Therapy.
I've mentioned before that Carl and I wanted to do something together, that neither of us had done before. And thus we discovered our local municipal golf course. And we took lessons based on Carl's good friend, Scott's, recommendation. He told us to call Woody Woodard. We had a weekly lesson with Woody, both of us at the same time. For both of us, golf was a form of therapy. It got us out of our own way, and into other people's ways (the wayward balls, skiffs, scuffs, and wild swings). It got him away from his yacht designing biz. It got me away from my real estate biz. Not for long...but we did get away. Because Carl was left handed and I wasn't, when we practiced, we would face each other. We would try not to make faces about our own inadequacies or swings. Often we would be super-frustrated in only the effort of trying to hit that small ball, short or long distances. And of course we would just start laughing at each (with) other. So it's been almos