Remembering Michener’s advice on living the experience before you write about it, I decided to give it a try .

So I went out to my backyard and glanced around to make sure no one was watching. Then I put my scrub bucket over my head and beat on it with a broom handle. The noise was unbelievable and unbearable.

I banged the bucket a few more times to make sure I could write that scene for the book. With my ears still ringing, I quickly pushed back the bucket and found myself looking into the astonished, fearful face of my neighbor, staring out of her apartment window, located directly above the apartment my husband and I were renting .

We stared at each other for the longest time without saying a word. I know she thought I was crazy.

Within the week, the poor woman moved out!　

I had several choices on Saturday. Clean the garage, wash the car or go to the golf store and waste hours looking at a bunch of stuff I couldn’t afford.

It was crowded at the golf store. I like it when it’s that way. The salespeople are too busy to pester you, and you can play with the putters all day long. I have won many imaginary tournaments on that little carpeted green.

I was heading to the front of the store to forage in the “experienced” golf ball jar when I saw three familiar kids-mine-coming in the front door.  sent them on a search party and that I’d have to clean the garage after all. Then I saw the sign over the checkout stand, “Ask About Our Father’s Day Specials.” They were here to buy me a gift! Not another Three Stooges tie. Not another Handy Mitt, the greatest car-washing aid since water, but a golf gift. Cool Dream beauty pro hard sell.