GOLF GYPSY--UP TO HER KNEES

 

"If your knees aren't dirty by the end of the day, you ought to seriously re-examine your life."  Bill Watterson

I ponder whether this quote is meant for gardeners or golfers.  I do, however, have a golfing friend who found out the hard way what it means to have your knees dirty by the end of the day. 

During a warm fall day, she (who will remain nameless) duck hooked her ball into a nearly dry pond on hole #8 at The Trails Golf Course. Normally, this pond is full of intimidating water, although I personally believe that the water table rises in the summer and spring because of all the golf balls that are covering the bottom of the water. 

Playing with her son and best friend, she was determined to hit the ball, lying 20 yards away, out of the drying sucking muck. Her first mistake was thinking she could even get to her ball. The muck showed prior footsteps that a dinosaur could have made squishy sticky and deep. 

Her first steps were down the embankment covered in grass and rocks, allowing her to sidestep any slippery slope. Her next few steps were sticky and slippery. Luckily, she carried her 8 iron with her for balance and to strike the ball. She took another few steps confidently getting deeper into the muck allowing her to walk and not lose her shoes.  She knew she could hit her ball out of the muck and onto the green grass near the hole. 

In the final approach to her ball, she began to tip from side to side while her friend and son looked on, already realizing that she might be in trouble. 

No one remembers whether she hit the ball or if she even reached the final destination. What they do recall is her sudden high-pitched scream heard 'round the golf course, "I can't move! My feet are stuck!" 

"Seriously," her friend called out, "pick up your feet slowly, one by one, and turn around."

"I can't," came the scream.  Like Tonto sinking in the quicksand, they watched as she mucked around shoeless and sinking deeper with each step. The Lone Ranger was not there to rescue her. What were her friends to do?

It was serious enough that no one bothered to take a picture. 

Her son grabbed his driver and slowly made his way towards his mother. Her friend took the arm of the son and a saving lifeline was created. However, it was noted that the people playing on the green on hole #7 watched and could not or did not choose to help. An imagined cartoon picture shows the on lookers laughing and pointing in disbelief.

At last, her son hollered, "Mom, this is serious. Forget your shoes and turn around and grab the driver." 

"But my hands are sticky, and I'll ruin your new club." She replied. "I can't balance myself enough to carry my club and reach."

"Mom, throw that club up on the bank after you take two steps toward me."

Whether in anger or fear, she took two sucking steps and threw the club out of the mud hole and past the golf cart to the middle of the fairway, and in the same action grabbed her son's club head and nearly fell face forward. 

With the strength of Sampson her son stood still and pulled slowly allowing his mother to take one small step at a time until the ground could hold her. 

Slowly methodically two people stepped backwards crawling out of the mud and muck, while the golfer stepped forward toward the shoreline. 

When all were safe on the dry fairway their laughter could not be contained. 

Her knees were dirty brown by the end of the day.

As she thought about her decision to hit the ball out of the mucky pond, she could only laugh. Those of us who witnessed the event or heard about it from others, who saw and heard the live action, won't forget the sight, and recognize that only a truly dedicated daredevil golfer would ever attempt that shot and we love her for that reason. 

**For images of Bill Watterson quotes click on this link Calvin and Hobbs

Golf Gypsy--The Lost Stories

This morning I awoke early with stories spinning in my head. At last I gave up and crawled out of bed, boiled some hot water for my morning tea and sat down to write. By then whatever seemed so important had drifted away and new thoughts and stories streamed through my visions faster than I could type or organize my thoughts.

I have piles of notes that are unlabeled but visibly show different resources, such as: newspaper clippings of interest, WOGA, Letty's writings and thoughts, and three piles of "golf" history.

Three tags in my golf history piles caught my attention: Mother's list and costs of supplies for our bomb shelter; a story about being pregnant for three years; and personal story that will not be retold in print.   

    

The rains began Monday and on Tuesday we drove through torrential rains too Shangri-la, Grove, Oklahoma for a golf vacation and history search. Waking up to more rain on Wednesday we explored the activity center at Shangri-la and spent  time playing ping pong and using the Track Master golf facility hitting into an automated golfing screen. Still no outside golf.

When it became apparent this would not be a golf trip, I began the phone calls and appointments with former Miami, Oklahoma, Golf and Country Club members. I've been collecting stories about the club for over ten years now.

We drove into Grove, Oklahoma and met Bev Jackson Moss, who I had not seen in over fifty years. At 88 she has outlived three husbands and played golf until recently when she began losing her eye-sight to macular degeneration. She has battled back from colon cancer and then nearly died two years ago from Covid. She has not lost her sense of humor and good memories of the old country club, as we have come to call it. 

After the hugs and laughter my most pertinent question burst forth.

 "Bev, please tell me about your pregnancies and golf games. I can recall looking out the golf shop windows as you teed off on number 6 and I saw your belly swing forward with force as you hit your drive up the hill and nearly to the bunker. It seemed like that baby is what propelled you to hit the ball so far."  

Before she could reply, I spewed another memory. "Keep in mind Bev that I was twelve when you moved to Miami and it seemed to me that you were always pregnant. I even heard people talk about you as years went by, pointing out that you were the only woman they knew who was pregnant for three years." Once again we could not contain our laughter.

"Letty, it felt like I was pregnant that long, too. Daughter number one, Sandy was born in 1960. Daughter number two, Debbie, was born in 1961 and son, Billy, was born in 1962." 

"No, wonder people laughed saying you had been pregnant for three years, and you played golf, too, didn't you."

Bev explained, " With Sandy, I gained too much weight. Dr. Highland insisted that I get exercise and said, 'You live on the golf course, get out and start playing golf for your health." Her husband, Wayman Jackson, a part owner in car dealerships in Kansas City and Miami, bought her a set of clubs and a pull cart.

"Letty, without even having a lesson I walked out the backdoor and every day played holes number 8, 9, coming into the club house, and then turned around and played numbers 6, and 7 that led back to our house. All the time I hooked a stroller type of a chair to the back of the golf bag and cart and pulled Sandy along while I learned how to play golf."

That summer of 1961 she began playing in the Friday evening Scotch foursomes, a couples 9-hole event. People began placing bets on when she would deliver that baby and on what hole.

That Friday night she recalled, "I played the best I have ever on the 9th hole. I hit four perfect shots and my partner and I, Charlie Trussler, won the night's award. The next morning I felt better than ever and set to work in the garden when suddenly my water broke. My husband panicked and Virgil Cooper, a friend and the undertaker!"

"Mr. Cooper also panicked and arrived at our house in the Cooper Funeral Home Hearst. They rushed me to the hospital and Debbie was born an hour later."

L to R: Beverly Jackson, Winner; Faye Berentz runner-up championship flight; Sue Barnes, 9-hole champion; Dorothy Schofield, runner-up 9-hole. 

"The good news is that I never delivered a baby on the golf course. Our three children all learned to play golf and I took lessons from your dad, which led to me winning the club championship several times. From the late 1960's through the 1970's I became a golf travel mom, taking the kids all over the four-state for golf tournaments. It's been a great and rewarding game."

**The story of the bomb shelter will be published soon.

Laughing Out Loud

 I read in The Week, the Best of the U.S. and International Media (July 9--16, 2021) that scientists have concluded that the aging process is, sadly, unstoppable. (I threw the magazine down in laughter. Scientists didn't know that we will grow old and die?)...

Evolutionary biology trumps everything and, so far, medical advances have been unable to beat these biological constraints.  (p.21 from The Guardian) How much of our tax dollars were spent on this discovery? 

Getting older is a problem, and it is the funniest stage of my life so far. Our daughter is turning fifty next month (Mike and Ann are already fifty, ouch) and can't wait to join AARP. I thought she was making fun of me when she said that she enjoyed watching The Kominsky Method on Netflix. "Mom," she retorted, when I accused her of making fun of my age, "I understand your age. My body is getting older, too." I laughed, and later watched another episode of the Kominsky Method. Even if you don't know the characters (two older men in Hollywood going back into the dating scene) this line can make you laugh: 

"Dating advice? Last time you went on a date, Richard Nixon was in office and he was doing well."

Sandy Kominsky in The Kominsky Method, Season 1 Episode 6 - Found at: https://www.thyquotes.com/the-kominsky-method/

The funniest not funny thing about aging is the hearing loss. My husband and I sometimes answer questions that were never asked. "But I thought you said...No you said...No, I said...." at which point neither of us has any idea of what the subject was about.

If we can keep ourselves pulled together we laugh everyday over what we think we heard, but there are those days when it is purely frustrating and embarrassing. 

Last week I was playing golf at Shangri la with younger friends, who can still hear and see the golf ball in flight. After a few beers in the clubhouse we were asked and challenged to go to the cliff side and play "Dot Ball." Asking for an explanation, they said that we'd hit golf balls (some old ones they'd brought from home) to the dot in the water below. Well why not, my dad would have jumped in this crazy idea and my partner couldn't resist the challenge. Off we go in a train of golf carts heading over to the cliff view behind the par three hole #13. All the while, my mind is spinning as to how they get a "Dot" to float in the same place on Grand Lake. 

My embarrassment called for another beer and laughter from deep within my soul. They were talking about a "Dock" that floats below. People shoot to this spot for fun and maybe practice.  It is about a 60 yard shot with a fantastic view. I didn't win my money back but I at least hit the dock, not the dot, twice. 

Next week we both have appointments with an audiologist and Ear, Nose, Throat specialist, just in case it is allergies causing the hearing loss instead of aging.  After all,  scientists have proven that we can't stop the aging process!!!!

Today, I recommitted to my regular workout with a trainer at the gym, but first I walked 4,000 steps in the cool morning breezes with the dog. My body is thrilled when the workout is over, and usually it feels better. I think a balanced workout improves my attitude, my posture, and works out some kinks in my muscles and nerves. The problem comes when my mind believes totally that I can do anything. Of course, I then spent an hour working in the garden, putting in sweat equity in preparation for fall and planning some strategic moves of my plants. 

By afternoon I was too tired to write. I love my naps. 

Oh, I almost forgot. We had a kidnapping in the neighborhood this weekend. It was really quite intense, luckily after several hours the boy woke up. 

PS Give my sister, Jonya and her husband Bill, credit for the kidnapping story. 

Golf Gypsy and the Rat Bastard Reunion

Not many people have friends who give them "rats" for surprise gifts, but I'm fortunate to have friends who know that I love to tell a good story, and so "Rat Bastard" came to me over five years ago needing a home and acceptance.

Rat tours every golf course proudly covering the head of my five wood. Who can blame a rat for admiring the scenery at PGA West where the mountains cascade into the desert surroundings and nature's critters roam the golf courses, but when she strays from the fairway in search of adventure I sometimes pinch her tail to show her my disgust with her errant shots. On moments like that I can blame the rat for a poor shot, but when she's good she's very very good and I compliment her by saying, "Great shot Phyllis," the lady who gave me Rat.  I've found that I get better shots out of her when I reinforce those great moments.  

So imagine my surprise this summer when I looked for my golf bag on a golf cart in a mass of carts lined up for a tournament, and casually walked up to the cart carrying the "Rat." But the bag was not mine. There were two "Rats" in the world. I laughed, but time was escaping me and I needed to be efficient. My partner and I hit some practice shots, putted then after announcements drove out to our tee box. At last the other two ladies drove out, and there she was, the second "Rat Bastard."  I couldn't believe my eyes and to hear the lady tell her story, I laughed even more.

She bought her first "rat" and enjoyed watching the faces of her friends when she'd throw the club cover on the ground and the tail would flop or slide just like a rat. Her friends screamed or jumped and she laughed. Our stories were so similar.

She then told me, "Once I lost Rat at a golf course and panicked. Luckily, by the end of the day someone had turned the 'ugly club cover' into the golf shop, and they called me. I drove 45 miles back to that course that evening just to get my loveable club cover. After that I went online looking for a second 'Rat Bastard' cover just in case.  I had no luck until someone in the Daphne company gave me a list of where they sold them.  Then I called each golf shop until I found one unsold rat. Now, I own two rat club covers."

So that day the rats enjoyed a ride around Dornick Hills. For the most part each rat performed with grace and humor, and their proud owners each found another soul mate on the golf course with a great sense of humor.