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By Herb Benham
Saturday, Feb 04 2012 06:00 PM
He has played more than 5,000 rounds of golf, shot his age 1,500 times, has nine holes in one, owns five sets of clubs and has won two world super senior championships.
Still, Lane Howell -- whose swing has been described as ballet and a work of art -- gets "frosted" if he misses a gimmee on 17 that he's buried a million times before.
"No matter how beautiful the day, how good the company, old man par will tug at your soul," Howell said.
Golfers. They're either suicidal or rapturous, depending on how many shots they blew.
Golfers, like farmers, think they could have done better even in a banner year. They tend not to remember their bumper crops but the time it rained during harvest and the almonds got drenched. One shot can ruin a round, a morning and a previously untroubled life.
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As I pulled up in front of the house and executed a U-turn, the BMW behind me did the same. That was curious. I had noticed him several blocks ago but hadn't thought anything of it, figuring that we were heading the same direction.
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Dave Hardt doesn't have much use for starlings. They're marauders, take over nests and generally could use better manners.
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One of the pleasures of work is that lunch lends an air of festivity to the noon-time hour.There are friends who eschew leftovers, for reasons that are not entirely clear, but I am not one of those people, nor are most of the people who turn to me for guidance and comfort.
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Recently I made Italian wedding soup. It has been a winter of soups in the neighborhood, one cook outdoing the next. Almost everything has ended up in the pot, with the most recent ingredient being a ham bone from Christmas dinner that spent two weeks wrapped in foil in the fridge and, prior to that, in brine for a month in Berkeley. A neighbor had dibs on the ham bone, and we await his efforts.
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I'm stuck.I need the following: 401, 404, 405, 408, 410, 415, 419, 422, 426, 427, 431, 433, 435, 439, 441, 444, 446, 450, 454, 459, 462, 468, 473, 476, 479 and 483.
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Since the death of her brother and sister two weeks ago, Melanie Reis talks to them a lot.
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In the days since their two eldest children were killed, Tom and Patty Reis -- surrounded by family and a caring community -- find themselves processing a jumble of emotions: shock, sorrow, disbelief. But not a trace of despair is to be found in the Reises, who invited Californian columnist Herb Benham to their home as they told moving, funny stories about David and Karen, accomplished, spirited young people with so much to give. As their parents navigate through their loss, they turn to their faith for solace and vow to honor the memories of their children: "We feel lucky to be a family of four rather than a family of zero," Patty said. Herb's interview with the family is coming in Eye Street this Sunday.
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My wife called. She was alarmed. When your wife is alarmed, sometimes it makes sense to embrace that urgency yourself.
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Linda looked over my shoulder at the pomegranate tree as if she had spotted an enemy sniper with whom I ought to be concerned.
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I walked into the garage around sunset in order to feed the dogs and when I turned on the light, a rat scampered across the beam.
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I saw Bill Thomas at Sequoia Sandwich the other day. The former congressman was eating lunch with his wife, Sharon. After he ordered, he looked at me and asked when I was going to stop using my high school picture in the paper. I considered asking him if it was that obvious, but given the sharpness of his needle, I demurred.
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I tried to remember the rules: Don't brag, don't do a victory dance in the end zone and keep the depressing news to a minimum. Violate the rules and your Christmas letter ends up in the trash or as the object of ridicule during a Christmas dinner.
