Reflections on Cool Clear Sunday

Storms flew through last night with no damage to report, thank heavens. 

Talking to a friend the other day, I made the comment, "I'm still mad at myself for not going to the
National Cowboy and Western History Museum to see the Spiro Mounds exhibit when it was there this last winter.  I know I had good excuses, but I really wanted to see it." 

Missing out on events bothers me more now than ever. I may not have another opportunity to see that exhibit. The feelings became rather visceral in me as I pondered how to live the next thirty years of my life. Yes, I'm an optimist and have plans for this one wild and precious life, that poet Mary Oliver so aptly described. She also wrote:

"Instructions for living a life.

Pay attention.

Be astonished.

Tell about it."

I want to remember LIFE and LIVING, and it would help if I started with yesterday, or what was I thinking about doing before I sat down to write?? This is how and why I began this weekly column: Reflections on a Rainy Summer Sunday

The Trails Golf Course, Norman

Three of us played golf Saturday, and noticed four baby mallards wandering around without mother nearby.  A couple of hundred yards away lay their dead mother mallard  Dead from hitting the power lines, not an errant golf ball.  Her neck was broken and our hearts cried.  When we drove by there an hour later no one had removed her body. So with prayers in our hearts, I walked over, picked her cold body up with a towel, then carried her to a graveyard of tall grasses.  "Bless her gentle soul, dear Lord, and watch after her babies." 

I know this is nature as it is meant to be.  Many times in my childhood I recall my father bringing home a nest of wild baby bunnies  We worked so hard to save them,, but wild bunnies are not meant for children and neighborhoods without fences.  

How sad, I think, what life must be for children and parents living in Afghanistan, and other parts of the warring world.

First bite of the season.

The best news of the week is that our garden burst open with fresh tomatoes. I know it is truly summer when I can eat our very own tomatoes while standing over the sink to make my juicy mess, like eating watermelon. 

I picked the rhubarb and made two pies. Yummy yummy sweet and tart. My first rhubarb pie since I left Kansas. 

The Norman Art Walk always brings delight, even more so when Jack and I are joined by Leah and Bobby. We began the evening at The Depot, where Jack and I were truly impressed with the artwork of Joey Frisillo from Tulsa.

Landscapes by Joey Frisillo, of Tulsa

She remarked about how much she likes our Oklahoma winters, and the friendly atmosphere.  Secretly, that makes me proud when people who have traveled and lived elsewhere make positive comments about living here.

Jack Chapman, The Bone Blossom
Prophecy

Then we discovered in the basement of Scratch, a restaurant with fine food and fresh drinks, a new room called the Speakeasy without the smoke and gangsters. We relaxed awhile with a drink in the cool quiet area. 

Over several thousand steps later we meandered through art walls of various pieces, people enjoying the cool evening outside, food trucks, dogs both large and tiny, delicious German food at Das Boot, Apple Tree Chocolates, and more art.  

WAIT WAIT...WHAT ABOUT ME?

I went to the doctor place this week . I weigh 24.6 pounds. That's like a lot, but then the man showed me a big dog (standard poodle) that had my color of hair. He said I might be that big someday. Letty made a funny sound.

Usually, all I hear from her is "OFF"  "STOP"  "NO!"  I listen and I try to not scratch and jump, and bite, but I want to be a flyboy when I grow up. I want to leap off couches, jump over tables, fly over gardens, and run faster than rabbits. I can already dig a hole to China, whatever that means. She says that if I don't learn to "come" when they call me then I will have to go to doggie school. My favorite thing to do is go for walks with Jack because he lets me sniff and tinkle when I want to. If I walk with Letty, she says, "Let's go Murphy...come on...keep up."  Sometimes I just sit in the shade on soft green grass because it feels good on my tummy. I know they like me  because they rubs my belly and my ears anytime I want. 

Murphy and the rabbits.

Oh, my name is Murphy Doodle and I am four months old. My mama is an Australian Shepherd and my daddy is a black poodle. I think I am important to Jack and Letty because I make them laugh at me everyday. 

click on this link to laugh more about Murphy Doodle

“Keep some room in your heart for the Unimaginable”

Mary Oliver, poet

JOY TO THE WORLD

 

Dear Friends, 

Oh, what a JOY to come to the end of this year of COVID.  When the dramatic news of Covid hit the airways, I found myself with friends in La Quinta, Ca. playing golf. Driving to the airport on March 17, we felt the emptiness and fear while driving through Palm Springs. There was NO traffic; No people shopping, No one standing in line and No restaurants open. Even the life sized statue of Sonny Bono sat alone in the city park.. Suddenly, the masks appeared at the airport.

Now here we find ourselves in the same boat as the world. We are all floating down the same stream; a community of the world where we all face the same virus and dis-ease. Jack and I found JOY in the projects we completed in the first few months. Walking the dog became our lifeline.  JOY turned to sobs when our dog, Lucy died in September. Now we find our doggie fixes by walking our friends' dogs.

Golfing with friends in the fresh air has been our life boat. Rather than eat inside for our lunches on ladies day, we found a group of shade trees near the clubhouse where we could sit in our golf carts to chat or enjoy a lunch from the Trails menu. 

As if we hadn't spent enough time outside, Mother Nature saw fit to send an October ICE STORM. The next few weeks Jack and I practiced strength training in our yard, as we cut, carried, and stacked tree limbs, which six weeks later still decorate our yard.. There are blessings even in this mess. We are so thankful to our neighbors for helping, and to the broken brown limbs that have attracted more birds to our feeders. One evening a Great Horned Owl sat at the top of a broken tree and lifted our spirits with his grace. A few days later a Pinkish Dark-Eyed Junco appeared at the feeder. JOY indeed as we identified a bird we had never seen before. Like magic, the third stranger appeared to us; a Great Blue Heron adopted our neighborhood for a few days. What magnificence he shared as we watched his shadow fly over our heads, where he rested on roof tops. To think of what we would have missed if we hadn't been "home". 

 May each day bring Joy to your World. 

 

Sincerely,

Literally Letty Watt

Meaningful Moments

November brings sunlight, migrating birds, and a chill in the air, and yet this glorious state of Oklahoma can find summer days in November. Next week we have planned golf tee times for four days out of five. It is refreshing to enjoy so much sunshine and warmth after the ice storm of October, that has left our landscaped scarred. The rising fear of COVID 19 once again has settled into our souls, and we are looking for chances to enjoy friendships in the sun. 

Taking time to breath and relax after chopping, pulling, tugging, and tossing tree limbs, Jack and I took a long walk over the hidden hill, up and down, breathing deeply and laughing when we tired so quickly. On the last hill upward and homeward bound we saw a giant 'kissing tree,' or at least I saw a giant  tree on the horizon filled with mistletoe the size of leaf bags. Needing a chance to slow our pace, I gently tugged on Jack's arm and pointed upwards. He looked at the mass of mistletoe and smiled saying, "I love you." I returned his smile but didn't budge.

Once again pointing upward I asked, "And what is the custom when standing under mistletoe?" Without another word he pulled me into his chest, covered my body with his arms, and planted a sloppy loving kiss on my lips. I just love being in love.

During this week when the world whirled with Presidential controversy, we said yes to babysitting a Goldendoodle puppy nearly four months old. No cliche of my mother's could describe the hysterical mayhem that existed in our quiet home for two and a half days. So innocent, little Miss June Bug appeared.

Her puppy energy flowed indoors and outdoors. Like we did with Lucy, we went outside with our puppy and played ball. It didn't last long because she discovered the torn tassels of the pampas grass broken and strewn all over our yard by the storms. Junie B, as I nicknamed her, carried the flowering tassels in her mouth and ran in a gallop back and forth across the yard. Tiny fluffs of pampas grass floated into the air like children blowing bubbles.

On day two I drove to PetCo and bought chew toys, and oh, did she ever love to tug, growl, and bit at anything that moved, including our feet and ankles. We never quit laughing.

On day three I attempted to sit in on a Zoom meeting. What was I thinking? I did my best to pay attention, but Junie B had other plans, like chew on a golf ball. Not good I tried to explain to her, then she found a squeaky toy that I keep for kids to play with, not good I explained and grabbed it from her.  At last she found a workout ball that she could chew, and occasionally found my sock and ankle to chew on. I lasted forty minutes on Zoom. I can't imagine the view my friends had of me as I continually dropped away from the computer screen to pull something out of the dog's mouth. 

That afternoon, I invited our neighbor to bring her six month old puppy over to play.  

Quinn, Australian Shepherd looks so regal on his footstool, but in action he runs like an Oklahoma dust storm in constant motion, never missing a swirl.  

Watching Junie B trying to run figure eights was a riot. Quickly, Junie B caught on that she would not be able to keep up the race, so she stood crosswise to the running dog and took the passing blows of Quinn, leaving both dogs to roll and tumble. For nearly an hour, Linda and I sat in lawn chairs watching the dogs play. For a moment, I thought back to the days when I sat in the park, a proud young mother watching her daughter play on the slides and swings. She was always a dare-devil in the spirit of play. 

Our minister called to check on us this week. It filled my heart with joy to hear his voice and concerns. I explained that even though we felt apprehensive with the coming months of indoor activity, we had managed to play more golf this summer than in the years when I felt younger. He wished he had an escape like golf.

Ironically, I have golfing friends who sometimes say things like; I am really not competitive, I just like to play golf with friends and be social. I just laugh, because I know that deep down inside each one of my golfing friends has a competitive streak. 

On a warm day this week, with only a hint of a breeze three of us teed off near the ten o'clock hour. Even though I thought I hit the ball with zing and power I found that my short game stumped me. On hole nine, I chunked my favorite chip shot to the green and my head dropped in disgust. "That hurt my ego," I expressed out loud. We laughed. 

On hole thirteen none of us went in the water, but Donna, our five foot tall dynamo out drove me, on a great drive I might add. She nearly danced a jig she was so proud. Naturally, we took a photo with her showing her bitch wings and me pointing to a ball not even in the picture.

Being a non-competitive group of ladies, and that's a tall tale, we continued on our lovely day in the sun sharing stories. On hole number eighteen, the last hole of the day, we teed off and each of us found the fairway with our tee shots. Being able to say that our tee shot is in play (in the fairway), is a great line to use in golf, especially when the leaves have fallen and the rough is littered with brown crumpled leaves that hide golf balls from men and women alike.  

"Ah ha!" Kathy yelled pointing her finger toward the ground, "Look what I did. I just out drove both of you."

With a little imagination look for three golf balls, 
foreground, middle left, and front. 

I am sure glad this is not a competitive group of women golfers, but they are some of the greatest ladies I have ever been blessed to play golf with regularly. And that is most meaningful for me.

Good Enough

"Don't let perfection stand in the way of good enough." 

From centuries of well-spoken thoughts by Voltaire, Confucius, 

Shakespeare 

This quote has been bouncing around in my brain for a couple of weeks, after it linked up with another random question about how the drive for perfectionism affects my golf shots, blogs, storytelling performances, and daily life.

Arlo & Janis 10/29/19 Norman Transcript

Nine years ago when I began blogging my writing wasn't perfect, and my stories and grammar still are not perfect. I realized that in my first few months of writing that IF I wrote/rewrote, then edited/reedited my hand would never push the 'publish' button and my blog would go empty.  By taking a deep breath I discovered I could hit the publish button. 

My purpose of writing the blog, originally, was to write stories that I could then tell in public for paid performances. A few years later, I felt like my stories contained value. Though not perfect they sounded good enough to me. 

     "Yesterday, as we walked, the muted fall leaves scurried like little mice across the streets, under our feet, around the corners, and down from above.  Still it was quiet and the animals in the neighborhood slept on. My mind, too, was quiet, until suddenly a yard sprinkler system came on full blast. Shivers crept up my wet side as I danced to the right and out into the center of the street. Lucy was faster and never a drop touched her fur."




This story became stinkier the longer I walked that morning with Lucy, and it could most certainly stand a revision. If I had waited on perfection the story,  Dancing in the Breeze, might have been neglected and eventually forgotten due to time restraints and frustrations, and this delightful memory lost. 




In the last decade of playing golf, working out, going to physical therapy I discovered that I could not hit the ball with the efficiency and perfection I once knew; I could not work out as long as I demanded of myself; I could not

Dornick Hills cliff hole #16 where I could not hit my 8 iron over it from 100 yards.

perform some of the exercises they gave me.  All of these could nots finally stung me with needles of anger and frustration. One day in early spring I began to say to myself "that shot wasn't perfect but it sure didn't hurt me (both literally and figuratively)."  I made a tally mark on my scorecard of the shot that was good enough.  

In the beginning, I found myself critical of what constituted a 'good enough' shot. On a scale of 1-10 (think of Bo Derek) I expected a shot to be an 8,9,10 which correlated to 5-8 shots out of 45 being good enough. 

It's amazing how happy I can be when I realize that the good shots out weighed the bad. 

"This is not a test," I reminded myself. It is a game, a pleasant reminder of life. So...The next few rounds of golf became more relaxed and more tally marks appeared. Week by week I began to find more positive things about my golf score, and transferred that positivity to my work outs. Some of which I found that just finishing was good enough. 

A close friend from years of teaching, writing, and performing designed a t-shirt for the OU/Texas game this year and gave them to several friends.  When she posted her design on Facebook she made the note: It's not perfect but it is done.    

THE SUB PAR TRIO

 

Pam Harrell, Letty Watt, Terri Street, the Sub Par Trio

Angst
Anxiety
Tension
Expectations
Drama
All words to describe playing in a golf tournament when my game is up to the 90's (not good) !
All words to describe putting on a five minute skit in front of my peers.
All words to describe being a local chair person of a state women's golf championship.

May 20,21 were the due dates. Dawn and I were co-chairs for the Women's Oklahoma Golf Association's Senior Championship to be held those two days at the Trails Golf Course in Norman.

We were prepared, our ducks were lined up, even though they were everywhere on the golf course.

My two singing friends and I had prepared for the greatest debut in golf to be held this close to the Canadian River.

My golf game had not improved this spring, but I held high hopes that my game would show up for the tournament and allow me to win the Super Senior Championship ( remember this song...She had high hopes ) BUT

On Sunday, May 19 the  National Weather Service predicted that Monday would be a level 4 danger for tornadoes and dastardly storms, SO we postponed this thrilling championship until June 24-25, and of course, the rains didn't let up for a month.

ANXIETY
FRUSTRATIONS
TENSION
begin to build...

Another month goes by with preparations ready, lists and volunteers ready, The Sub Par Trio ready, but Not my golf game. The rains stopped, the sun came out, the temperatures were in the 80's, and we played our first round of golf on June 24.

Lynn Ballard, Lee Ann Fairlie, Dawn Stork

This year we added a featured called "The Tin Cup Challenge" a simply 50-60 yard chip shot over water in front of people watching. For a mere $10 a lady could take two chances of getting closest to the hole and winning money with half of the money going to our junior girls scholarship fund. You could either laugh or cry at the shots taken that day. We choose laughter and memories. 


With a touch of Tim Conway humor (click link to watch  Dorf on Golf with Tim Conway)  playing on the television in the grill after our first round of golf, and while we were piling our plates with food from the buffet we watched and laughed at some old golf humor, after all we are all Seniors.  With dinner nearly over, the golfers were restless, and the show was ready to go.  With Pam Harrell on the piano, Terri Street lead singer and comedian, and support provided by Letty Watt the show began.

As a tribute to Mabel Hotz, Hall of Fame Oklahoma lady golfer and mother of the Oklahoma Junior Girls State Championship (1950's, 1960's), we sang a rendition of "Oklahoma", and "Oh, What a Beautiful Day" combining her rendition and mine.

Imagine, in nearly perfect harmony as we sang "Oklahoma":

Oklahoma, where the women golfers love to play
And we sure have fun, beneath the sun,
Even though it rains most every day.....

Pam Harrell, Letty Watt

A creative refrain from "Oh, What a Beautiful Day";

Oh, what a difficult golf game, Oh, what a fabulous shot.
I sank a long putt on eleven, everything's going my way.......

Terri topped off the night with her lyrics, adapted from "It's Ruff Being a Dog" by Phyllis Wolfe:

Camera please......

From the last refrain:  But still it's...
Rough, rough, rough out on the course
When the Golfing gods turn mean.
Your ball goes in the bunker
And can just barely be seen.
Yes, it's rough, rough, rough, rough out on the course
When your round proves to be a test.
But either way -- a good or bad
This game is simply the Best!

At the end of day two we proved the lyrics and the poetry to be correct.

Fun
Fulfilling
Friendships
Gratifying
Relief
All words to describe a round of golf, when the score does not reflect who we are.
All words to describe the Tin Cup Challenge, and  a skit on golf filled with laughter and memories.
All words to describe the smiles and thanks from women golfers.

Judy Sapp and Cathy Scott

Tammy Higginbotham, Linda Maddox

Marna Raburn, Lee Ann Fairlie, Medalist and Senior Champion

Thanks to all of the staff at the Trails Golf Course, all of our volunteers, and especially to the ladies of WOGA for making this Senior Championship a success. 

Golf Gypsy in the Enchanted Forest

There is a cliche my mother used to say, "You can't see the forest for the trees."  I might change it to say, "Some Days you can't find the fairway for the trees."  

One day this summer the groves of trees and tall grasses must have been exuding an unfavorable enchantment over my ball. My woes began on the fourth hole and didn't end until we finished our 18 holes.  The Trails Golf Course in Norman is a river bottom course lined with towering trees on every hole and sawtoothed pampas grass where the trees aren't growing.  I might add the witches boiled their pot and added water filled ponds, and sand bunkers, to the mix of curses that I experienced that day.   

Ironically, I hit some tremendous shots and made one dynamic putt, but I incurred several penalties along the way.  Overall, if I count only my trees hit, sand blasts shots, water shots, and penalties then I shot under par. I may have even set a personal best for hazardous play. 

On hole #7 the pro drove by and chuckled to see four of us wondering through the forest like lost souls, tripping over fallen limbs, and raking the leaves away looking for long lost golf balls. He smiled and asked, "Are you looking for Letty's ball (she who rarely ventures out of the fairway)?" 

"Yes," I responded still able to laugh, not knowing what the future held. His face turned red and he said, "Oh, that was suppose to be a joke!" 

That day on the golf course, I felt a kindred spirit to my hero, Alexander and the Terrible Horrible No Good Very Bad Day, with the thought, "And then do you know what happened next?"

At The Trails a golfer is rarely alone in the forest.  The tree witches will find a way to tease and insult one's ego. Sometimes, they leave a trail of exchange balls, never yours but occasionally a fair exchange ball; other times they will kick the ball around in mid air like a Quidditch match from Harry Potter. The player can only watch as some other force is in control of the golf ball.

Somewhere in the Rules of Golf there is an unwritten rule that I did not know.  It reads, "When the wondering foursome agrees that the ball must be nearby, not lost, but covered by a magical leaf then there is NO penalty.  The once cursed player may drop a ball nearby an agreed location and hit the ball back into play." I thought it made sense. Why should a player have to go back and hit another golf ball when the first played ball is sitting nearby, just not visible due to the enchantment in the forest. (Rule:  7 ate 9) 

I watched my husband launch two fire bolts today, both flew into the enchanted forest with the firepower to break a curse, but the magic on the limbs and leaves never returned his shots.  No one laughed, but we were in awe of his lightning fast swing.

In golf, like in any sport in life, I am safe from the evil spells for another day, or until my spirit weakens, and I cannot hold them at bay!  Between now and the next tee time, I will walk with the humility that this game teaches us, and laugh at the stories we share. 

G, the Alpha and Omega of Spring -- Goslings

Patience dear, I'm gathering food...  Just sit on the nest and rest.  Soon enough we'll be chasing another brood, worrying, wondering, gathering, herding, then one day...

They grow up so soon, she says. 

They stayed at my side, followed me everywhere I went, ate what I gave them and slept by my side. We showed them how to find food, seek shelter, flee from dangers, and live on the ponds. 

Don't they know how dangerous the bridge can be?

Now look...  I am...    But all I have are feathers and fluff where once my babies slept...  I see...  But we gave them wings to fly...  Yes...  Patience dear.


Another day, another season...  They will come this way again.

Tide Pool, a Nearly True Love Story

Ooey gooey blue liquid

Early that Sunday morning in the darkness of the laundry room, a bold orange jug of detergent, left carelessly on top of the washer, slowly inched its way toward the edge of the vibrating washer. The crash and splattering of gooey blue liquid went unnoticed, as Lilith backed out of the driveway.

Lilith left the house that morning eager to be playing golf with friends. Nearly two years now since her husband’s death, she felt the cobwebs and heartache receding. Earlier in the summer she and Tom were matched up in a weekend couples event. She looked forward to seeing him again.  Even though he’d suggested several times that they go out for dinner, Lilith excused herself saying she had family plans.

On the golf course, she felt the summer sun, penetrating her pale

white skin, restoring color to her life.  Chuckling from time to time at errant golf shots, the day ended in laugher.  “Any chance you might want to continue this day with dinner at Charleston’s? We could relax and get better acquainted.” Tom asked.

“That sounds great,” she replied looking at his smile.  “Give me an hour to get home and clean up.”

Looking at his watch, he smiled, “I’ll pick you up at seven.”

Pulling into the garage feeling rushed, Lilith berated herself. One hour. What was I thinking? I need more time.  Out of habit, she dropped her purse on top of the craft table as she walked down the hallway to the master bathroom. 

After the warm shower Lilith began to relax slightly, but now standing naked before the mirrors she stared at her aging body. Pulling at her face and chin, she pretended to give herself a face lift. With a little shake of confidence she thought, He’s seen me hot and sweaty on the golf course.  What could be worse than that?

Throwing the towel around her body she stepped into her closet and pulled out her Capri’s, then remembered the clean blouses hanging in the laundry room. Without turning on the light, she stepped into the laundry room and felt something cold on her feet. No longer in control of her balance she slipped, one foot kicking the nearly empty bottle of Tide, one arm grabbing then sliding down the rounded edge of the dryer.  She felt her hip bounce, her elbows and head bang the floor, but her eyes saw nothing.

The chill of her naked body soaking in a layer of gooey blue Tide woke her from a foggy blur. Her fingers clawed searching for the towel that was slowly soaking up the liquid goo.  What on earth happened? She wondered shaking her head. Wiggling and counting body parts Lilith was relieved to know that nothing felt broken.

Now in a scramble to get up, her hands, her knees, and her feet slipped one way then another. “Damn it,” she screamed. In the flopping motions of a frantic swimmer Lilith pulled her slippery blue coated body and towel toward the dry wooden floor in the hallway when suddenly the doorbell rang. Oh, dear God, Tom is here.

Shaking with a chill, she began to giggle at the absurdity of the moment. Seeing her purse on the nearby table she crawled to reach it and pulled it down.  Grabbing her cell phone, fingers sliding across the screen, she texted Tom, “help garage code *2016 careful! dragon from the blue lagoon lying in wait.”  The tears brought on by the giggles gently rolled down her cheeks.  

**Thank you Story Circle Network for selecting my story of  Tide Pool for the 2nd place winner in the Hot Flash Contest.  

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.