Radioactive

Masters Week

In My Bloodstream:Nothing new
On The Stereo:Play That Song, Train

On Tuesday morning, I woke up early to find a napkin on my head.  I looked in the mirror and realized I still had a bandage to cover the residual damage left by the plastic surgeon resident.  I had believed there would be a tiny wound under the cover.  A remnant of the scar tissue she had picked off.  Better have a look.

I lifted the tape off my forehead and pulled the bandage towards the back of my head.  I was stopped by the tape on the back, which I could not see in the mirror.  Kath had a look and said the tape had been caught up in my hair.  Sorry, she said, and pulled it all off.

For the first time, I saw my new wound.  It was larger and more raw than I expected.  I could see my own disappointed look.  The medics had both been upbeat with the healing progress, and I imagined a clean head, perhaps with a hardly noticeable nick.

                               I call this one,  "Head divot in the morning sun".  Mac was the artist.

Kath asked me what the doctors had said about treating the scar, and I told her they had said nothing.  They had not even said how long we should leave the bandage on.  That should not be a surprise to us.  A few years ago, after a surgery, the nurse started to review with me, how to treat my wound of that moment, and the surgeon told her not to bother.  He advised her that we knew more about wound treatment than anyone, and we could look after ourselves.

Kath said we would leave it open for the day and, after a shower, she would apply vaseline to keep it moist, a treatment we have employed before, successfully.  We will see.

We watched The Masters this week.  Golf, and this tournament, in particular, are a treat for the viewer.  The competition over four days, to the finish, contained a myriad of individual and compelling stories.  Every competitor started as equals.  Each day and every passing hour, was crammed with emotion.  For every flash of joy, there were moments of despair.  There was brilliance and frustration.  Foresight and hindsight.  Each golfer wanted to write their story, and take their place in history.  And a great golfer won, and that, in itself, shouted the belief we all have, in redemption.

A man becomes great. He loses his way.  His wife leaves him, for good reason.  His health interferes with his dream.  Alcohol and drug issues.  He is, by most, forgiven his past indiscretions, and celebrated for his rebirth as a committed father and golfer for the ages.  A pretty fair story.

But here are a couple of different takeaways.  The competitors who fought each other, and the course, are not enemies at the end.  They comport themselves in a way that we all should emulate.  They congratulated the victor, with handshakes and hugs.  Long, sincere, and honest displays of affection.  Many, who finished early, did not leave, but waited, to express their genuine respect for such accomplishment.  A civility not often seen these days.  Winners in our society are tarred with hate.  How else could they win, but to cheat and lie.  Not so this past weekend.  Not in golf.  Not at The Masters.

The last, and most interesting thing, were the fans (patrons), who actually watched the drama, without the aid of a cellphone, to catch the moment.  I would believe, with all my heart, that the memories they take home with them, will remain as indelible as any captured on film.  The power and emotion of a united throng, collectively sharing the energy of the action is unique.  Cameras make us singular.  Your story will be "I was looking right into a lens".   That is not the way to capture life.

The opportunity to be a part of history is missed.  You would be there, but uninvolved.  The collective is lost.  For this tournament, the drama will be forever held in your mind.  You will tell your story and share your imagination and your emotion until your time is done.  That is the gift of The Masters.

No cellphones at large events is not just a good rule.  It is a great rule.  Bring back the joy of a shared experience.  When we see coverage of every other golf tournament, all we see are thousands of people looking at their phones.  The celebration of this tournament can never be replicated, especially since the fans are fully engaged.  The sheer joy and crushing heartbreak of each shot erupted on their faces.  Again and again and again.

For instance, we recognize that movies succeed because we want to share our feelings with those of others.   We join in a theater, with strangers to release the breadth of our emotions.  Because of that singular fact, the predicted demise of movie theaters never came to pass.  We are social animals and we require companionship to share and legitimize our laughter and our tears.  Our experience would be enriched at events to a far greater extent if we watched the action and not the phone.  As would that of the athletes or actors.  Trust me.  Looking back at faces full of wonder seems a better option than seeing the backside of an iPhone.

I was going to show another pic of my head, but not enough has changed, so you are saved the sight.

A couple of my friends are struggling this week, and my thoughts are with them.

Peace be with you this week.