It had been a month. Three snowfalls and 17 days straight below freezing in southwestern Ohio. Wind chills of minus-15 sprinkled here and there. The day before, it nudged toward the upper 30s. Today, low 40s, but that 4-inch blanket would take time to melt. My front yard was mostly green due to a southern exposure, but the back was a solid, crusty white. So when I got a text from G saying it was starting to feel “golfy,” I thought, Yeah, in Hawaii. Of course, I was feeling golfy, too, as were our three other shut-in buddies. House-bound, bored, itchin’. A day later, wide swaths of white still checkered my backyard. Temperatures were predicted to be near 50, with rain late in the day. A missed voicemail from G: “Bump, looks like we can get out tomorrow. What d’ya say?” I’d say staring at your four walls is making you delusionary. Maybe a few days from now. Maybe after a good wind dries out the rain predicted on top of this snow melt. Maybe the end of the week. I call back anyway. “Let me know if you find a course open, but I don’t see it.” He’s optimistic, though, so I say I’ll play, but don’t hold your breath.
