Marriages, Birthdays, Parties

Everyone identifies marriages, birthdays, big parties, and other very happy occasions almost equating them with oversized bowls of Cheezees and

Swedish meatballs, Italian Wedding Soup, and the yearly bath, but of course there’s much more to it than that, these historic times of great happiness

will echo all life, and the moreso as life fills out the wonderful realities that flow along thereafter, millions of experiences, including all the

transformative variables, ever exponentially flowing life, and when one thinks of how things might have seemed at all the previous junctures then the newest happy time arises, and it seems inconceivable one was ever not happy.

This is a fundamental truth applicable to all living, the disasters of animals and the chasmic circumstances of individuals, and then suddenly, a truly happy time, – in wishing happy birthday is really a profound acclamation of the high and low moments of life, while, favouring the high points, the great strong moments.

And still than that, life includes such extraordinary other dimension. I’m thinking of the time we went golfing as a talented threesome, and yet, essentially lost to the golf course. It was a fascinating day. Your superfine pristine right hand shot game, the real thing, while both me and my Dad had golf styles poorly adaptated from other sports (and atheletic activations)

My left hand shot game was a rigourous attempt to combine the most downtown baseball swing with a kind of wrist shot slap shot halfstroke, rounded out with the james mcauliffe “aim just right of the green” kind of football heave, which is the best way to take leverage in a collision, if you’re right handed, shelter left shoulder up, whereas I think left handed people playing football are all about whole body leverage, either way, in Golf, I sliced, always! Always the ball going 3/4s of the way it would go then turning left into woods or tall trees. I can only imagine what people who played golf with me must have thought, cantankerous, analytic, obsessive, and the manic and bizarre golf swing.

My Dad’s golf swing was like a mythic bird of legend, unknown in its sources and interpretations of the elegant laidback and somewhat sexy sport of golf. His shoots right golf swing was sheer invention, like an imitation of willow branches in kinetic summer storms, like a leap, but far more extreme, I’m trying to think what ancient human activity could have resembled his ecstatic and frenzied right hand shot, on sheer arm strength overcoming the nongolf style whacking of the little golf ball to send it forth as far as possible. Every shot an adventure. It toughened me up as a child, golfing with my Dad. If people were prone to mock others, one of my father’s 1st hole trifecta of called back tshots would have had them going on and on, and people take golf seriously, so there we’d be, my Dad drilling rocketty grounders to third base into the trees, whirling fast benders rightward ricochetting off the fence or into the street, or, as intended, sailing off in the general direction of the green, or deflecting there, gain of 50 yards on the play. We were like a parody of golf, my father and I, the right handed 16th century game of my father, 11th century ~ who knows, something they did in Lancashirian bodyhistory, something just like that, perhaps imaginary form of golf, the right handed wrap around frenzied both feet off the ground golf swing, while my baseballhockey lefty swing fanned off to the left leaving me thwarted in dream of par, from the first shot, pretty much every hole of golf i ever played.

Afterwards head into the clubhouse for a carbon copy of a beer and look at the menu and be amazed at the prices and then get a bag of chips and another beer. The good life.

The birthday is the most fun though. On your birthday it is your dream. It’s good that birthdays have that effect.

The real life of us. Our own dreams and hopes. That life be good and wonderful.


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