno Depot and three lighting stores. Every bozo that works on his house goes to these stores on Saturaday’s and the parking lots are like manoevering  a bumper car ride at the circus.  No staff in any of them although I did finally find a teenager who probably lives in his parent’s basement and asked him where I could find “one of these”. Aisle 45 .here I come. Now I’m looking at 65 different thermostats made in Vietnam and none of them look anything like what I’m holding in my hand.  After about 30 minutes  I find one for $19.95 that looks like it would do the job. I’ll be back. Don’t want to waste $19.95 it it isn’t perfect.

Next stop the Internet and I find a fireplace store way off the island well on the road to Toronto. I drive out there through heavy traffic and construction. The clerk says my Thermostat was obsolete in 1995 and  sells me a $171 remote Thermostat that I can install in 5 minutes. Sounds good and home I go.  It’s now 4 pm and I haven’t had lunch yet.

First off, the clerk says that I have to disconnect the two wires on the control. I see 5 wires. And furthermore where do I connect the two wires to the remote. I disconnect all the wires and then reattach most of them.  I finally get it all hooked up and push the button. Nothing.

I phone the store and say “I just just bought the Gas Fireplace remote , are you the clerk who served me? Nope. Well please ask the 7 staff members which one served the  English Guy using sign language and Charade skills to explain what he needed to start his Gas Fireplace.  Thank you and  Bonjour to you too.

I said , look you need to send a service guy. He says that will  be $175 but before we do that why don’t you come back to the store and we will install the remote on one of my fireplaces and make sure it works. We close at 5pm…it is now 4.35 and I have to go out for dinner by 6.15pm but hang on I’m on my way.

I jump in to the car and assume the Formula 1 racing position and off I go weaving in and out of traffic. What was that Flash? Not Photo Radar surely? Hell, I’m only doing 90km/hr and I’m on a 4 lane  highway! Oops, that sign says this is a 70km/hr zone.  I’m going to  protest, it wasn’t me, maybe the licence plate is dirty, no way I’m paying $275.  With the remote, a service call and a ticket I’m now up to $621 to replace a $19.95 thermostat and my fireplace still doesn’t work.

I turn in to the parking lot at 4.55pm with smoke coming from all four wheels and race in to the store.

I say to the clerk I want to see exactly what he is doing so I lie down on my stomach in the middle of the showroom and assume the cobra postion and watch. First he turns on the pilot. Check.

Hey, hold it , what did you just do? He looks at me and says “once you have the pilot light going you have to turn on the gas!”

Regards,

Bill Meder

What you can't see is killing you.

Dear Jim:

I have finally concluded that the only thing that will save me is lessons with cameras..and lots of them. Not seeing things distorts your view of yourself. Let me explain how I came to this strategy.

When I  look in the mirror every morning I see a full head of slightly greying hair. Haven’t lost a strand to my knowledge..ever.

Now you have to understand that for 10 years I have been successfully combing my hair without leaving the back sticking up. This technique was many years in the making and I have been quite happy with the result.

Trying on clothes in a changing room at the Mall yesterday I happened to look in to the mirror behind me on the ceiling and to my horror I noticed a huge bald spot on the back of my head. Not a thinning spot, an actual spot with zero hair on it.

 No family member, friend or foe  has ever even hinted at  this.  Wouldn’t  you assume that someone would have sounded the alarm seeing this thing develop. I can tell you this didn’t happen overnight given the size and sheer horror  of it.

My barber stopped holding a mirror for my assessment of her skills many years ago..who knew it was to keep me from  discovering this developing blight on my sense of suaveness.?

 No wonder my hair didn’t stick up in the back…it was Gone!

I swear I would have died thinking I had kept all my hair until yesterday at 2.05 pm, a time and day I will never forget.  You need to see things!

 I am going to need counselling to get over this, if it is at all possible.

 At any rate, all to say that this is just a perfect example of why the Golf Pros haven't  let me have a lesson with the camera. They know if I see what is really going on there I am going to either recoil in a violent manner and collapse  or leave the club forever.

I want the truth and I want to see it up close and now, so get out the IMAX 3D camera and lets go.

The only thing holding me back is that it might be late in the season. My last game was a 108 on the blue! Impossible you say.

Well as you know the back 9 of our course has water on 6 holes. I have tried many different ball types and multiple brands.  None of them will rise more than 6 inches above the water regardless of the club I hit it with. Hard to imagine but after every shot the ball does exactly the same thing. 

 Wedge through 4 wood produces the same trajectory and resulting splash down. Take 6 holes, take a maximum  8 and voila the answer as to how a 108 is possible.

Don’t give up on me yet I did hit 3 good shots during that bad round and they were spectacular. I’ve got it….just not much of it.

I will keep you posted.

Bill Meder

Quit....Never!

Dear Jim:

Here is the latest.

I have done a deep dive on all the data available regarding my game., The courses, my attitude , hole by hole scoring analysis, hitting tendencies,  etc and have determined that  the following strategy could lead to  a return to glory .

If I can play from the Ladies Tees and hit my drive straight and then hit my next shot straight and then chip on to the green and if any putt under 6 feet is a gimme I have a 50/50 chance of getting a Bogey. Bogey golf would be just fine for me.

This  strategy however has serious flaws as you would quickly point out and before I started shaving my legs I figured I need to give it one more practical  shot..

To the shouts of  “Quitter” from family and friends I  finally agreed  to take a 1 ½ hour lesson with cameras and all the bells and whistles yesterday evening.

Now in 30 years of taking lessons I have never seen a Golf Pro cry.  I don’t mean moaning and groaning I mean tears streaming down the face accompanied by sobbing.

When we started I quickly  informed him that I couldn’t translate the “to do” action from my brain to my body.

“No Problemo, I have 50 exercises that will get you to do what I am telling you needs to get done. Lets go” Cameras, action!

Around idea 23, cracks were beginning to show and I heard a faint “useless twit” comment while I was addressing the ball. By number 35 and one hour in to the session we were both understandably tired and by now I am gripping my Driver with both hands and shouting to stand back and let me hit this f …er.

Total destruction occurred around idea 43 with both of us in a bath of perspiration and each instruction barked out with spittle flying farther than the ball.

Finally the pro took  his IPAD and began typing his letter of resignation from both the club and the PGA.  Pity, our relationship may remain strained for some time as he wouldn’t even let me drive him back to the club but chose to walk back instead, right down the middle of the range

First mistake…I know an hour and a half is a long lesson. When I finished it took two guys from the bag shop to pry my hands off the driver. The cramps in my fingers and hands made eating dinner with a knife and fork a non starter. As the evening wore on other parts of my body started to cramp up and by this morning I was just able to hold a toothbrush  with both hands. I wasn’t in much shape for my regular Sat game.  I won’t bother you with the blow by blow of that round but lets just say that 8 is my magic number. On the way home I bought  a Loto ticker with only 8’s and 7s in the number.

No, I am not making this up.  Now I am determined and  will put in more work next week. I will keep you posted. Tomorrow lucky me is playing with Sally who has a lot of good ideas on how I can improve and become a better person at the same time.

Bill Meder

Dear Jim: The Grandkids leave!

Hallelujah!  Many people think this word was derived in biblical times as part of some religious ceremony. Not true. It was originally coined long ago when two Grandparents waved goodbye to their daughter and Grandchildren after a 15-day, home visit.  As they turned to each other they spontaneously shouted, Hallelujah!

Religions everywhere adopted this proclamation as an expression of uncontrollable joy.

(You should know that there is no Male who is brave enough to acknowledge this out loud but I thought you should know this fun fact anyway. Be careful if you use it as women can be very hostile when the Grandchildren are concerned.)

The 9-year-old girl is a circus performer.  True. This means she has to do a handstand, back somersault and the splits over the family room furniture every 7 minutes or so to keep her flexibility. This can be unnerving if you are holding a hot tea in your hand or looking the other way when an unannounced performance begins.

She is also smarter than me and proved it over and over again.  This is a problem since I have long assumed that my experience would compensate for young and smart. Apparently, not so much.

She also remembers things that I didn’t even know needed remembering and filled in the blanks whenever I told a story about something that happened more than two years ago.

A clear and constant demonstration of the fact that we old types are doomed.

The 6 year old is a world-class negotiator. I didn’t win a single argument in 15 days. I’m thinking of taking him with me when I do my next deal. Relentless, and if the logic doesn’t get you the persistence will grind you to dust.

Getting the swimming pool up to 90 degrees allowed for a lot of fun. For the first time since 1986 I dove in to the pool head first with my long forgotten Dolphin technique. As I broke the surface I shook my head to flick the water out of my eyes. The resulting crack in my neck was so loud the birds all lifted out of the trees. I also discovered that you can swallow an awful lot of water before actually drowning.

As the visit progressed my need to be at the office increased dramatically. By the end, I was at the office by 6.45am and couldn’t make it home before 7pm. What is really amazing is that I have no work that anyone expects, wants or asks for but I was so busy I could hardly think straight.

We had a wonderful time although it did take Granny out of her comfort zone.  For the sake of saving a lot of words lets just say she looks like she just put her finger in a light socket. Total collapse may be avoided if I keep up the hot and cold compresses and don’t open the curtains for several days.

Next year they want to come for a month. I don’t know if that will fly however as at this moment Sally is trying to book a 3-week hike to Mount Everest base camp for the two of us next summer.

I have had the car power washed inside and out and it is now in for detailing. Our handyman will do most of our restoration and the furniture rebuilding can be handled locally. So all in all a very successful visit.

It is now on to golf again and one final attempt to get some pleasure from this stupid sport before winter sets in and I can start hitting balls indoors at the Dome.

I will keep you posted.

Bill Meder

P.S.  I miss the little guys already!

Centennial day 2

Dear Jim:

We are on the last hole of the tournament, 7 blue, a par 3 with a nasty pin placement. I stood on the tee, closed my eyes and whacked a hybrid as hard as I could and what do you know the ball is sitting 15 feet from the hole just on the fringe. All I have to do is sink this, get a birdie and we move in to money making mode. 

 If I screw this up my life will be ruined.

 The journey to this point had been one of the most unpleasant experiences of my life including several root canals and countless prostrate exams.

. My team had gone from concern and encouragement , to pity,accompanied by wincing and head shaking  and finally complete silence while covering their eyes while I hit.  They were taking bets on whether I would just drive off the course or announce that I would never play again.

 After the first 9 holes we were only 1 under, facing Armageddon.  The bulges in our pants were caused by wads of $50 bills we had brought just in case but now  it looked like we might  even have to borrow to meet all our obligations.

 Our thought process  at that moment was that there were 480 people playing this game today. They include for the most part, the fat, the out of shape, the old, the creaky knees and hip replacement crowd as well as  many challenged drunks ( 1000 beer were served at the field bar on Friday alone). The evidence was mounting  that  we were going to be the worst performers of this entire group.

 This is not good for one’s self image and I feared today would leave us damaged for life.

 Somehow in the next 8 holes through some spectacular shot making by three members of our team we had pulled to a respectable 12 under. I thought I had made some contribution ( I heard one team member whisper that “Bill’s contribution is S.F.A. so I don’t know how much but I had done a little.)

 For my part, at the start of Saturday I grabbed the pro and asked him for a quick tuneup. Three shots later all systems were go. This was a dangerous move but  desperation had sunk in.  I explained to him how I had played the second hole of the Red, a par 5 like this. Driver, Putter (not a typo..a fir tree with both legs wrapped around the base should give you a hint), 3X 4 woods, a lob wedge and 3 putts. Put me down for 8. A 9 doesn’t sound right. He knew that emergency measures were called for and helped me out. If only it had carried from the range on to the course but that is another story.

 Now just to put this all in perspective for you. My name  is on the Centennial Trophy twice and our team has come second twice and third once. Furthermore  this all happened before  fancy high performance equipment and hot balls were the rage. We played in regular clothes. No coordinated shorts and vapor sucking rayon shirts with matching shoe laces and multi coloured stripes and squares all over the place. We didn’t have fancy warm up places either…we would take turns swinging the 2 iron that one of our members carried and used…often.’ So we aren't talking about kids here!

At any rate when the chips are down and performance is mandatory, the tough suck it up and get ready to make it happen. The fact that I hadn’t sunk a putt over 6 inches for two days was worrisome. Here was my chance to redeem myself ( a bit). What the hell, a birdie is no big deal .I had one on this very hole in 1986 when I hit out of the sand and smacked the top of the flag dropping straight in the hole.

 I lined up the putt ( I don’t know how to do that very well but I went through the motions.) Everyone got in to position, covered their eyes and turned their backs away from the hole.

I pulled back the putter and stroked the ball towards a spot one cup to the right of the hole. Aiming has never been a strong point for me. 

The ball curled towards the hole and just as it got there, WTF it went in!

Bill Meder

Centennial Golf Tournament..Day 1

Dear Jim:

Well, day one of the Centennial is over. I know you want to know how it went. I can’t give you a blow by blow but let me say that my score for the day was the worst score ever. Not my worst score ever, the worst score ever recorded in the history of Royal Montreal.

When I tried to enter my score the system told me “Please enter one score at a time”.

A little flavor. After a warm up hole I started 10 Red and went 8,8,7 for three holes.

But just a minute you say, 10 Red is a par 3…how is that possible? Well my drive, with a wood..swung at full speed, travelled 16 feet.  The club hit the top of the ball and then proceeded to dig a 6 inch divot a full two feet in front of the tee. The tee was driven so deep in to the ground that mechanical equipment will be required to remove it.

My second shot, done in a hurry to avoid detection by the team following us went dead right in to the bush. And so on…put me down for 8.

Next hole my drive went hard left..but wait.. it hit the tee box deflecting back toward the fairway..but wait.. there is so much side spin on the ball it reverses direction again and heads left in to the bush.  A flight path that would have gone viral if we had thought to record it.

The only fun parts of the day was when some bozo,  came up to our table at lunch and announced that he didn’t like talking to me in person but liked reading my letters.  The other moron, driving on the wrong fairway continued driving up the wrong fairway after hitting rather than returning to his own fairway. He was upset when I didn’t think anyone could be so stupid and hit my shot while he was driving toward me. Dangerous, he said. While he is waving his arms and crying for his mommy,  I’m thinking, if I had killed the jerk I would have been given the Centennial trophy immediately along with a parade of bag pipers right then and there.

I know I had said my team might resort to violence. They wanted to talk to me in the parking lot after dinner but I left by the ladies exit.

The rest of the team was not exactly on fire either. I didn’t watch them much because I was sulking with my head in my hands but we did manage to scratch together a final score of 11 under which means we lost half our bets.

Tomorrow is another day and my team told me we were playing the second round at a course in Hudson which seems strange since I thought the dance was at our club tomorrow night. At any rate they asked me to  leave early because it is a long drive and they want to make sure we are all on time.

More tomorrow ..maybe.

Bill Meder

Getting ready for the big Centennial Tournament

Dear Jim:

I want to report a Murder!

 I’m telling you about it now because I know my team will try to make it look like an accident. I am assuming that there won’t be an out and out strangulation or a Wedge buried in the back of my head. A loose driver head flying off the shaft or an errant golf cart running me over several times is the most likely course of action. I wouldn’t normally care because, and I quote a friend, “I’m not afraid of death, I just don’t want to be around when it happens.” I want you to know this now as my insurance policy  pays triple if I am killed with friends in a social environment. An accident is only a double and I know the kids will like the extra money. The death will occur about 3.30pm Friday after several holes of the Centennial Tournament.

This may sound extreme but take me seriously. Yesterday I went out to practice. I arrived at the Lob Wedge area and hit balls with a competitor/friend for what seemed like an eternity. I couldn’t stand it anymore and so I left him there, mindlessly hitting shot after shot.

I went to the range and succeeded in getting all my shots to have the same degree of slice regardless of whether or not they are Woods, Irons or Wedges.

I then went to the putting green and spent so much time with my head  over the ball that there was no blood left in the rest of my body.

This was followed by a drink, shower and and a casual stroll to the parking lot. I then saw  my competitor/friend was just coming in from the Lob Wedge practice area. How am I going to compete with that!

 Looking around I saw many people who had been hitting balls when I arrived and were still in the same spot doing the same thing as I drove out the driveway. To top it all off I got a phone call from a team member who was hitting when I began my practice session at 3pm . He had just returned home and it was dark. How do they do it? After 10 minutes of hitting balls I start to hallucinate.

The final and fatal flaw in my game is that I can’t seem to sink a 4 foot putt. I hit them left, right and never center. A blind man pointed in the general direction of the hole would sink 5-10 putts out of 50 tries. I sank none! I hit them hard, soft, with follow through, punched, sliced and with one eye, both eyes and no eyes waiting to hear the ball in the cup. This is bad. I will have to take a gimmie on any putt under 10 feet and I don’t think the people we are betting with will like that.

I have been withdrawing the maximum cash allowed from my ATM machine every morning for some time now to get a bankroll to pay off our debts after the competition. I would have asked a teller for the full  amount but she probably would have reported me for suspicious activity or money laundering. The last time I asked for this much cash she slipped me a note asking if my family was being held hostage.

So with all this in mind you can see how my team mates will probably be suffering from P. T.S.D by the 7^th or 8^th hole on Friday. As you know this happens when one witnesses horrible and unspeakable  events and  often results in violent behavior.

They know they won’t get punished and with the evidence of my playing presented to the judge they probably won’t even have to attend court.

So there you have it. I am doomed.

The Centennial tournament , my last, begins in three days. I have put your name on some of my old trophies that you admired so much. You can have my name scratched off or put a plaque with your name on it. Enjoy. It has been nice knowing you.

Bill Meder