So it’s Thanksgiving. Of all the holidays, this one leaves me with mixed emotions – I appreciate the “giving thanks” aspect…the food, the family, etc., but this time of year also marks the official end to my golf season.
I feel like I’m a late-season golfer. Many of my golf buddies stow the old battle-sticks in the basement or attic by the end of October. Heck, here in the States, the start of (American) football in early September usually brings and end to many Saturday and Sunday tee-times. But I carry on, playing through the first few weeks in November.
The end-all for me is when I have to put on more than a windbreaker or sweater. When that happens (and my swing is subsequently compromised), I’m done till Spring – and usually that means the week of Thanksgiving – in fact, I can’t remember the last time I played a round in December here in New England.
So I’ll settle-in tomorrow after stuffing myself similar to which the bird I devoured was stuffed; watch the Packers demolish the Lions; re-watch A Charlie Brown Thanksgiving for the 472nd time; and fall asleep on the couch.
Yet there are memories to give thanks for beyond the ordinary: The thought of walking 18-holes on a warm summer day; the thud the ball makes when landing on a soft green in regulation; the feeling you get when everything clicks on a drive; to make the turkey gobble on a long putt…
Yes, if you’re in my boat, where golf lays dormant till April…take a second tomorrow – gaze out the window, across the carpet of auburn leaves and remember all the things you can give thanks for.
Happy Thanksgiving.
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