I LOVE LIVING

Fall trees at Dillon Nature Center, Hutchinson, Ks. 

We met that fall morning in the parking lot outside the hospital. She reached in her trunk to pull out a basket of scrape booking materials. "Would you like some help with the basket?" I asked.  

"No, I'm fine today. Thank you." With a heavy breathe she continued, "I may not feel this good after the treatment today. The days get really long for me."  

My heart took a double beat with her heavy sigh. Here she was smiling and looking at the sunlight. With a joyous expression on her face and a glisten in her eyes, she looked around at the hospital complex, of concrete, bricks, and asphalt, and then the sky. "I love living, Letty. I don't want to die." 

I LOVE LIVING

"So do I, Sue. I love living." But the words stayed on my tongue. I wasn't strong enough to repeat her words. I knew her cancer was more serious than we wanted to acknowledge, and I cried inside for her. For her zest for life. For her abundance of joy that she spread to all around her. For her family and selfishly, for me.

Prairie Dunes Country Club, Hutchinson, Kansas

It was a cold January and we were celebrating our sixtieth birthdays at Prairie Dunes. Sue was a friend who laughed like I did when it came to telling stories about plucking hair from our cheeks our round table of women took turns topping each others stories about aging, and asking over and over 'what next.' We laughed especially hard over the long black hairs that hung from our chins. Gads! you could see the look of agony as personal stories flashed through our minds of chin hairs. The next time it was the pitiful stories of shaving our mustaches for the first time.

Here we were at sixty trying to laugh out loud at our new 'old' bodies. Month by month we poked fun at our fragilities from puffy eye bags to sparse eyebrows; from wrinkles to 'wisdom spots' on our faces and arms.  

The friends all joined in the laughter with stories. "Ladies," one woman who confessed to being older than sixty placed her arm on the table, rolled up her blousy sleeve and continued, "This is why we wear long sleeve blouses all year long." Then she curiously rolled her skin back and forth using her index finger. She even went on to show us how she could pinch and pull up loose skin. We snorted we laughed so hard. I think it was after that story that the club gave us space to gather away from the lunch crowd. 

Perhaps we had shared a bottle of wine or beer at the luncheon that day. We seemed louder and funnier than ever, when Sue dropped her voice, gathered our attention and then pointed at her chin. "Look. Look at me." In silence we looked. "See."  She pointed to a camel colored mole, then she began to wisp two white hairs back and forth. Her cackle erupted, "I have become a HAG and I'll pull your little hairs out one by one."  Our table roared with laughter. We loved to be in her audience.

WE LOVE LIFE.

Months passed. Things happened.

I often arrived to sit with Sue on Wednesday afternoons for a couple of hours.  Sometimes I helped her paste things into her scrape book for her children. Other times we shared our joys, sorrows, funny moments we experienced from golfing with other women, all told with a desire to share our lives and love for living. We still played golf on warm summer days. We saw hope on the horizon.   

Prairie Dunes Country Club, Hutchinson, Ks. 

On a late spring day, I walked her to the car to say our evening good-byes. Tears I'd never seen before began to flow. Catching her breathe between sobs she said, "Here. I have to show you something." I watched closely as she put her basket in the car and pulled out a plastic sack. Shaking and crying she reached inside and pulled out an object that looked like a prop from a HALLOWEEN movie. It was a brownish toned mask with tiny holes along the forehead and down one side to the ear. 

It was my turn to gasp and catch my breathe. Holding the mask away from her like a dead animal she sobbed, "The cancer has metastasized in my brain. They told me that I now have to come back for radiation."  I reached for a hug. As she rested her head on my shoulder, she sobbed, "I don't want to wear that mask. It's dark. It's ugly. I don't want sting rays shooting through my head." We cried. 

At last she sobbed, "I just want to live. Doesn't God know that I LOVE LIVING?"

I don't remember being able to come up with words of encouragement. I do remember we continued to share what we loved best about living, to the point that we compared our crooked toes right there in the room full of patients all receiving chemo. 

Sue Wagler

January 23, 1948 - September 03, 2010

Surprise Lilies by night 

Dear Sue, 

I hear your words "I love to Live. I love living," ringing in my head these days. I noticed out my window that a few bulbs are reaching up through the cold mantle of earth. Our perennials. Sue, you are my shining example of a Perennial. I pray that I may never forget how much joy living brings us. Did I ever tell you that I LOVE LIVING, too?

A View of Life as a Perennial

Click on this link to read another story about living and loving life as a Perennial. 

What a Way to Go!

 The crisp winter sun warmed a living room filled with grown nieces, nephews, greats and grands, and a tree brightly gleaming for an early Christmas with Aunt Pat’s family.  One by one the children opened their gifts with joyous shouts, the adults chimed in as gift by gift opened to surprises.  Pat laughed and continued to direct who would open the next gift.  We loved her skills at directing the chaos of Christmas,  a classroom, or a school filled with teachers, children, and parents.  Pat took charge.

Her golfing friends from Prairie Dunes lovingly nicknamed her Madam President and Lemmon Drop. When she'd hug someone she admired she might say with a giggle, "I bet you've never been squeezed by a lemon before."  She loved it when we teased her because she understand that we knew her deep down inside.  We knew she loved children; she loved life; she loved organizing people. Her commitment to Civic Duty in Hutchinson, Ks made a positive impact for many.

More than anything she loved to play golf and bring friends to Prairie Dunes.  As the sometimes self-appointed greeter for generations of people coming through the doors of her beloved golf course, Pat beamed with pride. She was never short on her opinions.  One of her proudest achievements in golf came when she won the Jeanine Washburn trophy in 2003 and 2009. It had been her idea to celebrate her friend, Jeanine, by creating a trophy for the Senior woman who played the best in the annual City Tournament.

Trudy, Pat, Letty, Doris, Manon, LeeAnn, Pat Lemmon 2003

Putting was her favorite part of playing golf, and she secretly carried on conversations with the original designer of Prairie Dunes, Perry Maxwell, about the dastardly breaks and nuances of the greens. When her golf ball rolled in the hole you could see her blue eyes sparkle in delight.  However, her golf ball sometimes went sideways instead of straight ahead, causing much laughter by those of us in her group. One time she hit the ball on the heel of the club causing the ball to eject behind her on the left side. In a heartbeat Trudy and I leaped skywards avoiding a sharp blow from the golf ball.  As we stood stunned Pat merely looked at us and asked, “Why were you standing there?”  Why explain that we thought standing behind someone and a few yards up was generally a safe place to be!  After stunned silence there was laughter, and with Lemmon Drop you could count on her high pitch laughter. 

Ike, Pat Lemmon, Sonja. Book Club dinner

At book club she regularly  had a point to make. When we heard her words, "Now I have something to say."  We all turned. She waited until the room was silent, then with her strict teacher/principal look she’d hold the book up for us to see and state her mind. We might have disputed her opinion from time to time, but we remained focused on her when she spoke.  Madam President knew how to control the situation.

That early December afternoon after kisses and hugs had gone round the room for thanks and love, her niece Susan stood up to bring in the fudge that Pat especially loved.  Within the moment, Pat Lemmon, my friend, a woman respected by thousands, closed her eyes and slumped in the chair. A massive ischemic stroke had closed her eyes forever. 

I wasn’t there but I can only imagine the beauty of her smile and the gentle touch from heaven above.  She never regained consciousness and died one week later. Oh, what a way to go. 

How ironic, that her death found a way to lift my spirits and belief in the almighty’s timing.  We are watching my mother-in-law travel the long painful road to heaven, and our hearts  break each day as we see her life slowly fading away.  “Why,'  I’ve cried to God so many times, “Why does my mother-in-law have to struggle and suffer this long slow aging process.”  After hearing that Pat Lemmon, was uplifted in such peace and glory, like The Little Match Girl, I realized the truth in these words from Ecclesiastes 3:

To everything there is a season, and a time to every purpose under the heaven;

A time to be born, and a time to die; a time to plant and a time to pluck up that which is planted;

A time to kill, and a time to heal; a time to break down, and a time to build up;

A time to weep, and a time to laugh; a time to mourn, and a time to dance.

Thanks for the memories Madam President.

Obituary for Pat Lemmon

The Byrds-- Turn Turn Turn

Life Got in the Way

Golf Gypsy

I wanted to write a story 
  But life got in the way.

I wanted to write about rat and Phyllis
  But I played too much golf.




I wanted  a little girl to be cured of cancer
  But all I could do was a send a flutterby prayer to heaven and wait. 

Tony, Lora, Letty, Jack at Prairie Dunes

I wanted to write about my travels
  But I've been on the road visiting friends.

Percy and Great Grandma Alleen

I wanted to write about our family and all the fun we have,

Katy and hen

 But I was too busy playing with cousins, nieces, daughters,  and all, so what could be better than family, I asked.










I wanted to write about my sister studying in Guatemala,

Antigua, Guatemala

  But all I've done is enjoy her pictures while awaiting her safe return.











I wanted to write about my grandson's trip to Singapore      with his parents,

Mike, Ann, Isaac

 But that is his story to write.

Bluebird Books

I wanted to plant flowers and weed my gardens,

  But I've been reading, playing, and relaxing instead, so the
 gardens will survive.







I wanted to take my daughter and great niece to Turner Falls to create new memories, And we did. 

Katy mid air, Percy observing

Letty and Percy on top of the world.

Golf Gypsy: The Man I Love

Thirty-two years ago, at 6:25 pm Las Vegas time, Jack and I married in a simple and swift ceremony at The Little Chapel of the West.  We had met two years previously as single parents, both raising children who would soon be teenagers.  When we met I was a mother, librarian, professional storyteller and puppeteer, and my golf clubs were hiding in storage in an old leather golf bag.  Golf was the farthest thing from my mind.

The summer after we married, I intended to be the mother extraordinaire, but my plans went awry by that July.  I spent my mornings cleaning house, washing clothes, and getting meals ready for the day, little did I realize what three pre-teens could do to a house in a few hours. One evening as I vented my motherly frustrations, to a loving patient husband who had worked all day, he said, "Don't you have a set of

golf clubs in the garage?"  "So!" I mumbled.  He continued, "Why don't you get up several mornings a week and go out to Westwood and play golf, then when the kids get up you will have enjoyed your morning outside."  He was a smart man, and I was wise enough to follow his advice.

My life changed.  Our love and lives blended.  Three decades passed.  Three children became happy healthy and wise adults.

All those years he supported me with smiles, hugs, and thoughtful words: when I practiced and performed my stories; when I created puppets and plays; when I traveled and taught college classes and workshops; when I said yes to projects and committees that I didn't have time for; when I said, "Yes, I will write that book with you Dr. Laughlin."  We

played golf together, and I learned not to coach him. Sometimes he caddied for me in golf tournaments, or took me down to the river bottom to practice sand shots; When I pondered becoming an LPGA teaching pro, he said, "Go for it." When the van of traveling gypsy golfers broke down, he traveled to far ends of

The Original Golf Gypsies

Oklahoma to bring us back, clubs, dirty clothes, woes, and all.  And when my parents died, he and our children cried with me. 

One evening, he glowed with excitement as he told me about a job offer in Hutchinson, Ks. I followed that man I loved, and our lives changed again.  We became a couple without children, as they had grown and left home.  I was lost and empty without my family, my school, my kids, and my friends. I cried.  Once again he said, "Why don't you go play golf and meet some new people."  I growled, "because it's winter in

Kansas!"  But the sun came out, the ice began to melt on the ponds. One warm winter day, I drove to the Highlands Golf course and played golf with new friends, who enjoyed laughter and competition, in that order. Still I taught school and continued to tell stories,all the while playing golf whenever time allowed, and meeting new friends through work and play.  

After the USGA announced that Prairie Dunes would host the 2002 Women's Championship, we joined the Dunes, knowing it was a once in a lifetime opportunity. Even though my parents weren't there to enjoy the event, Jack's mother came up with our nephew to see Nancy Lopez play golf in person,

Nancy Lopez, 2002

because her husband, Albert, had been a fan of Nancy Lopez.  Golf had touched us all in many different ways. 

Letty, Peggy, Manon

I retired in 2008 and became a golf gypsy--traveling with friends and Jack through out Kansas;  to California, Colorado, Arizona, Arkansas, and Oklahoma; to Tennessee, Mississippi, South Carolina, and Texas, too. When I wasn't playing golf, my mind was spinning

Tony, Lora, Jack

stories, and a blog called "Literally Letty" was created.  What fun it's been sharing our universal stories.

We are both retired and living back were are roots were formed, in Oklahoma. Jack plays much more golf and travels with his buddies and his wife, and has found time to relax with life.  

Lucy Beeler, Jonya Stapp,
two State Champions

This year the Kansas Women's Golf Association KWGA and

Letty and Hannah Martin 

the Oklahoma Women's Golf Association WOGA both are celebrating 100 years of women's golf.Their history is like our lives, filled with up and downs, and yet they are building for the future, for the girls who will one day tell their stories through golf, through parenthood, and through careers as yet unimagined. I am grateful for all of the women whose lives helped to make in difference in my life, through work and play.

Through it all, I am most proud and thankful for Jack, the man I love, who stood with me as we raised our children, and who has chosen to travel this time with me.   

Jack and Letty, The Gallery in Marana, AZ

Golf Gypsy: The Evil Twin--Crazy 8

I don't know where this twin came from or why, but I most certainly remember that day nearly 18 years ago when I played a golf course, new to me, called Prairie Dunes.  The Yucca was the name of the women's

tournament.  I played that challenging course watching as my golf ball bounded into the gunch, penalty strokes accumulated, my putts rolled back and forth around the hole, and my sand shot became sand shots.  My handicap hovered around a 9 which meant I should have scored an 80-85, but there was a nervous energy in me that ignited my evil twin.   That day I roared to a 111, and felt thankful that I got off the course before the score rose even higher.  For the next decade I faced-off with that evil twin on and off the golf course.  Then, life seemed to find balance and harmony and the twin faded.

The story might have ended there, but for this last month.   Nearly every day for a month I've walked into my blogger room to write, and just stopped. Detoured by my own mind, my own twin.  I had once called that evil twin the "Detour Queen."  No matter how hard I tried I could not sit down and write. Even crying didn't help.  I searched my heart for answers, but instead found excuses:
     * the death of my mother-in-law's husband
     * funeral events and family tensions
     * nervous exhaustion
     * continual leg cramping and stringent pain in my butt! from inflamed muscles and back issues
     * countless hours at Physical Therapy every week
     * long walks with the dog
     * no golf, no time with friends
     * still searching for ways to make my new house a comfortable home
     * fear of dying or growing old
     * the death of my parents 25 years ago this fall

Then one day the physical therapist thought it might be a good idea that I play a few holes of golf, "Don't over do it.  Just see how the body reacts."  The body was relieved and relaxed.  Hearing Dawn's laughter, lifted my spirits, then the ladies from the Trails Golf Course all seemed glad to have me back among their group.  I even made time to practice my chipping and putting once, which helped to build my confidence.    But lurking, deep down inside of me was that evil twin.  

Our Trails Ladies Club Championship was held this week, and the evil twin laid low till the 10th hole when her high pitched squeal cried, "Come on take a chance.  I bet if you just swing hard you can hit the green.  After all, you just shot even par on the front side...."   The yanked shot started toward the green then skipped into the pond on the left.  A few more missed shots through out the day added up, and the twin seemed pleased with her actions.  I heard her ugly words that afternoon drowning out my mind with, "It doesn't matter....who cares..."   

Still, I slept well and felt good the next morning ready to play the second day of competition.  I should have caught on to her erratic behavior when she detoured me from leaving at 8:25 by suggesting that I wash a load of laundry and leave a note for friends on facebook!   I arrived at the course with barely enough time to loosen up and think golf.  After the short first tee shot and second one that bounced over the bridge, two missed chips, and four putts I heard her voice screaming sweetly from the earth's hollows.  "Oh, well.  It doesn't matter. It's just a silly game, and if you win no one will like you."  

Just like that my heart and head pounded.  Luckily, Dawn and Tammy both chimed in with cheerful notes of "now we've all three had 8's."  "Yeah, those snow bitches really add up."  My pounding nerves turned to a light quiver as I laughed at Dawn's term, "Snow bitches."  Afterall, she explained, "We are not snowmen (a golf term often applied to scores with 8)."  

My head is often crowded with blurred thoughts, but I rather like it, so of course, Helen Reddy began to sing "Heavens no I'm not a man... I am Woman hear me Roar."   I stepped up to the second tee singing and laughing over the snow bitches.  There is something about dropping the shoulders away from the ears and walking with relaxed muscles that make it easier to swing the golf club. Off and on for seventeen holes the "snow bitch" aka "the evil twin" worked at derailing me from an enjoyable day of golf.  Luckily, laughter and enjoyment of my friends and the warm weather won out. 

Crazy 8, You Can't Scare Me!

This morning I sat down to finish this story by practicing Yoga for the Mind--drawing. Like magic, "Crazy 8" appeared before me and came to life on the blank page with colors of flames, grasses, and waves.  She is such a character that I could only laugh at her and at me. How could something like Crazy 8 ever ruin a moment of my life?  I found the key I had lost in the move--laughter inside and outside. 

Golf Gypsy and Friends

There's just a little grass before the ball reaches the fairway.

One warm windy Friday in October a group of 38 women gathered to meet new friends,  play a fun round of golf at Prairie Dunes in Hutchinson, KS then toast to good friends, good golf, and good food.  The women drove from all corners of the state:  Kansas City, Coffeyville, Liberal, to Hays and points in between,  to play a challenging course, and for some, to relive the memories of watching Julie Inkster, Annika Sorenstam, and Nancy Lopez play Prairie Dunes in the 2002 USGA Women's Championship.

Since it was not a tournament, and because the golf course can be treacherous, we (Peggy, Kathy, and I) suggested that "the Sn8wman" become their friend, their choice.  In fact, we said have fun first, if the score is too high don't write it down or don't add it up.  Just enjoy the moments, the vistas, and the challenges that Perry Maxwell created when he designed the course over 75 years ago.  Players are now given five options for tee boxes.  A shorter distance does NOT equal=easy.  It simply gives the player (man or woman) a better opportunity to find the fairway with a drive rather than the gunch.  Our three favorite words at Prairie Dunes are, "It's in Play."  For an added touch of challenge,  the ladies were asked to keep putts and to turn the scorecards with putts into the pro shop when finished.

The Twins:  Marsha from Topeka n Debbie from Liberal

The pairings were designed to meet new friends; in every foursome there were ladies who had never met or had never played together.  Our handicaps ranged from 2 to 28.   On the first tee we discovered twins in the midst.  Two ladies who had never met were paired together, and then discovered they had identical bags. The laughter continued with these two new friends as they hit their shots, exchanged stories, and compared aches and pains.  By hole six they announced, "We might really be sisters!"     One explained, "I was adopted."  The other quipped, "And my dad played around."  Who knows?  They both share a love of golf,  adventures in life, and storytelling.

Karen and Marlene

As I played Prairie Dunes, my home course, my eyes scanned the horizon to see ladies walking down fairways, hitting in and out of the many bunkers, climbing up or down the sand hills where the prairie grass sometimes grew taller than the women, and slapping their legs or yelling at the sky as a putt slide off the green, not even near the hole.  How fun to hear laughter across the fairway, and more so when they finished 18 windy holes.  I knew that the course could be wicked with the winds blowing 20 mph and gusts up to 25-30 mph.  Learning to judge the wind and deciding if it is a one, two, or three club wind, and then how to hit the ball high enough or low enough to reach the elevated greens, yet not drop short with the wind in your face, is just one of the many experiences that created stories.  "Glad we didn't have to count the chip shots," exhorted one lady.  "I stood there and watched my ball come back to me three different times, and that was just on the fourth hole!"  

What stories must Deb and Babe be sharing?

"My ball rolled off the green on 17 after I marked it, replaced it, and prepared to putt.  I had a side hill, uphill chip coming back to the pen instead of a putt." quipped another woman not to be out done. "Can You Top That Stories" kept us entertained.  As foursomes finished on the 18th green, we gathered at the patio to watch, yell, taunt and tease the often bewildered golfer, our friends.

Mary Lee, Sheila, Alice, Judytease the often bewildered golfer.

Mary Lee, who has played the course before, exclaimed as she walked off 18, "Letty, I four putted."  "There's no shame to that," I calmly replied. At a near screeching pitch she continued,  "But I four putted four times.  I even putted off the green and had to chip back."  As a friend, I could only chuckle.  In my head I knew the frustrations they were dealing with.   That is why I might shot an 80 one day and a 90 the next.


Perry Maxwell, who designed and built Prairie Dunes, envisioned and created smaller greens with hidden nuances, as one of the USGA officials declared.  Many of the greens are contoured with a hogback that runs front to back or splits in a deceiving Y.  The knowing and unknowing golfer is fooled by these breaks.  These greens require exact speed and a good read.  Besides battling the undulating ridges, the golfer must face the false fronts, whipping winds, the dead elephant buried at the front edge of #11 green, and the slippery swells and swales that can suck a ball off the green, like the intimidating hole #8 or #10. Take your pick.

Ann, Debbie, Nancy, Donna smiling on the 18th.

That warm windy fall day came to an end all too soon, but not before we toasted to a winning formula, "Golf +Friends+Food=Fun."  In the next few days, friends posted comments on facebook and sent emails with notes of thanks and funny stories.  One of my favorite stories simply bragged, "I had two birdies, and four pars...Oh, yeah and I lost five balls."  Welcome to Prairie Dunes, and a toast to many more journeys down the links.

Peggy, Jayne, Gail, Patty..smiles tell it all.

50 Shades of Green

Fifty shades of green outside my door.

Sometimes a cool July rainstorm slows down my body and gives me permission to sit, to relax, to reflect, and to enjoy every aspect of nature surrounding me.

Cone flowers and fall mums.

Clusters of color dance in the sun taking center stage while the greens act as backdrop.

Cloudy days shade the greens.

Red Sky Ranch GC with greens and shadows.

 Mountain greens seem grayer or bluer because of  the skies.

View of #2 from #6 tee box in June when the Yucca blooms.

Like Peter Rabbit's mother, I often need to feast my eyes on green. When not in the garden feasting I'm on the golf course meandering down the green fairways, but  I do love to putt...on those greens.








Fifty shades indeed, and that's not counting all of the shades and colors we miss every day.  This is my bouquet of green, so please treat your eyes and find another 50 shades of green that make you grin.

Purple iris of spring nested in the evergreen.

Golf Gypsy: Rebuilding Confidence

It seems like year after year I push myself to the limits and find ways to injure myself while having fun;  like falling while walking the dog, like straining the piriformis muscle while hitting a shot out of the pond and smashing my club into the bank, like pulling the rotary cuff muscles while swinging hard when my muscles were cold, etc, etc, etc.  This year I outdid myself with surprise "hernia" surgery.  As a result, eight weeks later, I am rested and healthier, but my golf game I've noticed is lacking confidence.  Sure wish I knew where that confidence went while I was recuperating from surgery because the rest of me feels fine.

After six weeks and with the doctor's blessings I headed out to the golf course to play golf and take it easy.  To simplify the instructions I played with my 8 iron, wedges and putter.  Not bad, it was just a lot of shots, and certainly more than I was used to.  The next time when I used the bigger clubs--woods, I discovered that the heel (not heal) and toe method was another problem.  Worst of all my touch and feel around the greens, my strength, my favorite shot in golf, my putting had left me.  Having played several rounds of golf now, I have decided that "my confidence in putting" is lacking.

Nothing has ever stopped me before, so with my brain focused on putting I headed out to the golf course.  After several holes, I discovered that it wasn't only my putting stroke that was on hiatus, so was my focus.  My mind wondered like a piece of paper caught in a wind storm. (I even thought about writing a story about it!)  With a few deep breaths, I was able to figure out my weakness and still enjoy the time.  At one point I was totally swept away with my love of nature as a mother "Eastern King bird" landed on the fairway, and her two babies landed right behind her.  I savored the moment, and knew why I was alone on the golf course.  In the quiet of the fresh air nature can be enjoyed and the spirit refreshed.

Focus and relax those hands, then swing smoothly.  

After nine holes I stopped, put up my clubs, and walked to the putting green to practice; to relax my shoulders, to sing a song, and to let my body relearn the simple stroke. I think I can, I think I can, I know I can.

Footnote:  This story was supposed to automatically post 7/17/12, but it didn't.  So I can now write that I am gaining focus and confidence.  We spent four days playing Red Sky Ranch Golf Course in Beaver Creek, Colorado, and I putted well.  Then over the weekend I played in the Challenge Cup series held at Wichita Country Club and recorded only 27 putts.  I'm back in my groove and am even using my old Ping putter.

Letty Stapp Watt
historian, golfer