And in the great tradition of near 40 somethings everywhere, and to the surprise of no one who has suffered the celebrated mid-life crisis, I have taken up golf.  I wanted to put quotes around that but I think from a correct english stand point it is not necessary. The quotes would remind the reader, me, about twice a year, that I have only taken up golf if that term means I stand on a hot course and curse and yell as I swing my clubs around like I am trying to swat flies off the ground.  My game is non existence. I tell myself that this is some kind of mirror of life; life is hard, golf is hard. But really isn't life hard enough?  Do I not get pleasure out of older hobbies?  Biking, running, weight lifting in the winter months?  I think I do.  There is often a sense of pleasure once a work out is over.  On long runs there is that mind interrupted feeling when you pause to realize you haven't been thinking the last half mile or so.  That is the mission accomplished feeling I always search for, often through booze. 
But golf seems to just bring annoyance, pain, aggravation. A truly weird game.  And yet, once every 10 times I get this perfectly laid, crisp, wonderful shot that reverberates throughout my body and into my head and makes me smile just slightly.  This isn't the thing I look back on like the old running blogs of my early Baton Rouge years.  No, this is just a grind.  A stupid, costly, meaningless grind. Somehow I have tricked myself that it is necessary. I have created little mini goals, none of which I have made.  Though maybe I have?  Maybe the goals were just to learn the game?  Haven't I made it that far.  That should be enough for year one, right?
 

Two posts last year. Let's see if we can beat that.  Though I think the term "blog," is pretty much shelved at this point.  I can still look at these old entries every 5 years or so and catch a glimpse into my past.  I will save the stories of my son and wife; travels to visit family, and the desolate feeling of walking streams littered with beer cans for my personal diary entries.  Kept in small black notebooks, ranging in size and thickness; having both work related notes, thoughts on the day, and shitty, shitty little poems.
I grow more inward lately. Fake spats with nobody in particular. I don't actually have anyone to bounce ideas off right now.  I don't ever actually bounce ideas though. Even when I am with someone i usually listen then talk (not listening).

My runs lately take be besides the Harpeth River. Once while it was flooded I saw a blue heron doing its delicate one leg balance, anxiously watching the infinite out of its tiny bird eye. I was reminded again of my runs in Baton Rouge. How I knew someday I would look back at those first few years as the best times of my life.  Not that anything was happening but that I felt an awakening.  I can't describe it with words; though I am a twice a year blogger, my ability to form sentences has never been strong.

sketches

The following were found in a notebook left on the corner steps by a library branch I rarely visit:

Never made
anything.
you never made
a single thing.

I can really only imagine how, 10 years ago I loped around university lake, slowly, taking in young girls in small shorts, egrets roaming around; always one nervous eye towards me, another on the lake. Sun seemed to gleam from everywhere. I spent hours there reading, watching birds. I got to see pelicans wintering over there once. was it a dream or did I witness hundreds of birds flying in great circles above the lake, only to slowly return down, one by one, the grim look of accomplishment that can only come form a bird whose beak is half its body length. Why do I remember the runs?
I also remember the bench where I finished Suttree and the stoop where I finished the Crossing. I can sum up a chunk of my life with those two books though they only covered a couple of weeks.

Just a ray of light before winter comes.

I wrote a few lines today, trying to make a poem but it didn't work out. Here is all that remains from it:
the leaves blowing around on the patio made their own quiet, rhythmic music.

Four minutes to 10, a late time really. Later than normal. New strings on a guitar that has been locked away from more than a year. An older amp that still has a warm hum to it. Impossible to start.
To save money I started drinking water instead of beer. Maybe this will somehow create some kind of different mind set?
List of people who have died in the last year:
David Bowie
The phase after his death was met with a lot of re listening and a lot of discovering albums I had forgotten or not yet listened to.
Book read in the last year:

I used to shove my disc man into the back of my pants and walk over the the Memphis Public library for breaks while working at a music store near there. Aimless. I would walk over, smoke a few cigarettes, and ride the escalator to the second floor. I would get a guest pass and log on and read sports pages, type of some on a blog or live journal, and the log off. I would then peruse the stacks of books on that floor, looking for authors to jump out at me, or maybe looking for a book with the right spine design.
I may walk the stairs up to the 3rd or 4th floor, looking at history books; usually with a military slant. Most of what i read left my mind the moment the words were read; I have awful retention of information. But I still found joy somehow in pouring through those books. That library was opened in 2001 I believe...insane.
 I haven't run or exercised in two weeks. I have been battling the flu. A fucking nightmare. I think its my first. Um, what else...I have read probably 200 pages or so of Shelby Foote's civil war. I don't want to stop reading it but I feel like I need to read something else for a moment; take a break. I have a few things on their way from various branches. I can never tell which books will stick. I got Travels with Charley, by Steinbeck. I started it at lunch today and it seems pretty good. I have a new book coming in, The sport of Kings, about horse racing (among other themes ill probably fail to pick up on).  What else?  I guess that is it. This is more of a journal entry.  So, hi. J.D. in 10 years when you read this.