Little duffer

When I came home from work last night, Carey had a confession to make: She had bought Greta another toy. It was an impulse buy, she said. She was at CVS trying to decide between anti-perspirant or deodorant (or both!), when it caught her eye. I imagine it made her think of summer nights at the putt putt course, perhaps a few of our dates at the Watertown links back in the day. I can see the synapses in her brain firing -- maybe she could recapture a little of that youthful glow by sharing something vaguely similar with her beloved daughter. Maybe, if she starts golfing RIGHT NOW, Greta will make the world forget Michelle Wie when she turns 14. Carey went on to tell me that Greta loved the toy last night, whacking the dimpled white plastic ball all over the place. So of course I wanted to get a few holes in with Greta before leaving for work this morning. After we fed the cat and ate a wagon wheel, I grabbed her by the hand and asked her to show me the monstrous foam thing that clutters my kitchen floor. Later, she said, as she chewed on the tail of a mouse made of string. So we had breakfast; yogurt and "nanas." With her belly full, I thought maybe she'd be up for a quick par 3. Not right now, she insisted, running her sticky banana fingers through her hair. So I pushed play on American Idol, mostly to watch Prince sing at the end again. Greta read a book. Something about cats who won't eat bananas. 10 minutes passed. 15. Then, it happened. Greta wanted to walk. And she wanted to walk back towards the kitchen. So away we go, book in one hand, the other five tiny fingers held in mine. When we get to the linoleum, she stops and surveys the landscape. Cat food and water bowl elevated on top of the freezer. Blue bowl filled with outdated toys near the sliding screen door. Convertible rocking chair near the pantry. And look! Over there! Six feet of foam matting shaped to look like sand traps and shrubs and a clown with a hole in its mouth! Hey, where's my three iron? I can lay up easy on this set up. It's just a short pitch to the green! And that's when she grabbed the flag from the first hole and her red plastic club, plopped down on the kitchen floor, and examined both items with a look that assuredly says, "what's all this for?"