I wasn’t an athletic kid. I stumbled, couldn’t hit a baseball if my life depended on it, and dodgeball was my personal hell. I wasn’t the last kid picked for the teams but I was in the bottom 10%. I really wanted to run like the wind and be decent at sports (note: I didn’t say “good at sports”. My goals were realistic.).
I was pretty good at making baskets whenever we played Horse on the playground. Finally, something where I could achieve a modicum of success! The first week of basketball practice in middle school and a six foot tall Amazon landed on my foot and broke at least one of my toes. It was the end of my basketball career. I realized at only five foot three inches I was at a disadvantage. Besides, my foot turned black and blue, swelling so much my toes curled under my foot. It wasn’t something I wanted to repeat.
One of my friends ( another writing nerd) informed me she was trying out for the golf team. It isn’t much of a tryout. Everyone makes the team unless they decide they don’t want to do it anymore. Golf wasn’t a contact sport, and I didn’t need to run. It sounded like a win-win to me.
My dad was pleased I was trying something different. He bought me a set of golf clubs with the understanding I needed to persevere and not give up since “golf clubs aren’t cheap!”
And, play I did. I played on the golf teams through middle school, high school, and college. My first date with my husband was playing 36 holes of golf. We walked the hilly course and carried our own golf bags. Ah, youth…(wistful sigh, insert here).
Through the years, we continued to play but the frequency depended on how busy our lives/jobs were and how strapped financially we were at the time. And for some inexplicable reason, I stopped playing seven years ago. That is, until last week when I picked up my clubs and headed to the driving range to hit some golf balls.
Truly, I was worried. I was in much better shape physically than I was the last time I’d played, but I was also much older now. It went fairly well. Some balls responded exactly as they should have, and others rolled a few feet away leaving evidence of my inconsistency and my sloppy swing.
Undeterred by my less than stellar performance, I told my husband I wanted to play a few holes of golf. I proceeded to bogey and double bogey multiple holes. Most of my puts were laughable, but I did sink a forty-footer (smile). I ended up in not one, but three bunkers.
Nine holes later, I was smiling, sunburnt and had stiff and aching shoulders. It was great fun. I didn’t let my poor putting or uneven play depress me, because golf IS only a game and with more practice time and rounds of golf under my belt, I know I will improve.
See you out on the links!
thus far and working on Chapter Twenty-Seven at present. The action is starting to fire up and the story threads will begin to emerge to show the big picture. This book will unveil the truth behind the other books and the sometimes incomprehensible actions of the main characters. It will also lay the stage for some potential future stories about some new characters, but only time will tell where the writing muse takes me.
best in Country music (new and classic artists) as well as a night of Classic Rock.
is currently dealing with this terrible disease. Despite being a nurse and caring for patients with cancer over the years, it hasn’t made it easier emotionally.
Every morning is another chance to make someone smile, to give a friend a hug, to comfort someone who is having a terrible day, and to present the world with your best self.
My mom was born in the middle of the Great Depression on a July day so hot, my grandfather had to buy two fans for the hospital room to keep his wife and new baby girl comfortable. Mom grew up on a 560-acre farm in a house without running water, electric lights, heat or an indoor bathroom. The family used an outhouse. Kerosene lamps were used for light. They had an icebox, not a refrigerator like we have now, and every few days a new block of ice needed to be purchased to cool their perishable food.
There are many, many stories about this wonderful lady and her life, but I offer you a sliver, a snapshot to avoid this becoming a novella. I share these small glimpses into Mom’s life with supreme gratitude for her patience and loving care of me over the years. I wouldn’t be the woman I am without my parents.
Kate McGinn - Storyteller 