The Day Winter Came Early

Rainy weather has cut through our August/September heat this year and allowed me to reflect on life away from the media buzz.  

Winter arrived without her date, that first week of October of 2018 the year I turned seventy.   Our late summer and early fall had been rainy and cool, much like it has been this late summer of 2025.   One day the forecaster gleefully announced the temperatures might fall to the 30's. All of this happening on the weekend of The Trails Golf Club Women's and Senior Men's Club Championships. 

How to dress for such unpredictable weather created a problem, a layering problem, and forecasting when the rain would be pushed out by the polar express made the day a real challenge.  

I'd chosen to play in the Championship, not to win, but to have fun with the ladies in our group and to play the best I could.  I'd set my goal on breaking 93, that seemed to be my reoccurring score that year, and I still  don't like it one bit. 

Our three lowest handicappers, likely to win,  teed off first and our foursome followed. Dressed like little snow bunnies, we laughed immediately at the absurdity of playing in this weather. 

Before teeing off on the first hole I felt my thick tights slipping from my waist. These were tight black pants that I saved for winter because they were long enough to cover my ankles from the cold winds or rain.  I did notice that the hanger was turned backwards when I pulled them off the hanger, which generally means, I didn't wear them last year. I missed the most important clue of the day.  At least I'd been smart enough to wear a heat wrap across my back and stretch at home.

My golf swing and focus held steady until the third hole. Walking up the hill to the green I felt my tights sliding down to my hips, with a gravity like pull I jumped and hiked up my britches as my friends snorted quietly facing away from me. 

Carol's sincere response followed, "I love my new Puma pants. You really ought to buy some like this." Where upon she showed me how nicely they fit her body and did not slide down the hips.  I didn't think Amazon could accommodate me instantly. But I thanked her for the advice.  At the nearby bathroom, I added a layer of rain and wind  protecting pants. 

Before we'd finished nine holes that day, the pants had stretched even more and I found myself reaching inside my outer wear to pull up my stretched tights before each shot, after each shot, and sometimes in between. 

Kathy Hines, Anita Bednar, Letty Watt, Carol Lindblad.

The rain came in sheets and then flew through.  Riding with Anita, we'd sometimes break into laughter over what this must look like.  How could women as smart as we thought we were think this was the way to spend a fall day?

We'd dropped behind the group in front, simply because we were talking and laughing about clothing and weather. Suddenly, we realized that at this pace we'd be caught for sure in the cold winds coming from the north. So onward we moved, quickly hitting our shots without taking time to think about the shot or the how to hit the shot!!!!!

To speed up play, on number nine green Kathy held the flag so Carol could tap in  her two-inch birdie putt while Anita and I walked to our lengthy putts.  Suddenly, we heard a piercing sailor's voice clearing the deck with four letter words.  Not wasting a moment we finished the hole and asked what caused the frustrated scream.  

"Carol missed her two-inch birdie putt!!"  Kathy yelled, "She broke the ice with the F bomb so now we can relax."

Doubled over in laughter and pulling up my pants at the same time was painfully funny.  Rather than stop for a bathroom break we drove on to the next tee and began the next nine. There was no time to add the scores for the nine holes, nor did I care.  I only wanted to get into the clubhouse before winter arrived, and throw away those 'relaxed fit'  stretched pants' that kept my mind totally occupied.

On hole #14, I powered through a drive and suddenly my belly button felt exposed.  "Oh, dear heavens," I snorted from the embarrassment,  "if mother in heaven could see me now, she would scold me for exposing my body."

Carol and Kathy joined in, "What would she think of the girls these days?" By now we were so relaxed and the group in front of us had just walked off the green, that we shared scenic stories about belly buttons, tattoos and other over exposed body parts. Golf just didn't seem important to me that day. 

The pants by now had to be held up by my hands when I walked. Then we noticed the calm. Two holes to go, 'please frigid weather hold off'' we whispered.  In the end, we hugged each other on the eighteenth green, raced to the golf carts and off to the parking lot where we unloaded our wet belongings. After gathering ourselves we compared scores, signed the cards and turned them in.

Keeping one hand on my pants, I walked to the ladies locker room to clean up.  With our small gaggle of women gathered round, I began to notice the scores.  Several of us played quite well, a couple were truly disappointed. Scores ranged from 109--85. Then our golf pro, Alan Hager, turned away from the score sheet, picked up the Silver Champions Bowl, and said, "Congratulations Letty, on winning the 2018 Women's Club Championship." 

Anita Bednar

I don't know that I've ever been that stunned in my life. I stood to accept the trophy and grabbed the pants to hike them up.  Awards were handed out to all of the winners. We were a cheerful group, and thankful to be inside warm and out of the weather. (No pictures of this event could be found. Perhaps we looked too shabby for the camera's eye?) *UPDATE, Anita found the lost pictures 11/9/2025

It was suggested that I keep those black sagging over-sized stretch pants and wear them next year. I threw them away that night. 

 

I have played several club championships since then without winning. Should I have kept those lucky black tights?  No matter the answer, I am blessed with seventy plus  years of "golf memories."

2018 Trails Club Champion Letty Watt, Carol Lindblad Low Net champion, Kathy Hines 2nd Low Net, not in pic--Dawn Stork, 2nd Low Gross. 

 

 

 

Here are a few links to other weather induced reflections:  

 

 <https://literallyletty.blogspot.com/2021/07/reflections-on-cool-clear-sunday.html>

 

 <https://literallyletty.blogspot.com/2024/11/sunbeams.html>

 

 <https://literallyletty.blogspot.com/2021/07/reflections-on-cool-clear-july-4-sunday.html>

 
<https://literallyletty.blogspot.com/2025/05/the-rains-of-ranchipur-recalled.html>

Why the Trees?

Why have I spent my life enamored with trees ?

Survivor of Katrina, the Southern Live Oak stands alone. 

Is it their shapes, like the Southern Live oak I once danced around in Biloxi, Mississippi before Katrina tore them to shreds, or the limb I sat upon in the yard of the mansion where I dreamed I was a princess?

No, I was a child then.

Birnam Oak, Scotland

Perhaps it was the size and shape of the Birnam Oak in Scotland where ten people could gather 'round, and where several adults could hide inside the tent like opening in the trunk  that captured my attention. I could imagine the centuries of peoples who had loved this tree, who had touched this tree before.

The height of the giant Redwoods in Northern California fascinated our family when we spent the day gazing to tops of these historic native mansions. Our children stood there gazing upward, measuring themselves against the history of time. I wonder what my parents imagined as they drove through the heart of a giant Sequoia in Yosemite on their honeymoon in 1946. 

Hutchinson, Ks.

My imagination tells me that it is the curvature of their spines, the shapes I imagine living between those lines, especially when the winter winds clear the sky of leaves, and limbs, there I see a crooked heart leaning northward in the old ragged tree, worn from decades of bending and breaking from the southwest winds.   

 

On a hilly walk through a cold Wisconsin park, I encountered an old man withered from years of rains, ice, snow, heat; broken from storms and raging floods. His face felt smooth to my touch. He shared no words, but I felt his life deep in my soul. 

I watch the trees and wonder, when will spring arrive, oh, tell me please.

On a windy day my eyes see a glimpse of pink on the skinny flowering crabapple tree. Then one day the Oklahoma landscapes burst into color with while dogwoods, faithful redbuds, tulip trees, and Magnolias smelling sweeter than before. 

Trees have shown me that all greens are not equal, or was that Beatrix Potter, who told Peter to feast his eyes on green and helped me to see her world. While Beatrix watched from an open window and wrote, I walked among the trees wherever they might grow along my life's journey. 

My eyes absorb he green from the most yellow of greens to the bluest of green. As the sunshine hits or the winds blow,, greens glow in the different light and breezes. I smell spring and my heart begins to feel lightness in the air. 

In the steamy summer months it is the cool shade of the trees that offers relief from the burning sun on the golf course. In our backyard the shade from the silver leaf maple furnishes calm shade and serenity. 

Out my writing window I watch tiny birds gather round the bird feeder. I talk to the river birch and ask if the broken bark hurts; its roughness does not lend to rubbing. Last year our river birch lost its twin, attached at the base, but ripped apart by the ice storm. How painful I thought to lose something that close, yet the single river birch managed to survive and thrive. 

When autumn arrives the greens fade to dry yellows and browns, and some lucky leaves draw crowds to photograph their striking golds and reds with speckled designs.

Aspen grove in Colorado

Trees can heal us in so many ways. Rubbing my arm against an Aspen tree in Colorado may not have cured my aches that day, but I walked away with a vivid memory. 

Still I ask myself, why the trees. Why do I find them in my dreams, why do I search for trees when I travel, why do I sometimes feel rooted, strong and flush like an Evergreen, and other days feels old, writhed, wrinkled, and withered like the olive trees that Van Gogh painted?

Yes, still I stand tall.

 

Augusta, Georgia

That is it !

I realize now that I stand like a tree withered slightly from the storms of life. I have found the ability to bounce back from adversity. I bend in the wind and don't break, and still I dance among the trees and dream of far away places. 

 

*For other fascinations with trees check out these sites:

My friend, Martha Slavin, writes from Northern California on her blog

Post Cards in the Air

Beverly Herndon is trained in the ancient art of Chinese painting. 

Check out her work in the Norman Transcript article:

Baroness of Brushes

Reflections on a Rainy Summer Sunday

Dahlia or a Covid model ?

Something happened to my brain last year during the COVID Restrictions, but I cannot pinpoint the problem. It seems that I have no distinguishing markers as to what happened, when it happened, or did it happen last year. It honestly take a village to recall if we participated in an event, when, where or why. We draw blanks. *

White iris at night, inspire by Linda Hoye's photography.

I follow blogger, Linda Hoye from Western Canada who writes daily. Once a week she reflects with her  Friday's Fave Five . Each week I read that thinking, I need to do that, "but then" I don't.

This week friends, Manon Bradbury and Victor Kubbeh, from La Quinta, California visited us. On Monday we were rained out of our golfing tee time, and much to my delight we chose to visit the National Cowboy and Western Heritage Museum in Oklahoma City. My desire to walk through museums and feel the artwork far outweighs my desire to play golf on rainy or cold days. Today, I realized that I didn't want to forget that day with my friends. I didn't want a year to pass and look back on my memories from 2021 and draw a blank. 

That was one classy stagecoach. 

The Cowboys drew my attention as Victor, Manon, Jack and I roamed our separate directions seeing perspectives, colors, fifty shades of white, shapes, textures, and forms coming to life differently for each of us. 

  As I roamed and wandered I noticed a man standing in the hallway, dressed like a cowboy but not joining the people. I turned to look down the hallway toward the man and his dog when I realized it was a painting. The painting had come to life and the man looked real enough to take the step out of the door. The dog more hesitant,smart dog.

TWO'S COMPANY, oil on canvas by Duane Bryers

I like colorful moments, and mesmerizing memories, the sounds of laughter and birds, the feel of cool spring rains and hot summer days.

My garden is coming back to life, and I am rearranging as it grows. The purple and blue irises planted seven years ago have outgrown their space.  This week I dug them up, weeds and all, and gave them away.  The tree lost to the ice storm took out my shade plants, but new ideas grow there now. My weekly hours in the garden are paying off. 

The older I feel, the more I plant Never-dies and other perennials in my garden. 

The M T place behind the stone is for my Surprise Lilies to return. 

Last year's canvas (from March 17, 2020--May 15, 2021)  is nearly blank, but for the vivid memory of leaving Manon's home and driving to the Palm Springs airport. In downtown Palm Springs we finally found an open restaurant on March 17, 2020. There I also discovered a statue of a friendly mayor, Sonny Bono, sitting by himself. No tourists except three of us. Where had all the people gone? What hijacked our lives? 

Good-bye Sonny Bono, good-bye Covid's blank. 
March 17, 2020, Palm Springs, Ca. 

I am looking forward to weekly reflections and the stories in between. 

* Footnote: To Libby, my friend who does not cuss on the golf course, but instead says "blank" with frustration when she hits a bad shot. "Please use rats or frats instead of blank" because each time I say that my mind is a blank, I think I hear you cuss "blank." Take pity on the brain that does not travel like a driver on the Interstate, but instead loops around the long way....

.

Savoring Life

There can never be too many cardinals in the world. 

Seven decades have come and gone in my life.  Worry about the future plagued my approaching 7th 0 birthday, nearly blotting out the abundance of life and joy surrounding me.  Consequently, I looked inward reflecting on decades past. Wondering, questioning, seeking answers for the unknown...

Reflecting felt like seeing life in a kaleidoscope. 

     

Sunshine on my shoulders makes me happy.
Sunshine in my eyes can make me cry.

Earning my driver's license on a slippery cold winter day in 1963 felt crowded by a fear that Russia might

Under the cement slab in our backyard we buried a bomb shelter to save our lives!

drop a bomb on us, and that my family might have to use the bomb shelter we installed in 1962. Do things really change? 

Sunshine on the water looks so lovely.
Sunshine almost always makes me high.

Giving birth to a healthy baby girl will always shine as the brightest moment.

If I had a day that I could give you
I'd give to you the day like today.

Then like the dramatic changes of the kaleidoscope life moved too quickly. I couldn't focus on one thing or keep up with the changes without tears and fortitude.   

The sudden death of my parents in my early 40's shook my soul to the very depths of sorrow and anger, but their deaths somehow created the greatest miracle in our lives--it brought our family together. 

If I had a song that I could sing for you
I'd sing a song to make you feel this way.

I found myself fast-forwarding through the next few decades. The pronoun "I" became we. No matter the changes that our lives encountered, we moved forward with focus and a feeling of gratitude for every day we lived while savoring the friendships  developed; the maturing of our children; the opportunities to travel; and those precious times with family.

Sunshine on my shoulders makes me happy
Sunshine on my eyes can make me cry.

Yes. We've all traveled perilous paths over the mountains and trudged through valleys of sorrow,  together and alone. 

Many of our friends are no longer here to look out the window of life and savor the beauty in nature and God's love that surrounds us. 

Sunshine on the water looks so lovely
Sunshine almost always makes me high.

Time spent reflecting erased my worries of  the "what if's" that sometimes haunt me, but dang it, it didn't erase those lines and bags around my eyes!  

If I had a tale that I could tell you
I'd tell a tale sure to make you smile
If I...

Sunshine on my Shoulders by John Denver

RIP: Betty Roberts Labigang and Juli Carson

*The irony to writing thoughtfully is that for the previous few days gray has been the color of the skies, and I couldn't seem to write clearly. Today, when the sun came out, words flowed into and out of my head like watching the birds soar in the sunshine and blue skies.

  

Speaking From the Heart--Roy's Words

Jan Crockett Smith, Sue Seamon Mead and
 Marsha Payton Rickel

Three years of planning and hard work by the hands and heads of many classmates have finally come to fruition. I, too, have spent time helping and reflecting on what those years meant in our lives. Even though my stories are universal, they are still told from my point of view.  In our class there are at least two hundred points of view, when looking back at those twelve adventurous years of school. Perhaps another set of eyes can tell the story, that I couldn't.  

One classmate, Roy Underwood,  recently reflected on

Richard, Karen, Donna, Bill, Roy

those memories, those emotions brought on by the meetings that have been held to organize and shore up our reunion.  Here are Roy's words spoken from his heart.

Greetings 1965 MHS classmates.
We are a few days away from our 50th reunion, can you really believe it? I am speaking only for myself at this writing, not the committee. Nor am I the wordsmith like some of my classmates. I have been known and accused of being brutally honest, called many names, most not so kind, and probably deserved such. However, as we near our 50th reunion, I wish to share my thoughts. Agree or disagree, it matters not to me. This is my story of how it began.

Tony Palmer, ? Roy Underwood

It has been one hell of a ride, sometimes smooth, sometimes rough--disagreements, untold hours of personal time, and difficult decisions had to be made along the road to now.

It began more than five years ago with two people, then three.  I was living in Ohio at the time. I personally missed two previous reunions due to distance and my employment. I moved back to Oklahoma City after my retirement in 2009. The seeds of our current reunion began with Richard Spencer and Karen Atkinson Yoxall.  I was invited to assist. Richard and I began having lunch meetings in Shawnee, Okla. We had not seen each other since 1965, but we hugged and for me, the years melted away.

Randy Loehr, Linda McNatt Henbest, Donna Collins Edmondson, Jan Crockett Smith 

Meetings were planned, the very first was held in Miami @ the Pizza Hut, with more than 48 classmates attending. We

thought, wow, this is going to be easy, not so! As the weeks and months progressed, we learned it was not going to be so easy. I cannot count how many meetings we have had. You were informed and invited. The attendance, over the years has fluctuated. Many have asked, who is paying for these meetings, the food and drinks etc. The total cost of travel, food etc., came from our pockets, some locations were donated. Weekly breakfast meetings were begun here in Miami at local restaurants. All in all they have been very successful. Classmates traveled to join us from different locations in state and out of state.

Jackie Trask

It has been a time to renew friendships and establish new ones; a time of sharing our life's success, failures and loss. No more petty BS of our years at MHS, no more clicks or ill feelings. Just people, we shared a point in time of our personal history. For me, I deeply cherish each and every moment you have chosen to share with me. I would come from those meetings, feeling energized, happy and at times guilty for having absorbed such wonderful emotions from my classmates!

Wednesday morning meetings class of 65. 

Many have worked years, weeks, months and hours to make this the best reunion ever. You may not like portions of it or any of it. For me, I don't care for some events, but you know, it will be what I make of it, I choose to make it all a positive event. Like many, our lives have taken many roads, some very successful, some not. We have all known happiness, horrible pain and loss, some of our own making. People have hurt us, in turn we have hurt others, and usually those we loved the most. Many of our classmates have suffered such loss, and they will be in attendance. I want them to feel welcome; rich, poor, successful or not. If I act superior, judge them, or not interact with them, I am the one who will experience a personal loss for not allowing them in, it will make me less and cheat me out of allowing them to enrich my life. My thoughts are mine alone. A heart felt THANK YOU, for your support, time and money to help make this one of the best reunions ever. A personal thank you classmates who have enriched my life over these past few years, by you being you!! Hope to see you in a few days. Blessings to all!

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Miami High School,  Circa 1959, the Ted Watts collection