Golfing in the Mist

Last night, the girls called me while I was watching my son's tee-ball game.

"Come join us," they commanded. I waited for the game to finish. My husband left me (!) during the last inning to exercise. I had no babysitter.

I took the kids, ball glove, hat and ice cooler filled with that night's extra game treats and returned home.

I had the kids change clothes, walked the dog, bar-b-qued chicken and microwaved frozen green beens for dinner.

I noticed the garage door was open. My husband had returned home, but was visiting with our yard gurus.

"Hey!" I called. "I've been waiting for you. I'm going out for a drink with the girls."

"What?!" he said, astonished. (It's a long time since I joined the girls on Wednesday night.) When he walked into the kitchen, he said he smelled "charred chicken."

I glared at him, "This is NOT funny. They kids ate. Your dinner is ready. Good-bye."

I grabbed my keys and skipped down the stairs.

I fled my responsibilities. (hee hee, he can put the kids to bed)

Calling the girls on route to the course (which was accomplished via many missed calls, etc.), I found they skipped dinner in favor of an impromptu 18-hole 4-lady scramble. They were only on hole 13.

I called ahead to the Pro Shop. Mr. R. answered after the third attempt. He loaded my clubs on a cart so I could catch them when I arrived.

First I stepped into the club bar to pick up some Coronas for the course. I then realized I'd left my locker key at home (I thought we were dining, not golfing). I was wearing my Merrills, thus, was not wearing "proper golf (shoe) attire."

One of my girlfriends (who is a Great Golfer) was preparing to dine with her husband. She graciously lent me new socks (as in tear off the plastic part holding them together) as well as a pair of spikes. "Which color would you prefer with your outfit?" she generously asked.

I then convinced her to ditch her spouse and join us on the course.

The 4-lady scramble became 6. We joined the 4-some on hole 14.

The weather was perfect! The sun was setting, thus, the temperature had cooled. The result was a heavy mist rising off the grounds, giving the empty course a fairy-tale setting. B. still wore her work clothes, so removed her heels to putt. She soaked the hem of her cream-colored pants with dew.

Halfway through hole 14, I wondered why I joined them. Once again, I am over-my-head in athletic competition. Three of the six women played 18 holes in the first part of our Club Championship that morning. #5 didn't play, but could have bested them all. #6 worked out-of-town that day. She'd returned 15 minutes prior to my dragging her away from her husband.

This scramble was a lot of teasing and betting - female-style.

A. complained her father wouldn't give her an iPhone. She also said she wanted to see a hole-in-one on #17 - a Par-3. Club tradition holds that a hole-in-one person opens the bar for everybody present - free cocktails for all! I told her, "If I make a hole-in-one, (my spouse) would give (her) an iPhone, but the bar is closed." (Please note I am the worst player present. These women score less in 18 holes than I do in 9.)

My drive landed about one foot (12 inches) in front of the pin. It was the closest drive from all six women present.

After that the sun sank fast. We left balls in the grass if they were hit out of the fairway. We surreptitiously dropped balls, then hit others if people were talking too much. (ha ha) Expletives peppered the damp air. We congratulated one another on our fluency.

It was a great time with nature, the weather and, especially, a golf course to ourselves.

Reality hit when B. had the foresight to remember the kitchen closed at 9:00 pm. She called ahead. The staff graciously offered to wait for us to arrive to place our dinner order.

But for a few hours, we forgot who we were. We were no longer mothers, or employers, or employees, or students.

We were simply females with clubs and nature, stretching back time to our forebears.

For those few hours: we were the game.