Monkey in the Middle

The beginning of a story sets the tone. The reader is introduced to the main characters and the opening scene is set. Endings however, are the exact opposite. Endings are the culmination and result of all the situations and circumstances the main characters navigated throughout the story. The reader may have an idea of where the story is headed after reading the beginning, but very rarely is there enough information to determine how things ends up.

Beginnings, in general are lovely. We meet someone special, and suddenly we are filled with hope and dreams and all manner of “happy”. At that point it is darned near impossible to see the “bitter” end. But as we walk through the scenes of our lives, we find ourselves in situations for which we had not planned. When these unplanned situations arise, we have no choice but to deal with them in the best way we know how. The hope, of course, is that we get through it all as unscathed as possible.

Stepping up to the first tee is a lovely (and usually nerve wracking) beginning. The mood is jovial, the starter says something nice, we laugh at a joke heard but not really paid attention to. With a score card as pure as a newborn puppy, a beautiful clean slate, we take the shot with nothing but driving the green in our consciousness. And nothing but the sound of ball hitting tree can shake us from our reverie. And now… we must traverse the “middle”. This is where skill really comes into play. I don’t care how great your tee shot is, it’s a long way to the cup, and if you can’t iron, hybrid and approach wedge yourself down that fairway it’s going to be a mighty unpleasant ending.

I played a beautiful course this past weekend with a chum and the bro-in-law. Lake Chabot in the Oakland Hills has nothing if not breathtaking views. In fact, the 18th is a Par 6 and closely resembles a black diamond ski run. It is truly awesome to behold. My friend is a bit of a beginner but she has been bitten by the bug and is happily addicted to the craziness of golf. YAY! New golf buddy! Anyway, her drives have improved by leaps and bounds in the couple of months since we played our first round, and her putting is nothing to sneeze at… her frustration is that she hasn’t yet fallen in love with her irons and hybrids and complained that her “middle game” is frustrating her. Honestly that was the funniest thing but I loved it and the thing is she is right.

I think that the “middle game” is the “better or worse, sickness and health” part of the vows. There isn’t much opportunity for glory on the fairway; that is usually reserved for the tee box and the green, yet isn’t it the most important? If you smash a drive to the middle of the fairway but it takes you 12 to get to the green, even a one putt won’t save you. The middle really is the meat and potatoes.

There is no "Cliff's Notes" version of life. We cannot skim and get an “A”. It is all important, but pay special attention to the middle child.

Jan was underrated. “Marcia, Marcia, Marcia!”

Pump your brakes

I have that personality type where when I go in, I go ALL in. There is no halfway for me. When I started playing golf, my “lets hit the ground running” attitude was tempered by speed bumps (aka: my caddy). While this is exactly the kind of thing I find horribly annoying, I have been trying to be more patient with life in general. What this all translates to, is that I did not spend $1m on golf gear the day before I’d even hit the range. And this… has served me well.

This whole new “patience is a virtue” leaf I’ve been trying to turn over is not easy to flip. The truth is, I’ve always been one for instant gratification and a “but daddy, I want it NOW” mentality. I did learn early in my forays down the fairways that this whole golf thing was going to take some time. Even though I have accepted that, it hasn’t always been an easy ride.

Last weekend I played 9 holes with my sister, bro-in law and a friend of ours. We played at the nine hole near their house because it was Sunday and I didn’t want to play 18 (it’s quite exhausting and I had to work on Monday and was trying to be “smart”). Anyway, this course is a great 9 holer because it has 2 par 4s, so you can still hit your woods.

I haven’t really had much opportunity to hit the range lately, but I have been trying to schedule at least 9 holes once a week. So I can’t really say I am rusty, but the obsession I used to have had to change a bit since I am no longer flexible in terms of schedule. Plus I still have some emotional dangling participles from the whole “nomorecaddy” situation. What this all boils down to, is that I am being extra nice to myself and not sweating how I am performing or how many times I’ve made it to the range. I am basically allowing myself to fall back in love under slightly different circumstances.
So there I was, playing 9, and I realized that I no longer put one ounce of pressure on myself. Nope. None. It’s like, well… I will hit Gertie, she will land, I will go find her and smack her again. At some point we will all end up on the green and I may or may not hit her “in”. And I just don’t really care.

OK, well I do care… but not in the way that I would be upset with myself for hitting a bad shot. Honestly I don’t have the emotional fortitude right now (when it comes to golf) and I just want to love it again.

And umm… I do. And I shot a 41(par 29, which leaves me a hair over bogie golf). And I am perfectly happy with that. But even if I’d shot a 61, I would have spent the day, in the sunshine, with my chums, having a lovely day. Since I don’t actually do it for a living, and am not going to get fired, it’s really ok for me to shoot whatever the heck I shoot that day. The number doesn’t matter. What’s important is that I am doing something I enjoy, with people I enjoy, and I am kind to myself. Why would I ruin a perfectly good Sunday being mean to myself?

…”slow and low, that is the tem-po” .

What you see is what you get?

Perception is reality… or is it? It is cliché, but “don’t judge a book by its cover” is one adage we should all remember and practice. For example, this morning I walked into my office wearing what could be considered a suit jacket. While I normally dress professionally, once you bring a jacket into the mix there is a certain level of formality that raises eyebrows and a few friends whisper: “do you have an interview?” No, actually, I just really despise the blast of A/C that hits my desk about 11:30am.

This past weekend my twinster and I had the very rare opportunity to spend the day together. We relished the chance and headed to a course neither of us had ever played called “Deep Cliff”, in Cupertino, CA. This is an executive 18-hole, par 60, course and was just our size. We were pretty excited about this round and held our breath hoping to be able to play as a pair and not a foursome and it was our lucky day as the starter sent us off alone. He did pull us aside before sending us off asking that we be extra careful about pace of play and I had the feeling that he felt like he was talking to his daughters (which is sweet on the one hand, but annoying on the other). Why would he assume that we would slow play? I mean seriously, why?

I teed off first and hooked my shot right into the trees. I hadn’t hit a bucket, was totally tight and not even a little bit upset. I figured I would just carry on. However the starter decided to give me a swing correction right there on the first tee in front of God and the foursomes behind us. OMG are you kidding me? To make matters worse, when my sis stepped up and addressed her ball, this same man interrupted what was the beginning of her back swing to tell her that her line was off. Of course she then proceeded to hit her ball directly into the trees near mine. Ugh.

We practically ran down the fairway because, these few well intended comments made us feel like we were unworthy to be there, totally suck at golf and were about to ruin the entire round for anyone teeing off after us from that moment forward. The most annoying thing was that he never even gave us a chance, instead judging us by some unknown criteria. The last time I checked, we were dressed appropriately, had all the right gear, paid our greens fees and stood quietly at the tee box. That, right there, is all he needed to know about our golf games.

Deb and I got to the second tee box (where we were stuck waiting for the group ahead of us) and had a chance to re-group. We decided that we weren’t going to keep score and we also discussed that it was completely uncool of that starter to offer corrections and to assume that we would somehow play slowly. We agreed that we were just here to enjoy the day together and play a little golf. No pressure. From there we felt better and moved on.

Deb and I were having a great time on the front nine. We both played “well enough” and were lighthearted to the point that we didn’t even mind that we had to wait at every tee box. That’s right: every single tee box, we sat, we waited, we stretched, we prayed the beverage cart would come (but didn't until much later), but most of all, we just waited. Where was the starter and his warnings for this foursome? They really should have let us play through, it was totally the right thing to do, but since we’d decided to just enjoy the day we relaxed… and then we made the turn.

We ordered lunch from the call box at the 8th green and since we were walking knew we couldn’t take turns driving/eating, and instead came up with a little plan that made sense. So we finished up at 9 and ran into the café to grab our lunch and get to #10. Our food was ready and we ordered beverages. I was literally standing at the counter eating as fast as I could while my sis paid. I walked to the condiment station and finished cramming my food in my mouth while Deb ran to the ladies room. It was at this moment that some guy from the course walked (hurriedly) up to me and asked if we planned to continue the round. I said well yes we just grabbed our food, my sis is in the ladies and we are going. He said we had to get to #10 right away or else lose our turn. Deb came back from the ladies and as we took off running for the tee box she crammed her food in her mouth. And then… we waited. A group was at the tee… and there was no one behind us... and we waited. Can you say acid indigestion? We were miffed to say the very least but kept saying that we were determined not to let it get us down.

I will never understand why we received such treatment, it really was appalling. I imagine if we’d walked in and been aloof and barely cracked a smile we may have been taken more seriously, but the blonde bubbly thing (x2) is apparently not something these people were used to and therefore perceived as not being serious. The most ironic thing is that when it comes to golf, both Deb and I are as serious as a heart attack whereas from what we saw both ahead of and behind us that day, the sentiment isn’t shared.

The reality is: things are not usually as they appear. Sometimes we see our ball land perfectly on the green and from where we stand it looks like it is 6 inches from the hole and we beam. Once we walk up and realize it’s more like 6 feet, we aren’t as happy, but for the few minutes that we thought we almost aced it, we experience happiness. That happiness is real, even if it is only based upon your perception of the situation at that exact moment.

Don’t judge a book by its cover and for pity’s sake: NEVER let the blonde hair fool ya.

Ace

I frequently travel on business and the more I travel, the smaller the world becomes. Shanghai was a distant dream, but after ordering a latte at the Starbucks there, I felt right at home (until I drank it, the milk was yicky, I recommend sticking with the Americano). It is common to long for home whilst sleeping in a foreign hotel room and familiar places can be soothing to the soul. I often find this sort of comfort when I visit a church in some faraway land. As a Catholic I find the ritual of Mass to be something which transports me home no matter where I am. The prayers are the same, the priests’ vestments are the same and they always seem to smell the same (in a good way).

We often associate sights, smells, sounds, and tastes with certain emotions. I know that one whiff of pipe tobacco will elicit an uncontrolled sob, making me desperately miss my Grandfather, yet the sound of a baby laughing will make me smile thinking of when my son was little. Emotional associations, impact the experience we have in any given situation, and what was one once pleasing may now be heartbreaking. And so it has been for me and the golf course.

I love golf. I love everything about it, or so I thought I did. Before my caddie moved away, we played golf pretty much every weekend. If we weren’t playing we were likely watching and I was leading the pack in our fantasy golf league. Suddenly, he was gone and simply driving by a golf course made my insides hurt. But what’s a girl to do? I mean I am not just giving up, I truly love it. But how? How can I get through the ache that sits with me every time I hit balls at my home course, every time I see my clubs lying innocently in my trunk? How the hell am I going to do this?

I can count the rounds of golf I’ve played in the past year on one hand. That is certainly not helping matters because now, in addition to the emotional stuff, I am totally rusty. I had a conversation about this subject with a co-worker and she agreed to play a round with me and grabbed another chum to join us. We decided to meet at a local course (I’ve only played there once or twice though so no weird baggage) for a mid-morning tee time on Saturday. I did have an opportunity to hit a bucket about 2 weeks before this (and swung HORRIBLY), but could not get there to hit any the night before or the morning of the round. Gulp.

I showed up at the course, met up with the girls, popped open a little can of Sophia Coppola sparkling wine (special love for the pink expandable straw), grabbed Gertie and went for it. As I took that very first swing, I realized I didn’t give a fig about the shot, I had no expectations and felt no pressure and I was exhilarated… that moment, was the very instant I reclaimed golf as my own. Yeaaaahhhh Boyyyyyy!

One isn’t such a bad number after all. You just haveta own it.

…”giddyup a boom boppa boom boppa mow mow”

Priorities

One of the best things about golf, is the social aspect. These days we are all so busy that it's hard to get together for drinks or dinner or whatever... The cool thing about golf, is that it's an excuse to make plans with people and what golfer doesn't have a time allotment budgeted into the weekly schedule?

Sixteen years ago, my twinster and brother in law moved about an hour away from me. To most people this probably isn't a big deal, but I was devastated. The thing is, even though an hour isn't that long of a drive (ok, it's an hour without traffic and there is pretty much always traffic covering that route)... but you can't be in each other's every day life. Meaning, we can't just pop by one another's house to borrow this or that, I can't drive my neices to or fro school or dance when my sis has scheduling issues, and we don't meet for coffee on Saturday mornings. This... makes me sad.

Whenever I get to pick what I want to do for the day (birthdays, etc.) well duh.. I pick golf! I don't have many golf chums, since neither my family nor my friends play. However, several months back, my twinster and I went to the driving range and hit a bucket of balls. She had never swung a club and with my incessant blathering about how fun it is, she wanted to give it a whirl. Although I am a fledgling, my guru has taught me well, and in terms of mechanics I am well versed in what you are supposed to do. Although each time I swing a club, it's anyone's guess as to whethere or not I actually pull all the elements together. The good news, I guess, is that I usually know exactly what I've done wrong and try to focus on a correction.

Since we are twins, my sis and I really "get" each other and speak the same language. I started her as my sweetie started me, with her 9-iron and a half swing. The only tricky thing is that although we are both left handed, I golf righty and she golfs lefty. We persevered and she was able to make some good ball contact and did well.

For Mother's Day I decided that my sis and brother in law should come down to my house early and that the four of us could play 9 before the rest of the fam arrived at my house for lunch. Since it was Mother's Day, we figured it was ok to do whatever we wanted. Once that was decided I set about the process of nudging (stalking, bullying) my brother in law to buy my sis a new set of clubs. It was a mildly painful process but we got it done!

Much to my neices chagrin, my sis and bro in law arrived at my house Sunday morning, ready to play. My sweetie's dad was still in town so we had a perfect 5-some. We got to the course and I was soooo excited! My sister was a little nervous but my bro in law was the one with the real jitters. Thankfully we got off the first tee without incident, and my sis played from the forward tees using her 9-iron and half swing. She wasn't going to get to the green in one, but this process helped her to get through the round without feeling frustrated and giving up. They both did well and now they have been officially bitten with the golf bug.

The thing about golf is... it is an excuse to get together with people. I was able to spend a lovely Sunday morning with my sister, sans kids. On the golf course, there is no room for serious conversation and the everyday stresses of life are forgotten. The golf course often feels to me, like a safe place to "get away". Spending time with the important people in your life, without the kids needing something, without the phone ringing or the television interrupting, is a forgotten concept. A round of golf is the grown up equivalent to "playing outside". When we were kids, that's all we did and all we wanted to do. As adults, we forget to unplug from the Matrix and enjoy the simple pleasures of life. When we play golf, we have the opportunity to forget about work, the bills, and the bathroom that needs to be cleaned. In this world of technology driven overstimulation, we have forgotten the importance of peacefulness. The golf course allows us to find it again, and gives us an excuse to nurture the little kid we all have buried inside...

Golf: it does a body good

Life imitates golf

I find myself fascinated with the amount of psychology found within the game of golf. I am aware of how golf impacts me psychologically as well as how my psychology affects my game. Whilst on the mission to shoot a 36 at my itty home course, I have been surprised at how much pressure I've put on myself. The phenomenom is that pretty much everyone who swings a club does the same thing. Golf is a very personal and sometimes lonely venture. If you have a bad day the results reflect it and you haven't got ten other people on your team to pick up the slack. It's kind of like when someone writes a song, or paints a painting. He or she has put their heart and soul into something and once complete although the artist may have felt that they've just done their best work, there is usually a serious amount of insecurity when showing the final product to others. The thing is, there is nothing and no one to blame if your work is not well received, it's all you. The hard part about that is that when an artist shows their work, they are baring their soul before others. I think most of us experience the fight or flight response when in such a vulnerable position, and breath a sigh of relief when the reactions of others to the work is positive. This is how most of us feel when we address the ball... It's all about the judgement.

This past weekend I played a full 18 with the bf and his dad. I was so excited to play and didn't think I was all that nervous, because his dad is really encouraging. Sigh... on the front 9, I couldn't hit a ball from the tee, from the fairway or on the green. The nervous quotient shot through the roof when I stepped up to the first tee. Not only did I have my guys watching, but the course marshall was standing there as well as a cluster of golfers waiting to be up (all men, gulp) were watching. I grabbed my driver, stepped up to the tee and hit the worst shot in the history of golf. I totally topped the ball and it didn't even make it out of the box. Can you say "totally fricking mortified?" I felt the flush in my face and got the "tinglies". Eh ehmmm... so of course I had to do it again and it was hardly better than the first. Deep breath.

As we pressed on, I was horrified that I couldn't "find my swing". I mean, I am a fledgling so I don't have dreams of grandeur but come on! The shots I was missing were ones I can totally handle and I was frustrated to say the least. The back nine was 8 shots better than the front, and I at least hit a few good shots but yeah... I shot a 130. The sad part about that is that this score is actually in line with what I've done in previous rounds. The thing is, if I hit a great shot off the tee, get to the green in the appropriate amount of strokes and then choke with my putter, I can totally get over it. I still feel proud that I struck the ball well and had some good shots. It's like, missing a chip shot by totally topping the ball, but it somehow finds the cup. This happened to me once and although I was excited about it, it was a horrible shot, so I didn't feel proud like "yay, I chipped it in". More like, that was a hilarious stroke of luck. But I mean, zero skill required, I just got lucky. In terms of how I feel about the round I'm playing, good shots make me feel good, bad shots make me feel bad, regardless of the end result. It's like making a cake from scratch versus out of a box... if you add the three ingredients listed on the back of the box, stir it up and throw it in the oven, how good should you feel when everyone raves about it? It was a good mix, but did not require any cooking talent.

I am not a fan of Tiger Woods and never have been. I will admit that his golf skills are second to none (well, they were anyway), but as a human being I have little if any respect for the guy. His win stats reflect his skill of course, but that guy has pulled off some shots that just shouldn't have been successful. The thing about Tiger is that he is a master at visualization and when combined with his skill, he has managed to get the luckiest "kicks" and lies and successful shots out of situations that just shouldn't produce good results. That was then.. this is now.

Everyone has heard about his scandal (really, who is surprised by this?). He took some time off and recently started playing again. His game has gone to absolute hell and every golf analyst is talking about the possible reasons why. Yesterday, he withdrew from a tournament less than halfway through the round citing "a neck injury". Yeah. Uh huh. Sure. As human beings, whatever we're feeling on the inside has to have a physical manifestation of some sort. When someone has just begun a relationship, he or she may lose weight, gain weight, have great hair days and exude an overall glow. Suddenly everything at work is just perfect and they look and feel fantastic. Now then, the person going through a breakup is a completely different story. There is probably a weight gain or loss, their face breaks out and work is nothing but drama. Tiger has had a shift in energy, both his own as well as his "public's". He doesn't have the support he's always had and the energy in the gallery is not pulling for him to win. Hence the "injury".

The point is, if Tiger Woods can miss a cut or shoot a 79 because of his shift in energy, why do we think that stepping up to the tee filled with angst and insecurity will produce a perfect golf shot? Why the heck are we so sure that the world is judging our swing and that we are somehow "less than" if we top it, pull it, hook it, slice it or (God forbid) shank it? Who freaking cares? It's a game!

In our lives, we need to take each day as it comes, expect the best, but plan for the worst. In golf, we need to do the same. Address the ball planning for the most magnificent shot we've ever hit... every single time. Enjoy the lovely day, enjoy the people you're with and just take it, one shot at a time.

Be the ball. Life is good.

I wanna play!

Is it me or is golf one of those male mysteries in life? I decided to find out and you know what? It's not that mysterious after all.

"GOLF" originated as an acronym which stands for: Gentlemen Only Ladies Forbidden. To which I say, "oh yeah? I'll show you!"

As a meeting planner I have planned more than my share of golf tournaments. I was always the girl running around with the clipboard stressing about someone's rental clubs not making it on their cart. I would be up before the sun to make sure everything was situated before my gaggle of hungover golfers showed up, red eyed and still smelling of alcohol. I couldn't help but wonder: what is it about chasing a little white ball around all day that could summon these people from the deepest realms of drunken sleep? Who knew, I would eventually be one of them!?

Something about the parade of golf carts heading out for a shotgun start has always put a smile on my face. I often wished that I could become part of this seemingly exclusive group and be out in the sunshine with them... and now I am!

My bf is an amazing golfer and also the most patient man on the planet. About a year into our relationship I finally agreed to get over my insecurity and let him begin the sometimes painful process of teaching me the ways of the golf course. My biggest worry of course, was that I would look like an idiot and embarrass myself (and him) in front of everyone at the range, who I imagined were all on the PGA Tour.

The best thing about my personal golf pro was that he started me off very slowly at the range, so that I could build some confidence. My 9 iron was my new best friend and I started with a nice and easy half swing. The ball didn't go very far but I got used to the very unnatural feeling of the golf swing. Slowly but surely I became more confident and began working on my full swing and every once in a while I hit a decent shot!

So began the love affair between me and the smell of freshly cut grass.