I’ve never been into golf.
Like many children of the ‘80s, I spent a fair amount of time at the mini-golf course, but that was more to check out the cute boys playing Frogger in the arcade. I attempted to play golf a few times an adult, but my technique was similar to Happy Gilmore’s (but without the success). Once, as distant thunder grumbled and dark clouds were building overhead, all I could think was that it was not smart to be walking around an open grassy field with a lightning rod in my hand. Over the years, I’ve learned that the way to enjoy golf is to make friends with the bar cart lady.
After my parents left Sunday morning, we had a blue-sky day to fill. John asked if I wanted to join him on the cart while he played 9 holes. Hmm- should I diligently attack the laundry pile and dishes leftover from our Father’s Day feast, or delay chores in favor of riding around a lush green course in a motorized cart for a couple of hours in the June sun? I grabbed my sunscreen, camera, and a magazine and decided a cleaner house could wait.
Even after 4 months of living here, I’d never seen my neighborhood from this perspective. The voyeur in me enjoyed seeing the back yards of homes on the course that I drove by daily. Birds were chirping and butterflies fluttered around the cart from time to time. John pointed out fat, happy fish in the creek and I spotted a water snake.
Nostalgic of my mini-golf days, I even tested my short game with a couple of putting attempts. Let’s just say I won’t be in the U.S. Open anytime soon, but it was fun!
John dubbed me his lucky charm, playing well and even getting his first two birdies of the season! I enjoyed being outside on the course so much that I never even opened my magazine.
(Oh, and the bar cart lady’s name is Sam.)