When life gives you lemons...

Lest, based on my last post, you thought the husband infallible, we decided we'd best try the Frisbee golf thing again.

In Justin's brain it is the most logical thing in the world: you go throw a Frisbee in a basket eighteen times. Like golf, but cheap! (Actually, no. Not cheap. After driving around a park we saw several dudes playing Frisbee golf. They had a backpack: a specially designed Frisbee golf back pack with slots for all your nifty discs [like a putter, a driver, and a mid range. Someone drunk invented this sport.] And a drink holder... cause we being sweaty? In comparison, what Justin and I have been calling Frisbee golf is akin to whacking a gopher in a hole with a tree branch, and calling it golf.)

This whole issue has become rather personal for my man. He can throw anything: baseballs, boomerangs, footballs, javelins, pint-sized wife... I'd fight back if I could find some stilts and a muscle suit. We even play Frisbee in the backyard, and he does a fine job of it. However, when confronted with a basket nestled 425 feet away... this happens:

 



This may appear to  be a man stoically pondering the mysteries of the universe in a serene rural setting. But it is in fact a man searching for his Frisbee.

Ah ha! Found it!

 

What? You don't see it? It's green. That should help.

Or maybe that's the orange one... nope, I'm pretty sure the orange one was up river a few yards. This must be the green one.

Ever creative and never one to give up, my husband decided to retrieve a long stick from the middle of the river and use it to lever the Frisbee back to safety. Having no success in acquiring the long stick, the man determined to snag a longer stick in order to retrieve the long stick, in order to lever the Frisbee out.

 

The pictures don't offer his efforts fair credit. The embankment was six feet high. And his children were continually lining up in lemming fashion to jump off the edge, which distracted from the delicate rescue and recovery process.

Justin claims to be a realist, but there's some certain part of him, which wins key battles and allows optimism to peek out into the bright light of day. Life stole the Frisbees, it muddied his flip flops, cut up his baby girl on some branches, and sullied his masculine "I'll rock any sport" pride...

But God gave him a new walking stick.