This is my friend, Butch He complains of cold ears. He looks pointedly at me when he states this, as I sit watching the senior bowling league with my knitting needles always in hand, ever occupied. He complains of this a lot. My heart goes out to him, and soon, so do my knitting needles.
Butch waited patiently for a year for his headgear. It covers his ears so he can take those morning walks that keep him neat and trim and bowling fit. His hat is made of scraps. His hat is made with love. Great love of yarn, in any size or portion and a great love of the man who took our old friend "Doc" Townley's place when he passed on. Doc had been a great bowler in his day - threw a few of those 300 games, was written up in the papers, when local bowling had an avid following. Doc bowled until his last few days on this earth, less than a week to be exact. He loved the game, even though he in the end struggled to break a 100. But when he rolled a good one, he danced. We called it "the Doc Dance". He made you feel special just being in his sight.
Then, Butch came along. Hadn't really ever bowled, always announced at the end of each game that he was dragging the team's average down, that he should just fire himself, and go home. Thank goodness he stayed, improved his game (as practice always will) and brought a smile in with him every week. Butch is a happy fellow, about anything outside a bad bowling game!
When a door closes, another opens somewhere. The team was blessed with Butch. My Dad was the next to leave the league - not to long after Doc. Bladder Cancer. He bowled right up until the end as well. Can't take the bowler out of certain men - they are meant for the lanes, no matter what they are bowling.
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