Saturday, May 25
I hopped on BlackJack, hit the trail, and my text alert went off.
“You should come over and hit balls,” Golf Guy suggested.
I photographed the trail between BlackJack’s ears and sent it. “On BlackJack,” I texted. “How long will you be there?”
“Nice, five.”
“I just got home,” I texted later. “Probably won’t get there today. If there’s another good day, let me know.”
“Okay. How was riding?”
“Great. Rode alone. Jack gets competitive, racy, tries to run other horses off the trail when we’re with others. He’s a pistol. How was teaching?”
“Sounds like he is full of energy, like you.”
“He’s taught me a lot. There’s a global meditation tonight from nine to ten. My friend is coming over and we’re going to do yoga and meditate.”
“Nice. Find your happy place.”
"What are you doing?"
"Just chillin'."
No future date. Golf Guy, please go away.
"What are you doing?"
"Just chillin'."
No future date. Golf Guy, please go away.
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