Monday, June 19, 2006

Feels so real, I got the steering wheel.
So sang those bitchin' gals of punkrock, L7, about one excellent femme, Shirley Muldowney, racing legend.
Let us just say that today I spent the usual large amount of time in the car but the dessert if You will of vehicular interaction was had during the golf tourney Yours Truly was paid to doc today out at the lakeside, sort of, club, where I still have a few pals who work, who make the magic happen. I was speaking to Jana as I arrived at the country club, wending down their hillock driveway, anticipating. I nearly wrote c.c. in lieu of country club and the memory bank sent up kid years with my dad pronouncing from the front seat that our family exurb country club had a sign up - C.C. - for club closed along their weed-edged access road, met with our squalls of half-horror . . . and half-knowing that dad did this to harangue us and that it amused him to hear our ardent vociferations.
I said goodbye to Jana, ditched my car somewhere, and, like a super hero morphing from pedestrian to caped alterself switched from 2-handed driver to Intrepid Journalist and, concurrently, grinning golf cart go-getter. Let us just say that that Go-Kart was put through its paces today. Like Shirley, I gunned the little motor, I did not let up on any of the curves, I zigged and zagged amongst the old and wise and young and wispy trees, I took hills like a trooper, thoughts merged to what if, what if I roll this damned thing, but I kept it moving. Oh, sure, I jumped a few curbs but nobody was injured, no lenses were jolted from the bag, nobody was hurt, no screams. I was so thrilled to have the wind whizzing past my ears, flattening my eyebrows to my head like racing stripes, I wanted to share the moment with my beloved sister who was always by my side, my accomplice, when we slipped off as my parents enjoyed cocktails with other clubbers after dinner, to forage for carts with keys left in ignitions, to floor the pedals and make off into the dusk. My sister would not be at work and chances are she would not answer her semi-neglected cellie so off I sped and told her about it later. I am still smiling. I saw yellow finches. I made beautiful pictures.
To update the semi-oft-repeated quote of Winston Churchill.
Golf is not a ruined walk in the country but a good, thrilling, somewhat perilous ride in a Go-Kart with pesky pedestrians wacking a ball about.

Love of Muldowney.

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