YAY!

Okay, so I bought the golf shoes before my score is even within sight of par, BUT they were only $12 - almost new Adidas Z-Traxions, from Sports Junkies (regularly $129) and aren't they cute?

I golfed last night with my parents and sister at our local Par 3 course, and since we couldn't start until 8:20pm, we managed only 6 holes before darkness curtailed our fun.

My sister, who hasn't golfed since high school managed to fly under the radar for two holes until we realized she was using the #3 driver for every shot .. including putting. "Oh, does that make a difference?"

Dad was very serious, taking at least 5 or 6 practice shots each time. They looked to us to be complete misses, but he insisted they were practice shots, so we cheered him on.

I don't remember much of Mum's actual golfing which probably means she was pretty consistent, but I can still hear her laughter in my head. She was so good natured, as usual - even when my Dad tried to kill her with one of his bizarre spazzy sideways shots.

I really don't want to discuss my score on holes one, three, four, five or six... because I honestly believe they do not represent my true ability or finesse.

So let's talk about Hole #2 shall we? Suffice it to say that I was in top form, shooting one under par for (what we pros call) a BIRDIE!! And quite frankly, I looked adorable doing it... must be the new shoes.

Note to self: Bring bug spray for twilight golf.

MEDITERRANEAN CHICK PEA & SPINACH SOUP


1 tbsp olive oil
1 small onion, chopped
2 cups chicken stock
1 can chick peas, drained and slightly mashed
2 cups chopped spinach, packed tightly into the measuring cup,
or half a package of frozen chopped spinach
Salt and pepper to taste

A. Saute the onion in olive oil over medium high heat until wilted
B. Add the chicken stock and bring to a boil
C. Add the chick peas and the spinach
D. Simmer for 10 minutes
E. Enjoy!

** the quantities of spinach and chick peas may be easily altered to suit your tastes - freezes well too **

The oddest thing happened to me... Was it outside the boundaries of propriety or am I just too uptight?

I was having a lovely snooze on Sunday morning at 6:21am when the phone rang (the special ring when there is someone at the front door who needs to be buzzed in)... Thinking it was a friend in need, I ran from my warm bed to the kitchen to answer the phone.

It was my neighbour, with whom I have only exchanged polite "hellos" in the hallway. He said nonchalantly, "Hey, I left my keys at work. Can you let me in?"

"PARDON ME?"

Well, since I didn't recognize his voice, I said I would need to come and open the door to ensure I was not unwittingly letting a stranger into the building at dawn to torturously murder an unsuspecting tenant. I was very groggy, but I left my apartment and went to the main entrance and tried to focus on his face before I let him in. He was there with a woman and simply said, "Thanks, man..." and wandered into his apartment - which was oddly unlocked; who does that nowadays?

So here's the thing: Isn't that rude? To wake up someone who you barely know at 6:21 on a SUNDAY?

Or maybe it's just me?

Congratulazioni Italia!



Watching the World Cup Winners dance around like little boys brought back vivid memories of my favourite country... the pigeons in Piazza San Marco, the disappointed tank-top-wearing tourists attempting to enter St. Peter's Basillica, the annoying Texan lady outside the Coluseum, the mischievous jeweler in Venice, the old rickety elevator at the Hotel Georgi in Roma, and the aged red cobbled walkways of Siena.

A country filled to the brim with vibrant, demonstrative, passionate people for whom this evening is a dream come true... Amo gli Italiani!

SEEKING TRULY EFFECTIVE BIRTH CONTROL?

Look no further. Need I say more? Been there; done that!

This is a Pulitzer Prize winning photo taken in 1994 during the Sudan famine. The picture depicts a famine-stricken girl crawling toward a United Nations food camp, located one kilometre away.

The vulture is waiting for the child to die so it can eat her. Nobody knows what happened to the child including photographer Kevin Carter, who took the picture and left the area immediately.

Kevin Carter committed suicide 3 months later.

_____________________

Carter, a white South African, spent only a couple of days in Sudan. According to Susan D Moeller, who tells Carter's story in Compassion Fatigue: How the Media Sell Disease, Famine, War and Death, he had gone into the bush seeking relief from the terrible starvation and suffering he was documenting, when he encountered the emaciated girl. When he saw the vulture land, Carter waited quietly, hoping the bird would spread its wings and give him an even more dramatic image. It didn't, and he eventually chased the bird away. The girl gathered her strength and resumed her journey toward a feeding centre. Afterward, writes Moeller, Carter "sat by a tree, talked to God, cried, and thought about his own daughter, Megan."

When the image of the prostrate girl and the patient vulture appeared, many people demanded to know what had happened to her. The New York Times explained in an editors' note that while she resumed her trek, the photographer didn't know if she had survived. Carter stood accused; callers in the middle of the night denounced him. The girl began to haunt the photographer. In June 1994, Carter, beset by difficulties, killed himself. His suicide note speaks of the ghosts he could not escape, the "vivid memories of killings & corpses; anger & pain," and the "starving and wounded children" ever before his eyes.

In Carter's case, Western newspaper readers saw a little girl. Carter, in the Sudanese village where he landed, was watching 20 people starve to death each hour. Perhaps he might have laid aside his camera to give the victims what succor he could (and thus never have encountered the girl in the bush); perhaps his photographs could have led to greater help than he could personally give. Should he have carried one girl to safety? Carter was surrounded by hundreds of starving children. When he sat by the tree and wept, it was beneath a burden of futility. But his was not a photo of futility, nor of mass starvation, nor of religious factionalism, nor of civil war. Readers saw only a little girl.

Taken from: http://flatrock.org.nz/topics/odds_and_oddities/ultimate_in_unfair.htm

Ah, the wonder of GOLF...

What an enjoyable day I had. Days like this don't come often... gorgeous weather, wonderful company, thoughtful advice, good conversation...

*sigh*

Suffice it to say that I am not a great golfer. But what I lack in skill I more than make up for in determination and inventive curse words.

This afternoon; however, I did pretty well (no, I have no idea of my score) mostly because of the patient (entirely solicited) advice of my partner... a player self-described as inconsistent, but more knowledgeable about common novice errors thereby improving my understanding of my swing and it's tendencies.

I can't wait to get out on the course again, and when I get to the point where I can shoot within 10% of par, I get to buy myself some adorably tacky golf shoes! Yay!