The next writing retreat offered by bestselling author Elaine Ambrose is August 11-13 in Meridian, Idaho. Preview the details here: Manuscripts and Mulligans
#golf
The Final Tee Box with Jean Guthrie
We approached the signature Hole 17 on the Danzante Bay Golf Course overlooking the Sea of Cortez in Loreto, Mexico, but without the usual commotion and gusto. Our mission was not to send our ball soaring over the towering cliff from the tee box to the green below but to honor our friend Jean Guthrie in the way she would appreciate.
Jean died after a short illness while we were on vacation at the Villa del Palmar. She was our laughing friend, the one who offered shots of Fireball when we birdied a hole, the one who cajoled her quiet husband Mike to dress up like an elf for Christmas parties, the one who always greeted us with rib-crunching hugs, and the one who raised three sons and made it look easy. We wanted to memorialize her effervescent spirit with her own tee box at the signature hole.
My husband Ken wrote her name on a Titelist golf gall and added a tee from Spurwing Country Club, the club we all belong to in Idaho. We placed the tee on the highest cliff overlooking the tee box and shared a moment of silence. We walked away, knowing a mysterious breeze could come at any moment and move the ball.
Jean Guthrie exploded into our lives riding on vibrant rays of sunshine, illuminating our meandering personal cart paths, tossing shots of adult beverages, hollering at others to join the parade, and refusing to leave until everyone was laughing. Her death brings the final darkness of a star exploding in the night sky, showering us with one last poignant glimmer before extinguishing forever and leaving a void that can’t be filled.
Jean possessed the gift of joy; she was exuberant, positive, infectious, beautiful, independent and adventurous. She loved life, and she loved her family. She met Mike Guthrie in college, and they created the powerful team known as Jean-and-Mike. They established successful businesses, raised three sons, and traveled the world, toting golf bags along with Jean’s energetic optimism to balance Mike’s dry wit.
During the last few years, Jean’s active life took on an accelerated pace. She went to Turkey alone to join friends, she moved to Idaho, cared for her ailing sister, divided her time between Idaho and Palm Desert, California, and she organized a golf excursion with Mike to play major courses throughout the south. Her latest adventure came just two weeks before her death when Mike and she took their sons and their partners on a week-long trip to Hawaii. She lived life to the fullest until suddenly her life was over before we could play another round.
Knowing Jean was a privilege. We’ve shared golf games where laughter exceeded any serious decorum. We’ve dined at each other’s homes, escaped for a weekend at a mountain cabin, and enjoyed a day-long tour of Idaho’s wine country. Through it all, we never suspected she would die at age 67. Not Jean. Not the force behind the smile. The untimely end to such a vivacious, spirited woman proves life isn’t fair, and abundant laughter is balanced with profound pain.
The world is less bright without Jean, but she would want us to go play, aim for the birdie, and toast her with shots. So for Jean, we’ll wipe our tears and try to live and laugh without her; but we’ll never forget. Farewell, our funny, feisty, and fabulous friend. We’ll talk again when we return to Loreto.
When Living Large isn’t a Compliment
(Featuring on The Huffington Post, August 27, 2015)
It started as a fun golf game with another couple we enjoy. It ended with me wanting to stab myself with a knife. Life is like that sometimes.
We finished our round with a good score and returned to the club house for dinner. As we waited for the food, the man casually mentioned that his wife and my husband were lucky because they didn’t need to lose weight. I know it was an innocent remark by a good, middle-aged man but my ears heard this:
“You are a gross, undisciplined whale and so incredibly fat that you should put a sack over your body and hide in the women’s lounge. Too bad you don’t look like my beautiful, fit wife.”
My first reaction was to pick up my butter knife and slash my gums because 30 years ago I lost 12 pounds in one week after my wisdom teeth were removed. I thought that maybe I could duplicate that instant weight loss if I hurt myself. Obviously, this was a red flag warning that I should immediately leave the club and seek a counselor.
Truth: You never need to tell a woman that she has gained weight. She knows it. She avoids mirrors, hates photographs of herself, and loses the urge to shop for clothes. She doesn’t want to be reminded that her hips, belly, and back are padded with enough layers of protective fat to shelter a family of ten through the winter. She wants to be appreciated for her charm, wit, altruism, and talent. Tell her she’s fat and she’ll write about you.
I languish in good excuses. I was injured almost a year ago, ironically doing a high-impact exercise. My leg bone cracked and the meniscus tore on my knee. The pain was debilitating. As a result, my exercise routine vanished as the extra pounds appeared. The only physical activity I got was when I ambled to the wine rack for medication. But, I still want and need to lose the weight I gained after the injury. I really do, but it’s not as easy any more, and my body seems to like living large.
The day after the golf humiliation, I wiggled into my workout clothes and plodded to the gym. I started with the exercise bike, plugged my earphones into the TV outlet, and found the news. Donald Trump was criticizing Megyn Kelly, an attractive newscaster I admire. I left the gym and drove to a coffee shop that offered fresh maple bars, and I used the butter knife to smear around the gooey frosting. I licked the knife and promised to hit the gym another day.
Midlife Cabernet – When Golf is a Communist Plot
This week Studley and I played in the foursome that won first place in a golf scramble. We won even though I was the worst golfer on the team and I don’t practice or excel as much as the good players but through the handicap rules we redistributed the wealth of our collective talents to serve the greater good. Other teams with better players were prevented from winning because they didn’t have a bad player. Karl Marx, the socialist philosopher who advocated communism, would be proud. Maybe he wouldn’t have been so grouchy if he had played golf.
The fallacy with the redistribution philosophy is that the best golfers play in scrambles to practice and to have fun. They also compete as individuals in tournaments where they have the potential and opportunity to earn millions of dollars because of their skills. They pay government income taxes on these earnings which are then used to fund education, build roads, and pay into a Social Security program that gives money to those who don’t work or golf as well. They also donate to charity and sponsor community events, which Marx never did. The winning golfers get to keep about half of their earned money. And, they deserve it.
The best golfers, like other successful entrepreneurs, have unique tenacity, talent, intelligence, and risk-taking ability to create and sustain their enterprises. They play by the rules that reward achievement, and they don’t expect free mulligans or trophies for everyone. If the current trend toward political correctness changes the game and decrees that all golfers will play par for the course, most of us will stay in the club house and drink gin and tonic cocktails.
One last comment before I go back to the golf course: Karl Marx, the avowed socialist who wanted a classless society and condemned capitalism, received his income from Friedrich Engels, a rich industrialist who paid Marx from the profits of his capitalistic factories. Comrade Marx was a fraud.
Today’s blog was inspired by a 2008 Snake River Valley Cabernet Sauvignon grown, produced and bottled locally by a capitalist company, Fraser Vineyard. I eagerly exchanged $24 for the bottle, and both consumer and seller are happy.
