From the Back Nine: Short putts

It’s too hot for sustained thought. So here are a few random reflections flickering through my mind this August:

• I had an EKG the other day, and the youthful technician warned me that the removal of the stickers from my legs might feel like a mini-wax. I told her that part of the gold in the golden years is that leg hair mostly disappears. She seemed thrilled to know that. And then I explained all the other things that disappear.

• Sis and I have a new rescue dog named Jinx. Jinx will go down the outdoor steps only if our other dog leads the way. And she won’t come up them although we’ve tried negotiations, peace talks, cease fires, treats and threat. So one of us clambers down the steps to open the lower door to allow Jinx to come through the garage and into the house. She’s done a really fine job with her training program, don’t you think?

• I don’t want to learn any more computer programs. If I can’t do it now, it doesn’t matter to me. I will be depending on the kindness of others. You have been warned.

• Have you noticed an increase in butterflies this summer? I’ve seen more swallowtails in my yard than I have for a long time. Thanks to all you careful gardeners. Your efforts are showing off bright yellow in the sun.

• I’ve taken to writing poetry. This mostly makes me feel melodramatic a lot of the time. I emote. I wonder if that is why fewer people want to have lunch with me?

• I’ve spent seven decades with binary pronouns. Don’t expect me to be a quick-change artist. I’m having to measure your needs against my belief that plural pronouns don’t belong with singular subjects. I am making the effort, but the shift is happening at the speed glaciers used to go years ago.

• And speaking of euphemisms … When a restaurant says “field greens,” it means “weeds.” I don’t want weeds in my salads. Gimme iceberg or romaine or leaf and leave the rest of that stuff out with the cowpies where it belongs.

• I haven’t worn makeup in years. But I’ve been invited to a wedding, and since I’d rather not go as Father Time, I thought I’d try a few cosmetics. I rummaged in the back of my dresser drawers and unearthed pencils and jars that haven’t seen the light of day since the Jurassic Era.

I applied the items that had not totally crusted over.

If I go to the wedding like this, people will think I am the specter of Clarabell, returned from the dead.

• Just when I thought all was lost, I discovered frozen alcohol pops!

Linda B. Myers is the author of 10 novels, including “Starting Over Far Away,” a new book to be released this month. Reach her at