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Humor June 2013

Ernie's World

Lesson of the Day

By Ernie Witham

I spent the next couple days mentally preparing for the croquet event. Mostly, by drinking copious amounts of beer, closing my eyes, and reliving classic shots like the ricochet off the boulder shot, the between the legs of the neighbor's cat shot, the crush the lawn ornaments, the power fade over the other team's foot, the hop over the ditch without landing in the tomato garden and, of course, the whack away.

Lately, a lot of things remind me of my youth.

"Look GP, I bought a new bike."

"Ha! You know that reminds me of my youth. Why I used to ride my bike everywhere. Seems like it was always uphill both ways, too. I remember one time in particular..."

"Ah yeah, I gotta go now, GP. Getting ready to go camping."

"Camping! Why I used to camp out all the time. In the mountains with the bobcats and bears... Ashley? Hello?"

I went into the house, but my granddaughter had disappeared into her room and closed the door. I can understand that. I used to spend hours in my room with the door closed, reading Archie comic books and playing meaningful 45 rpm records like "Purple People Eater" and "Itsy Bitsy, Teenie Weenie Yellow Polka-Dot Bikini."

"Do we still need to keep this?" my wife asked emerging from our bedroom. She was dressed in her "we-need-to-get-rid-of-stuff" outfit and holding up my softball shirt from 1978.

"You know I used to play ball every day in the summer when I was a kid. Some days we played for like 12 hours or something. I can still remember one at-bat. My ball flew over the fence toward the lake and we all had to go look for it and..."

"Yeah, I know. It was uphill both ways." She disappeared back into the bedroom.

For some reason I had a hankering for a peanut butter and apple jelly sandwich on Wonder bread. Unfortunately, all I could find was reduced-fat almond butter, no-sugar-added, fruit-only preserves, and hearty oat bran that you could build a house with, but it wasn't bad. I only wish I had some Bosco to wash it down with.
My wife appeared again. "We just got an invitation from Roger and Teddi to go to a croquet party at Birnam Wood Country Club."

"Croquet? I..."

"Let me guess. You used to play in New Hampshire when you were a kid?"

"Wow. How did you know?"

"Anyway, sounds like fun and includes a lesson and complimentary wine and hors d'oeuvres."

"Lesson? Ha. I could probably give them lessons. We used to play like 12 hours every day in the summer in my backyard..."

"After the 12 hours of baseball..."

"That's right. Our backyard was huge and shaped like a trapezoid that someone had dropped from a great distance – bordered with a blackberry patch, a gravel driveway, an old barn and thick woods. Sometimes we mowed the crabgrass first, chased the moose away, and turned off the sprinklers. Other times we left it more challenging."

"You had moose in your back yard?"

"Mainly at night if I remember right."

"You may want to increase the ginkgo biloba like ten-fold or so."

I spent the next couple days mentally preparing for the croquet event. Mostly, by drinking copious amounts of beer, closing my eyes, and reliving classic shots like the ricochet off the boulder shot, the between the legs of the neighbor's cat shot, the crush the lawn ornaments, the power fade over the other team's foot, the hop over the ditch without landing in the tomato garden and, of course, the whack away. That's when you put your ball next to your opponent's, stepped on your ball so it wouldn't move, and drove them into poison ivy. A good day of New Hampshire croquet often meant brief hospitalization for one or more players.

When Sunday rolled around I felt ready. The only real question was how much I should beat our hosts by. I figured I should keep it close so I didn't embarrass anyone.

"Whoa! That's the court?"

"Yes. What do you think?"

"It's huge. And flat. And there are no rocks or wild animals or thorny brush.

The pro handed Roger and me mallets. They were really heavy. Roger hit his ball through the first hoop, then about 40 feet perfectly straight leaving it right in front of the second hoop.

"So, have you ever played croquet before?" the pro asked.

I hit my ball and it eased forward about six inches. I tried again and it went about eight inches straight right.

"Ah no. I always wanted to, but we mostly just stayed inside and read books in New Hampshire." I did not look at my wife when I said this.

 

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