Then our mouth was filled was said
Psalm 126:2-3
The golf tournament that arose as part of our Easter weekend festivities became a thing of legend itself. Friends and family gathered from near and far. There were some that played golfon a regular basis objective objective was thoroughly met
For several yearsthat was able to participate was able to
The first year that Drew gathered with us he and I met witha number of family members at the old farmhouse for yet another cup of coffee and a sausage biscuit; you really can’t have too much of either. In the midst of enjoying our biscuit and coffee, however, a crisis erupted - the kitchen sink was no longer draining properly.
In homes built with indoor plumbing from the outset the approach to such a crisis simple. You open the trap or the clean-out and, well, you clean it out. For a sinkthat was there before the house had indoor plumbing and was never plumbed to the septic system, the process becomes slightly more complex. We had to trace the drain line to where it terminated down near the barn and clear away the debris from the end of the line.
Wearing our golf jerseys and armed with plenty of enthusiasm we charged off en masse to the barn in search of the recalcitrant drain to correct its evil ways. Shovel, rakes, hoes, and a wide variety of implements of destructionwere picked up and hoisted into the air as we made our way to the barn. Honestly, we looked like a poorly dressed mob seeking to destroy Frankenstein’s monster; all that was missing was our torches.
Someone in the crowd then proclaimed they knew exactly where the drainterminated . With a crazed enthusiasm several attacked the suspected spot, creating a crater in the earth only to discover dirt and cow manure, but no drain.
“No, no, dig over here; this is the spot,” was proclaimed by another with a sense of authority.
Like the frenzied crowd we had become we moved our operations a few feet to the right andbegan to rip away the soil once again to find the drain. No luck. No joy. But, we did have another hole several feet wide and several feet deep.
“Wait, this is it; I just know it is. Dig right here,” indicating yet another spot, a little closer to the house.
We did not lose faith or even falter in their confidence. No, sir. We dug with even more enthusiasm because we knew that we were closing in on the elusive pipe. Another hole and gaping crater was uncovered, and still no drain.
As all of this excitement continues for another three or four holes, Drew watched in wrapped excitement. Actually, he was barely containing his laughter. Well, in truth, he wasn’t containing his laughter at all as he told me, “Man, you Connollys sure know how to have a good time. Nobody digs a hole quite like you guys.”
Eventually, my father, who owns a plumbing wholesale company, pulled out one of his fancy gadgets that is made for just exactly this circumstance. It was an expandable bulb that is placed on the end of a garden hose and then inserted into a clogged pipe to effectively blast out stubborn clogs with ease. Shortly after he did this a geyser erupted in the yard, but nowhere close to where we had a series of holes dug in the ground near the barn.
When this fountain of water emitted from the ground my uncle then remembered, “Oh yeah, we moved that about ten years ago when this clogged up the last time. That’s where we put it alright.”
A chorus of laughter filled the air. We all acknowledged that perhaps working smart and not hard should be a model we follow in the future. That morning, however, our model was working hard and not smart.
As we made our way to the golf course Drew continued to be nearly moved to tears of laughter by the antics of our family. “You guys are a riot.”
“We are not always this way,” I assured him. But, in contrition I must confess, I may have accidentally lied; sometimes we are worse.
We played in foursomes and had about 10 foursomes starting that day; it was great. As each team teed up we watched, and cajoled each other as we began. It was obvious that Tiger Woods place in the annals of golf history and legend was in no way threatened by us.
Our foursome was Drew, my sister, Karen, her husband, Scott, and me. We played “best ball” which means that for each stroke we take the best ball hit, and then all four of us hit our ball from there. The next shot we do that all over again. As if that were not making it easy enough we were also reasonably generous with our mulligans. I think I used all of mine just getting off the first tee to everyone’s amusement; except, of course the golfers on the courses to our left and right. But, our fairway was completely clear from being threatened by my swings.
When we got to the third or fourth hole we were debating on whether we should play Karen’s ball or Drew’s. When Karen reached down to move some debris from around her ball Drew noticed that her thumbnail was painted black, but also spread across much of her thumb. Drew found this unusual and asked her about her unusual manicure.
Karen never missed a beat nor gave it a second thought, “I was painting my nipples.”
It was some time, and after some significant cajoling by neighboring golfers to quiet down that Drew was able to rein in his laughter. He had assumed many things that could have resulted in her thumb being painted black, but never in his wildest of dreams was that on the list.
“No, no, it's not that you dirty boy! Where is your mind? Oh my gosh, get your head out of the gutter,” Karen interjected. “I was painting nipples at work.”
Laughter spewed forth once more. “What kind of work do you do that you would be painting anyone’s nipples?”
Karen was exasperated, and none of us were helping very much at all with our own laughter. “Oh my goodness Drew. It’s not that kind of nipple; it's a short piece of pipe that is threaded on both ends. I work for my father in the plumbing business.”
“Really?” Drew was absolutely incredulous.
“Yes really. They were rusting and I needed to paint them for a customer.” Karen tried to regain composure, because we actually needed to still decide which ball to hit and who was going to hit first. Obviously, none of us had enough composure to hit anything for the next several minutes.
When Drew and I were driving home later that day he was telling me how he never dreamed that so much could happen with plumbing in one day that could be so interesting. “But man, your family is crazy. Really funny, but crazy. We have to do this again.”
Psalm 126:2-3
The golf tournament that arose as part of our Easter weekend festivities became a thing of legend itself. Friends and family gathered from near and far. There were some that played golf
For several years
The first year that Drew gathered with us he and I met with
In homes built with indoor plumbing from the outset the approach to such a crisis simple. You open the trap or the clean-out and, well, you clean it out. For a sink
Wearing our golf jerseys and armed with plenty of enthusiasm we charged off en masse to the barn in search of the recalcitrant drain to correct its evil ways. Shovel, rakes, hoes, and a wide variety of implements of destruction
Someone in the crowd then proclaimed they knew exactly where the drain
“No, no, dig over here; this is the spot,
Like the frenzied crowd we had become we moved our operations a few feet to the right and
“Wait, this is it; I just know it is. Dig right here,” indicating yet another spot, a little closer to the house.
We did not lose faith or even falter in their confidence. No, sir. We dug with even more enthusiasm because we knew that we were closing in on the elusive pipe. Another hole and gaping crater was uncovered, and still no drain.
As all of this excitement continues for another three or four holes, Drew watched in wrapped excitement. Actually, he was barely containing his laughter. Well, in truth, he wasn’t containing his laughter at all as he told me, “Man, you Connollys sure know how to have a good time. Nobody digs a hole quite like you guys.”
Eventually, my father, who owns a plumbing wholesale company, pulled out one of his fancy gadgets that is made for just exactly this circumstance. It was an expandable bulb that is placed on the end of a garden hose and then inserted into a clogged pipe to effectively blast out stubborn clogs with ease. Shortly after he did this a geyser erupted in the yard, but nowhere close to where we had a series of holes dug in the ground near the barn.
When this fountain of water emitted from the ground my uncle then remembered, “Oh yeah, we moved that about ten years ago when this clogged up the last time. That’s where we put it alright.”
A chorus of laughter filled the air. We all acknowledged that perhaps working smart and not hard should be a model we follow in the future. That morning, however, our model was working hard and not smart.
As we made our way to the golf course Drew continued to be nearly moved to tears of laughter by the antics of our family. “You guys are a riot.”
“We are not always this way,” I assured him. But, in contrition I must confess, I may have accidentally lied; sometimes we are worse.
We played in foursomes and had about 10 foursomes starting that day; it was great. As each team teed up we watched, and cajoled each other as we began. It was obvious that Tiger Woods place in the annals of golf history and legend was in no way threatened by us.
Our foursome was Drew, my sister, Karen, her husband, Scott, and me. We played “best ball” which means that for each stroke we take the best ball hit, and then all four of us hit our ball from there. The next shot we do that all over again. As if that were not making it easy enough we were also reasonably generous with our mulligans. I think I used all of mine just getting off the first tee to everyone’s amusement; except, of course the golfers on the courses to our left and right. But, our fairway was completely clear from being threatened by my swings.
When we got to the third or fourth hole we were debating on whether we should play Karen’s ball or Drew’s. When Karen reached down to move some debris from around her ball Drew noticed that her thumbnail was painted black, but also spread across much of her thumb. Drew found this unusual and asked her about her unusual manicure.
Karen never missed a beat nor gave it a second thought, “I was painting my nipples.”
It was some time, and after some significant cajoling by neighboring golfers to quiet down that Drew was able to rein in his laughter. He had assumed many things that could have resulted in her thumb being painted black, but never in his wildest of dreams was that on the list.
“No, no, it's not that you dirty boy! Where is your mind? Oh my gosh, get your head out of the gutter,” Karen interjected. “I was painting nipples at work.”
Laughter spewed forth once more. “What kind of work do you do that you would be painting anyone’s nipples?”
Karen was exasperated, and none of us were helping very much at all with our own laughter. “Oh my goodness Drew. It’s not that kind of nipple; it's a short piece of pipe that is threaded on both ends. I work for my father in the plumbing business.”
“Really?” Drew was absolutely incredulous.
“Yes really. They were rusting and I needed to paint them for a customer.” Karen tried to regain composure, because we actually needed to still decide which ball to hit and who was going to hit first. Obviously, none of us had enough composure to hit anything for the next several minutes.
When Drew and I were driving home later that day he was telling me how he never dreamed that so much could happen with plumbing in one day that could be so interesting. “But man, your family is crazy. Really funny, but crazy. We have to do this again.”
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