i am a mere small parcel of land
pocked marked with flat sandstone slabs
like an infant’s skull coming out of the womb
poking out of the dirt
sprouts of weeds claiming their space
dandelions
sprigs of grass in clumps
non-productive dirt
barren
useless
but
unique
some might say
a pocket of resistance
to progress as we know it
a relic which has outlived its time
hanging on, hanging on
for the next step
then
the small brown ground squirrel
emerges from the acacia
to nibble on a morsel on one of the slabs
the gray falcon alights from the street light standard
diving, sweeping, looping
gaining speed
for the kill
but
some noise
some instinct
leads the squirrel
to bolt underneath the acacia again
small flowers, weeds really
bloom in the parcel
hard to see unless one bends over to get close
a plant in its cycle of life
attempting to live for the next phase
there is merit here in my parcel of land
for what is unknown
but
it’s there.

Two very close friends crossed over the bridge in ’24. i have taken my loss in stride by following the dictum that hit me in the head when Ray Boggs, my father-in-law, passed over that bridge in 1992.

i’ve written about it before. Still, it resonates with me. Danny, Ray’s son and i were walking to the pro shop at the Singing Hills Golf Resort (well before the Sycuan tribe bought the property). We were going to set up a time where we could spread Ray’s ashes over the 6th hole on the Willow Glen course where Ray had his first of six holes-in-one.

Danny forged ahead when i paused to look at the executive course, Pine Glen, where Ray had played his last round with me three weeks earlier. i was standing there, about to break into tears, when the dictum grabbed me out of nowhere, came into my head completely formed almost as if Ray was talking to me. It said “Don’t cry for me. Behave as you know I would want you to behave. Don’t be sad. Rejoice and laugh at our adventures and misadventures.”

The dictum got me through that process, and several other times before i used it when Marty Linville passed last July ’24 and JD Waits passed last November.

i keep remembering historic, in my mind, moments and quotes both of them had during my time with them. i hope to remember them all and post them here until i can no longer post posts.

◆ ◆ ◆

One of the best moments came early in my time with Marty. Honestly, i don’t remember whether it was the hole i was playing or if Marty was the golfer. We were playing with our friend and fellow officer from the Naval Amphibious School Coronado, Rod Stark on the Naval Air Station, North Island’s “Sea ‘n Air.” golf course.

Whoever the golfer was, Marty or myself, he was having a horrible hole: bad tee shot, several whacks in the rough, hitting the ball in the water hazard, and finally reaching the green somewhere between eight and ten strokes. The putt was a very long one with undulations, tough to read and tough to get the distance correct. The golfer sunk the putt.

The three of us laughed, and the Marty described it. It has become a standard response to such play on a hole, regardless of who played the hole:

“Whipped cream on horseshit.”