Park, 7:38 p.m. - Old people love their heavy metal objects

OK. My friends and I decided to broaden our horizons and head out to a community park in the county north of here tonight. We saw a thing in the paper for a horseshoe thing and thought, "Hey, nice. That could be fun." So, we rolled out of work, fought traffic and landed at the park amidst a bunch of old people who haven't worked a day since Reagan was president.

I know I'm REAL down on the old people all the time, but everyone we met was absolutely wonderful. There was this old guy named Bob who adopted us liked we were his long lost children.

He cleaned off a horseshoe pitch for us, found some horseshoes, gave us a quick lesson, and told us to start throwing. And you know what, I LOVE TO THROW THINGS. Horseshoes are good. Plates are are better. Ex-boyfriends out of the car at a gas station are GREAT!

Anyway. This perfectly wonderful old lady named Barb or Ann or Sue or Deb or something else with three letters and as old as dirt was sitting behind a Welcome table. We got name tags and welcome packets and everything. Deb has on a blue jumper and those old lady blue jeans with the elastic in the waistband. She's got steel-gray hair and might be seventy but she doesn't act like a day over 40.

There's a lot of old ladies here - who are clearly just supporting their menfolks. One old bird is sitting at a picnic table behind me. She's the best-dressed person here - in Ann Taylor Loft separates and a really nice red blazer. She's got the knitting out and it looks like she's making a baby booty in pale blue. I bet she's got a new grandson. The clank and the thunk of the horseshoes doesn't bother her in the least.

The action on the pitch has died down, but there are a couple of die-hards. Three old dudes - one of them wearing a knee brace - and one skinny woman wearing black jeans and a red gingham shirt are still throwing two-pound metal U's back and forth with deadly seriousness.

My mentor, Bob, was explaining the rules of the game to me and how he goes to competitions all the time. Bob is a serious player. He's a good player too. He's got a tournament tomorrow - and he told us that he can hit a ringer in 40 out of every 100 pitches.

Wow. This is a dangerous game. One guy is cleaning the horseshoes in a bucket. The three other guys are pitching from the other end. One old guy threw a horseshoe, smacked the concrete and bounced it right into the bucket the old dude was cleaning horseshoes in. And then DID IT AGAIN!

This one old lady is WILDLY curious about what I'm writing. I think she thinks that I'm a reporter. Well, I am "reporting" the action. But not how she thinks. Real reporters would identify themselves and ask for people's proper names. Not just sit and write.

Anyway. The bugs are going something fierce out here. And I'm hungry. All that exercise helped me work up an appetite.

And I think I might have pulled a muscle in my arm!

Much love.