My strangest summer in recent memory began on April 27 when I fell off my bicycle, breaking my left elbow and right hand. That was 4 1/2 months after breaking my left collarbone. I’d have difficulty expressing how depressing the whole episode has been. Winter for me is downright depressing so I count on the other three seasons to not be downers. Oh, well…
Eventually my bones healed; but it was mid-summer when I finally got my golf game on, although my results have been a mixed bag. I’ve been shooting between low-nineties to mid-eighties at my home course, then well into the one hundred teens at other venues. Humbling. Frustrating. Infuriating.
Through all this I managed to survive because I had one constant that kept me grounded from mid-spring through summer — strawberries.
I’ve eaten strawberries on ice cream; I’ve eaten them on my morning cereal. If I could find a reason to core and slice the luscious red goodness onto anything I did it. Essentially, the way to sanity during my tribulations has been through a sweet red berry. I’m OK with that.