Michael Mroczyk
I used to kid Michael about his last name, telling him he needed to buy a vowel.
As with all our interactions, business and personal, he took it with good humor.
Fortuitous for me; a 5th degree black belt, he was your basic real life Bad@ss.
He exhibited the best qualities of humanity - competence, loyalty, dependability, honor, integrity.
If Michael said it, you knew it was so.
A courageous fighter in everything he did, yet he laughed easily and often.
After a long and arduous struggle with pancreatic cancer, he finally succumbed, and the world is a poorer place.
He is greatly missed by all who knew him.
Prayers of comfort to his beloved wife Martha, and to his family.
We've had a month of above normal temperatures and boatloads of sunshine, but this week Autumn hath returned.
Along with it came the annual "end of summer" tragedy:
Yep, we closed the pool, and it will be at least 7 months, maybe 8, before we can enjoy it again.
Let the boo-hoo'ing begin in earnest.
One of the things I'm not crying about is my continued foray into the world of pre-1850 feathery golf.
We really should come up with another name for this activity because it sounds like we're playing with down pillows and feather dusters and nothing could be further from the truth.
It's real golf, just with the type of balls they used back then: hand stitched leather spheres...
...filled with goose down feathers.
I understand why that sounds questionable; how can anything substantial be made from feathers?
Another suggested since they're made of goose down they'd be good hand warmers on cold mornings.
Everyone's a comedian.
All I can say is, it's like that childhood gotcha question:
"Which is heavier: a ton of bricks or a ton of feathers?"
A modern golf ball weigh 1.62 ounces.
"Featheries" weigh anywhere from 1.4 ounces (LANE by Hickory Lane)...
...all the way up to 2 ounces (JUMBO by the Authentic Feathery Golf Ball Co).
So featheries are pretty close to the same weight as modern balls; some are even heavier.
You just can't hit them as far.
Like the clubs we use, featheries are hand made - thus "perfectly imperfect" - and are the lowest of the low compression balls out there.
If you can get past that - if you can embrace the authentic historicity of golf's origins - then you can begin to let go of 100+ years of "distance obsession"* and learn to appreciate "Auld Golf".
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| 2nd shot to the green |
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| 3 putt for bogey (ball is on the far left) and yes, that is the moon in the top right |
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| teeing off on #6 |
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| #8, the only hole you cannot avoid hitting over water unless you hit out of bounds onto the service road. held my breath and struck a perfect short spoon over the water and onto the green. |
It's still pretty new to me, but at this point I don't honestly know if I'll ever go back to post-1850 (i.e., gutta percha) hickory golf.
I'm enjoying the economy of geography while still experiencing the strategy of golf.
Just need to find a par 3 course that doesn't try to drown my featheries on every hole.
* "I hold the firm opinion that from this date we lost sight of the essential attitude towards accuracy. This was the start of the craze for length and still more length."
- Harry Vardon, 6 time winner of The Open
Is it that time already?
Very well.
Faster than a greasy mullet! More powerful than a questionable motive! Able to see small buildings in a nearby town!
Look, pie in the sky! It's absurd! It's insane!
Nah, it's just 23 Skidoo...
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| the return of Fall brought cold mornings with it. |
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| my bull riding grandson and his new bride. praying for them as they begin their married journey together. Ephesians 5:22-33. |
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| Karen snapped this pic of herons flying in formation while we were sitting out front one evening... |
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| ...she also dressed up our thermometer post a bit. gotta love begonias... |
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| ...and she made another delicious apple pie. if you're wondering what I do around here, I've got the most important job of all: I do as I'm told. |
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| testing out a potential All Hallows display, non-scary variety. |
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| my 2x (or 3x) per year task of defrosting the freezer of my Philco V-handle. ah, the good ol' days. |
By now you've heard President Trump has negotiated 8 ceasefires between warring factions all over the world.
The most impressive one is the Israel / Hamas ceasefire and hostage release. It's also the least stable due to the treacherous nature of Hamas.
Heads of state all around the world have called for Trump to receive this year's Nobel Peace prize, and rightly so.
No one in history has made peace a priority with such vigor and success as he has, and all within a span of 9 months.
Even Israeli farmers made the case for Trump:
But in keeping with the dumbing down of all things Nobel, he was passed over for a <Venezuelan politician in hiding>.
To her credit - and to the left wing media's horror - said politician <dedicated her prize to Trump>.
A welcome gesture, but not enough to obscure the painful truth about the Nobel committee:
Their awards are irrelevant.
When you give a "peace prize" to a terrorist (Arafat, 1994), you've obviously lost the plot.
Remember climate huckster <Al "I invented the internet!" Gore> winning in 2007 for his climate hoax predictions?
Rush Limbaugh had a countdown clock that he started in 2006 after Gore made one of his ridiculous "10 years and the end!" claims:
It expired on January 27, 2016 and waddyaknow? Nothing happened, because Gore's a dishonest dolt.
At least he fooled the gullible twits on the Nobel committee.
And how about Obama's big win in 2009?
Remind me again...that was for what, exactly?
His ability to read saccharine platitudes ("hopey changey") from a teleprompter?
His apology tour to Muslim countries, where he obsequiously bowed to anyone and everyone wearing a <keffiyeh>?
At this point it's safe to conclude Nobel prizes are about as meaningful as pixie dust and griffin feathers.
They're also a reminder that if what we do is motivated solely by the praise of men, then we're wasting our time:
"1 Take heed that ye do not your alms before men, to be seen of them: otherwise ye have no reward of your Father which is in heaven.
"2 Therefore when thou doest thine alms, do not sound a trumpet before thee, as the hypocrites do in the synagogues and in the streets, that they may have glory of men. Verily I say unto you, they have their reward.
"3 But when thou doest alms, let not thy left hand know what thy right hand doeth:
"4 That thine alms may be in secret: and thy Father which seeth in secret Himself shall reward thee openly."
- Matthew 6:1-4
later, mcm fans...
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