Really, it was beautiful out there.
Anymore, it's a little strange to watch Atticus and Caedmon on the golf course; they're very comfortable there, and clearly know what they're doing.
According to Caedmon, the rake is to smooth out the footprints he made while shooting out of the bunker. I do not think my suggestion of a zen garden was all that preposterous, as golfers seem to me to be rather easily riled.
This guy tends to be outwardly calm, but I think even he could do with a therapeutic session of rake, rake, raking his cares away.
Meanwhile, I get the stink eye from Derek for making new friends instead of paying careful attention to everyone's swing.
I did pay some attention, however- how else would I have gotten photos of everyone, even Adelaide! I am not including that one, however, at her request. Perhaps she doesn't want proof out on the internet that she can be coerced onto a golf course? She's part of a secret anti-golf society? Sadly, we'll never know, as she flounced out of the room when I (nicely, I was just curious!) dared ask her why I wasn't allowed to share the photo of her. It would seem that being ten is rough, or maybe that's just when you're the sole intelligent being in a family of eejits.
|Not Adelaide, but the sentiment remains the same.|
Even though the boys- particularly Atticus- desperately wanted to stay and play longer, Derek took pity on certain family members (um, not the boys and Derek) and we left after playing all of... I don't know, seven holes? Derek can remember every hole and every shot and every whatever in a round of golf. It all blurs together to me: First, you select a club out of your bag. I am assuming this selection is not random, but who the heck really knows? Then, you swing the club at the ball. The ball heads (hopefully) toward a tiny hole in a vast green space. Repeat as necessary.
It sure is pretty, though.
Especially the players.
|It looks like he's doing a good job, but again, who knows? Not me, not ever. So I just chirp, "Good job!" over and over.|