Five stars. 

If I were to write a review of October, it might read: “Perfection. Not too hot. Maybe even a little chill. Meaningful college football games. The Braves are making memories for fans. Thanksgiving and Christmas bearing down on us. Bring it on!!!”

Last Monday, I had the pleasure of witnessing that perfection at Crystal Falls Golf Club.

Chilly morning relinquished its hold on the weather, giving way to a sunny late morning, early afternoon in that pristine 18-hole track that is more picturesque than ever.

Personally, back in the day, Cheech and I thumbed our collective noses at the former owners of Lanier Golf Club and signed on at Crystal Falls, a course so far into its infancy that it only consisted of nine holes. Nowadays, all 18 holes are postcard worthy.

Health problems have forced my clubs into storage. Maybe someday — just maybe — I’ll be able to give golf another whirl. But that’s somewhere down the road. More pressing is getting a mystery solved involving a kidney. 

I’ve never experienced the joy of having a kidney stone. On the 11th of my beloved October, I spent the day in the emergency department at Northside. By the way, we have a top-notch ER and their treatment alleviated my desire to bite a quarter in half.

The doctor thought it was a kidney stone. So did the nurses. I was a little loopy and I believe a custodian cleaned the room and said: “Oh man, you got ‘dem kinny stones.”

At least that’s what I thought he said. I might have even called him “Dr. Strangelove.”

The real doctor said there was nothing abnormal on my right side, maybe muscle spasms and inflammation. He then added one of the words you just don’t want to hear: “However...”

I’m a firm believer that it’s the “however” that will always get you.

So, we’ll see what’s taken residence on my left kidney and deal with that. I’m trying to rationalize that maybe whoever read the CT scan had a touch of dyslexia and confused left from right. 

Stay tuned. Is that cryptic enough for you?

Personally, I have no interest in fretting about what might be going on with Mr. Bad Kidney. Instead, I have pledged to find good in things that usually irritate the Dickens out of me.

Take Home Depot for example. I have documented my disdain for that store because I know, 100 percent, if I built it, no one would come. 

In fact, anything I built would be the subject of so much derision that I would need some serious therapy. 

I would be in need of Mr. Rogers, if he were still with us, to give me a boost of self-confidence. 

I was shattered enough early in the week when an insult from someone regarding a donation I made left me feeling horrible. 

No matter. Perhaps I’ll offer to ask them to check peanut oil in the turkey fryer by dipping their toe (or better yet, their hand) in the grease, hoping they will make sure the oil is plenty hot.

I have chosen not to dwell on other’s getting burned, instead being grateful for my mid-week outing to the store perfectly designed for others unlike me, those who really can do it themselves.

Christmas shrubs were abundant outside. Even better, rows of artificial trees made me feel warm and tingly, knowing that turkey time was drawing nigh. 

I must admit my pre-Christmas vibe was interrupted by Halloween howls and screams playing havoc with my mood. I snapped out of it by asking myself: “When do the real ones get here?”

It’s about to get good around here. I bet we’re all ready for that. Bulldog fans are poised to celebrate an undefeated season. The Braves, as I write this, are a game away from the World Series. 

And I would do myself a grave disservice if I didn’t go see the new James Bond film at a local movie house. In IMAX, of course.

Mike Tasos’ column appears every other weekend. Let’s all visualize raising a collective middle finger to MLB commissioner Rob Manfred and Stacy Abrams. You snatched the All-Star game, but we’re having an uproarious good time in the playoffs. He is on Facebook and can be emailed at miketasos@earthlink.net.