I hate this game; I love this game

Wife vowed some weeks ago that she'd never play golf again. Those of us addicted to the game, of course, completely understand the feeling and, in fact, have made the same vow at least two or three times per season ... sometimes even two or three times per round.

She does like to drive the cart though. So three weeks or so ago on a nice Sunday I coaxed her out with the offer to let her drive. I played my way up to the green on the first hole and then suggested she just bring her putter along and hit putts on the green with me. She did, and she's a pretty good putter, so that worked fine. We followed that pattern for three or four holes then I suggested she just bring her pitching wedge and hit from where I was close to the green. She did and not badly and then hit a putt or two and things went well.

The following Sunday she hit a few from the fairway and by the end of nine holes was hitting driver off the tee. She managed a par on one of the par threes after hitting it in the sand on her first shot. (For you non-golfers that's good in anyone's book -- not the sand, dummy, the three.)

This past Sunday saw us back out there. I think I've got her convinced "Golf is not a game of perfect" as they say. Of course, for a card-carrying perfectionist, that's a pretty big leap of faith. But ... She hit one ball, I kid you not at least 180-yards off the tee on one hole and right down the middle. She hit two shots with a sand wedge out of two separate fairway bunkers that must have flown 70-yards. That's a pretty stout wallop with a sand wedge. And then on the same par three that she had parred the previous week -- this tee shot: Of course, then she also three putted from there proving that she is, indeed, human. On our final hole she blasted a 7 wood from 100 yards right on to an elevated green and even left a pitch mark (hole) in the green she hit it so high. I think I've got her hooked.

Tales of woe and sundry disasters

Yes, again it's been some days since my last post, so you know disaster has struck.

Well, not really. On Wednesday last week while at work, I thought I had the beginnings of a toothache. It had been coming on for a few days, but diligent flossing and brushing seemed to have kept it at bay. Wednesday afternoon though, it cranked up the intensity. I begged a couple Aleve from a co-worker. In 15 minutes the shooting pain was down to a mere feeling of pressure. An hour after that, it seemed as though some gremlin was pounding a ten-penny nail up through my back molar and into my left eye socket. In a word: maxpainful. Strong hearted lad that I am, I toughed it out until about 3:30pm at which point even the mighty were felled. I bailed on work and staggered to the bus stop. On the way home it hurt badly enough that my left eye wanted to wink closed and stay that way.

At home the flossing and brushing and swirling with Scope began. Russian folk-medicine-wise Wife prescripted a scalding hot saltwater mouth rinse with salt scavenged, er, harvested from a special salt lake in deepest Siberia or somewhere. Amazingly, to those of us not given to holistic crap, er, leanings, it helped. It didn't cure the miserable cold that I had on top of it, but I definitely felt better.

And not good. I got some sleep on Wednesday night, but not much, even with a handful of antihistamines to battle the clogged sinuses. The alarm on Thursday morning was a non-starter, except to leave a voicemail with my boss saying, "Fuggit it. I'm close to dead." Up again at 9am I online-researched dentists in the area that also were covered by our insurance. A call to the closest one landed an appointment at 10am the next day. In truth, the Pain had subsided quite a bit. More flossing and rinsing occurred. I got through the day laying on our (lovely, comfortable, red leather) couch and watching reruns of House. Another dose of antihistamines and some aspirin on Thursday night led me to a good night's sleep.

Up and going on Friday I make it to the dentist just down the road. Pain is back but only at 5 of 10. Head cold is back on the order of 7 or 8 of 10. After filling out multiple forms covering the doctor's ass for everything including a direct nuclear strike on his office, I get a 45 minute wait in the reception room reading six month old People magazines.

Taken to the operating theater by a really pleasant lady whose name appeared to be Amanda, I settle into the chair. "Amanda, how long have you worked here?" I ask.

She replies, "I'm not Amanda. I'm Tracy." (or something).

I say, "Your uniform says 'Amanda'."

Tracy-Amanda says, "Oh, I stole it because she's not here today and mine's not as nice as hers."

OK.

X-rays happen using a machine that looks like someone's beat on it with a hammer.

Doctor arrives in scrubs and tennis shoes. Nice enough looking old coot, meaning he's about an hour older than I am. "What's the problem?" "A toothache in the back upper left and a cold -- in that order." "Open wide. Hmmmm."

He takes a small ballpeen hammer and raps the four teeth on the upper left side of my jaw. Except for making me slightly deaf in that ear, there's no pain. He takes an implement that seems like a cross between a bent safety pin and a dagger and jabs each tooth and wiggles. Still no pain. A glove-clad finger presses gums inside and out. No pain. He jabs a hopefully unused chopstick in my mouth and says, "Bite please." I'm pleased to bite. "Open." No pain. Chopstick gets inserted and released from all four top left teeth. No pain.

"You don't have a toothache."

I smile wanly and say, "So why do I feel like I have a toothache?"

"Your sinuses are so swollen they're impinging on the nerves running through your upper jaw. Haven't you noticed how swollen your left cheek and eye socket are?"

Well, no. I just thought it was my usual bags and wrinkles.

"Double up on your antihistamines. Use salt water rinse because that sometimes helps relieve the pain. If you still have pain in a couple days, go see your doctor for antibiotics."

Thankfully he didn't say Siberian salt rinses or I would've had to kill him.

I go home, double up on the antihistamines and throw in three aspirin for good measure. I'm feeling better. Friday night is peaceful.

Saturday morning, all's good and I manage to get out for 18 holes of golf ... suitably medicated which leads me to a 54 on the front nine. The zombie like antihistamine state wears off on the back nine, encouraged by a sandwich and a couple of beers at my house as I troll by. I shoot 46 for 100 total which isn't bad on this course.

Sunday dawns bright and clear. Beginning-golfer Wife and I play nine holes. She gets a par on number 8, a par three. A good drive into the green-side bunker, a chip out to within 10-feet using a pitching wedge, then a well stroked slippery downhill putt into the dead center of the cup.

Life is good ... with a suitable supply of medication. I'm back in the blog-saddle again.