Biloxi Recalled

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Sun 'n Sand Hotel Court on Hwy 90 c. 1959.

As I sit here today my mind drifts back to the many vacations I've enjoyed on the gulf coast.  My husband and I spent a week in Biloxi, Mississippi last spring refreshing our spirits and searching the landscape for our own childhood landmarks.  Sadly, most of those landmarks were blown away, if not by hurricane Camille then by Katrina.  And now my TV is blaring the news that hurricane Isaac is bearing down on my beloved gulf coast.

The Broadwater Beach Hotel c.1967

It was the trees and the broken cement piers that led us to our few remaining landmarks on that trip. It took me two days to finally get my bearings on where my childhood memories had once stood.  We began our Christmas golf vacations to Biloxi in the late 1950's and stayed at grand hotel called the Edgewater Beach.   We then returned for many more trips to a new luxury hotel called the Broadwater Beach.  There I discovered elegance in dining when the maitre d' unfolded the pink linen napkin and placed it in my lap.  For a moment I felt like Grace Kelley.

The Broadwater pier looking back at the hotel. c.1967

The sun was never brighter than in my childhood memories, even though I can tell stories about playing 36 holes on cool rainy days in December, but when I remember Biloxi, this is what I recall.

The Broadwater Beach pier looking back at misty memories. c. 2012.

The artist captures the essence of the gulf life in this broken tree.

My childhood Biloxi is gone, but the memories and stories will live forever to be shared with my friends and readers from time to time.  It will withstand Isaac and many more to come.  The people, the land populated with trees and critters will survive and new memories will be made.


Good luck Biloxi, my heart is with you.

Golf Gypsy and the Lost All (oops the lost Ball)

I love to play golf with my pink Precept balls, that look like the ones Paula Creamer uses, even though I know they are not the same.  I like them for several reasons:  1) I like the color pink; 2) I like the way they feel when I hit them (they are made for those of us with a slower club head speed); and 3) I know which ball is mine when I look out at the balls in the fairway!  I take a lot of teasing about my "ladies pink ball," but most agree it does go straight down the middle, and sometimes it even goes a long ways.  Besides that it looks really special when I pick it up out of a pale white hole on the green.

Notice it even says "IQ 180."

It shouldn't come as any surprise to anyone that I occasionally lose balls on the golf course, especially at Prairie Dunes.  When we first joined Prairie Dunes twelve years ago I actually went to Target and bought several dozen cheap balls to play.  That way I had no attachment to the ball, so that when it flew into the intimidating gunch (tall grass) I just let it go, dropped another ball and hit again.  Over and over I played the fairways, roughs, and gunch until I felt like I could keep the ball in play, more often then not.  Then a few years ago I discovered the pink balls.

I really didn't become attached to that "lost pink ball", I just became a little irritated that I couldn't find it when I knew exactly where in the gunch that it should be, just to the left of 15 green.  Even my playing partner, Kathy, agreed that "pinkie" shouldn't be lost.  Why couldn't we find her.  I had played a provisional and in just a few minutes I called off the search party, hit my provisional, took my penalty and life went on.  I never would have thought about "pinkie" again if Kathy hadn't told me that she and Jim were playing golf a few days later and she looked for "pinkie."  I laughed, but the next time I played I found myself glancing in the gunch on 15 for "pinkie".

Then one day Kathy, her husband Jim, along with Jack and I played a round of golf at Prairie Dunes.  When we came to hole 15 Kathy stepped over to the side after she putted and looked for "pinkie."  Jim and I both noticed and I laughed again, but sadly agreed that "pinkie" was gone.  Jim, in an attempt to console me or cajole me, said, "I bet someone who doesn't appreciate "pinkie" has found her and stuck her in a tub of lost balls, never to play again."

"Probably so," I agreed.  Then I laughed and suggested that I write up a "Lost and Found" notice and place it in the men's locker room and in the newsletter offering a good white ball in return for "pinkie."  I told this story to my friend, Linda who likes her pink Callaway ball and who confessed that she had bought a couple a dozen of them just  last week in Wichita.  She listened and then just smiled and said, "Remember Letty, you are not the only one who likes pink balls."  Mystery solved, or not?