(Note to self: get new wheels for next year's high school class reunion. Showing up in late mother-in-law's ancient white Buick would be very uncool.)
I guess part of what prompted me to be thinking about next July was an email from Barb Bunce Garlock, saying that she and her husband and some other Pittburgh folks were thinking about making reservations at Webb's for the reunion weekend.
It's on my 'to-do list,' also, though the way my life seems to bounce, I hate making something that definite for nearly 11 months from now. I could be somewhere off the coast of Costa Rica on my sailboat dodging hurricanes the way things are going.
But that brings me to a serious topic: golf.
Serious? Well, okay, not that serious.
Back when we were all learning to play golf in high school in P.E. - and my mother was so intent that I learn that she paid for some private lessons - my myopia prevented me from doing much except digging trenches all over anywhere I attempted to tee off. Since getting eye surgery, I can whack a ball pretty well, but because I never really got into it, I won't be joining anyone on any golfing expeditions that are part of the reunion. (Unless we went somewhere with electric golf carts, I love to careen around in those like Rodney Dangerfield.)
But I see that Webb's Resort has its own miniature golf course, so maybe we can put together a few rounds of that with an appropriate trophy and recognition at our dinner soiree. Besides, it's much easier to carry around a tall, iced glass filled with Grey Goose & collins mix while playing the miniature version anyway.