To celebrate the release of my latest project at work, I suggested that our team take a trip out to the Landa Park Golf Course. I suggested this despite not having played golf in at least three to four years and I wasn’t quite sure where my golf clubs actually were.

First things first: the search for the golf clubs. I looked around my ex’s garage fruitlessly for a while. After giving up, my daughter Gabriela said she thought she knew where they were. She pointed at the bottom of a pile of boxes, paint supplies, trash, bike parts, etc. Sure enough there they were - out of plain site.

Playing the game was fun - if by fun you mean laughing at how shockingly badly we were. I just managed to keep from driving into the Comal river on a couple of occasions. The highlight of the day was watching Nick hurtle towards the front of my cart. I was racing at top speed towards the cart he was riding in when unexpectedly (to Nick), Jim swerved to avoid a head-on collision with me. The image of Nick briefly airborne while I ran him down will be with me for a long time.

Later, while digging around in my golf bag I found the subject of this post: my first pocket knife. I thought it had been lost long ago. My parents gave it to me when we lived in Panama sometime in the late 70’s. It needs some tender loving care, but I’m glad to have it back.