Golf Cart Cruising
It was a gorgeous afternoon, unseasonably warm with a light breeze and a blue sky, fluffy white pillows floated high above and far into the distance.
The little boy’s older sister was standing at the base of the tree pointing and waving a stick, looking upward and yelling. “You’re gonna get in trouble.
Just wait 'til Mom and Dad find out." The little boy continued to climb, firmly grasping the next limb. The only hand-held devices either of them cared about were currently made of wood. A battle of wills is brewing.
A trio of pre-teen athletes is on the courts, dribbling and shooting – or rather attempting to with visions perhaps of taller days still to come. The ball had lost most of its bounce and gave an unenthusiastic thud as it hits the concrete.
A homemade version of three-man soccer is quickly invented instead; easier to kick the dull orange blob into a ground-level target versus one that’s hanging 10 feet in the air. The electronic slaughtering of dragons and zombies and ninjas will have to wait.
Peanut growls and barks at the middle aged couple just out for a stroll. She’s convinced that she’s protected us against some unspeakable evil roaming the street.
The smell of excessive charcoal lighter is thick as an outdoor gourmand excitedly readies the grill. It doesn’t matter much what he or she plans on preparing; any effort put forward to tantalize the taste buds above and beyond microwave chicken nuggets is an improvement.
Little girls – soon to be young women, walk and peddle eastward toward the diamonds as another season begins. Their practices will hopefully lead to more pleasure than the occasional inevitable pain. A few have oversized leather gloves borrowed from dad or grandpa; a few have stiff shiny pleather varieties that have yet to see a scuff or scratch.
One more block this way and then another that way, the aroma of someone with a touch more experience has a nice sear working, the caramelization on the outer edges catches the air and gently lingers. We have nothing this elaborate planned for our evening meal and I admit a twinge of envy.
As we pick up a little more speed on a slight downward slope, an urban farmer near the next intersection stares at a jumble of rabbit fencing. The spouse leans against the hard rake and watches, offering encouragement or instruction, I could not determine which. Believing it best to mind my own business – we rolled on.
Waves and smiles are exchanged with others out for a ride; some proactive and some reactive. An impromptu regatta like sailboats on the Chesapeake zig zag and cross paths across town, enjoying a simple pleasure that cities dwellers long for.
As preadolescent drivers sit on an elders lap they are gripping the wheel, cautious or courageous, a surge of euphoria and adrenaline flows. A newly- discovered sense of freedom is revealed and relished.
Life’s worries seem to drift away when we ride, the concerns of the week or of the world flutter away in the wind like the flag mounted on top.
The leftover fettucine from last night’s dinner waits. With a couple cans of tuna I can make a pretty tasty casserole. I ask my driver to buzz by the grocery store on the way home. “Whaddya need?” she asks.
“I need a half pint of heavy cream and some fresh grated parmesan cheese,” I respond.
She creeps toward the curb as if driving on ice. “Maybe a Key Lime pie?” she says.
“Yeah, that sounds good. You got any money?” I say, hopping out of the cart. “Get in,” she says as we slowly back up and head towards home to gather some funds.
My pockets are empty. My heart is full.
