Therapy.

I've mentioned before that Carl and I wanted to do something together, that neither of us had done before.

And thus we discovered our local municipal golf course. And we took lessons based on Carl's good friend, Scott's, recommendation. He told us to call Woody Woodard. We had a weekly lesson with Woody, both of us at the same time.

For both of us, golf was a form of therapy. It got us out of our own way, and into other people's ways (the wayward balls, skiffs, scuffs, and wild swings). It got him away from his yacht designing biz. It got me away from my real estate biz. Not for long...but we did get away.

Because Carl was left handed and I wasn't, when we practiced, we would face each other. We would try not to make faces about our own inadequacies or swings. Often we would be super-frustrated in only the effort of trying to hit that small ball, short or long distances. And of course we would just start laughing at each (with) other.

So it's been almost 14 years since Carl has moved on (I wonder if he plays golf wherever he is?), and I'm still taking my therapy golf lessons. One per week. I don't take the time to go out and play because it just takes too much time to play a full round of golf.

I tried playing with the ladies who only play 9 holes. That worked fine, until it just didn't. They knew the rules, and I didn't. They knew the course, and I didn't. They knew the greens and I didn't. It was my fault...not theirs. They had the time. I didn't want to make the time.

There is not much that Woody and I don't talk about: sports, families, kids, grandkids, food, his wild trips to hunt moose in Alaska, my trips flying in Alaska and around the country, his neat wife, my great, late husband, his folks (what amazing people), my parents.

I had lunch today with a friend, who is also my lender, who puts together my clients' financing for various real estate transactions. We had lunch at Jim's on the Course. I had mentioned that I had lesson on the course this morning at 7am.

Lenny (the lender) wondered  about my handicap - it must be so low....and I said uh, no. I don't even know what my handicap is. I gave up on the handicap thing years ago. I came right out and told him this was my form of therapy. And it was cheaper than me finding a real therapist. I get to breathe the outdoor air, hit some balls around some crummy green (brown) grass, and every once in a while I'll hit a ball surprisingly well...(or is it good?).

After about 4 holes, I got into the swing of things, relaxed, and hit the ball okay. And I signed up for some more therapy lessons.

Live richly, marilyn

Comments

  1. Many of us who golf end up needing therapy after a round of golf. I like the way you combine the two. Mike McMahon

    ReplyDelete

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