Macro Monday Goes to the Golf Course

My husband gets a little “irked” with me, as we say down here in the South, every time we are getting ready to go play a round of golf.

First, I have to have  shoes to match my outfit. And a visor, naturally. I have to have nine thousand (or so) balls, because I have this uncanny ability to find the exact center of any body of water within shooting distance with my ball. I have to have my lipgloss in my pocket (because I’m Southern a girls gotta look good to play this game, y’all) and a magazine to read in the car on the way. I find it does absolutely nothing helps my game alot if I bone up on swing tips from Phil Nickelson in the Golf Digest before a round. A cooler with a few beers in it is another “must”, if only to ward off a deep depression and quit golf altogether to celebrate another successful round after the eighteenth hole.

And finally, I always insist on taking my camera. You never know what you might see out there! Why, a dern ole dragonfly might just decide to land on the end of your driver….

He was obviously posing  for Macro Monday.

For Macro Monday, you take a close up picture that you think is blog-worthy, post it, and link back to Macro Monday so everyone can visit everyone! (That’s southeren-eese for leave each other comments, if you know what’s good for ya.)

A Meme of Eight

My friend Jan, at Jan’s Sushi Bar, tagged me in this Meme. After you read this, go on over there and check her out. She always cracks me up, y’all. In addition to a lot of funny observations and stories, she has a lot of yummy looking recipes.


Eight things I’m looking forward to, in no particular order:

1. Finishing my blog saga about what a pain in the ass neck it was to try and catch a damn dern cruise.

2. Summer. Which means going to the beach again. And eating hot dogs on the pier. And wearing shorts.

3.Vacation. I’m in the pre-planning mode right now. I’m not sure where we’re going this year, but it will be somewhere fun. The best part is the planning, which is what I get to do after I decide where we’re going.

4. Holding my first grand baby. Next month, y’all!

5. Getting another room added onto my house. Then maybe we will have enough room to invite the whole family over for dinner.

6. Buying new furniture. I’m going to absolutely need a bigger dining room table and more chairs for my new room.

7. Losing some more golf balls. My ultimate goal is to beat my Dad at golf. I’ve taken a lesson and I’m practicing really hard. In twelve more days I’ll have a shot at it!

8. Planting flowers in our flower beds. This year, I hope to include a few veggies.

Eight things I did yesterday:

1. Brought down a Draw, cleaned it, threaded it, and started it up again all by myself! (For those of you who are not employed at Corning – it’s a complicated new job I’m being forced trained to do.)

2. Had a Bloody Mary for breakfast. (After working all night, so in reality it was a cocktail after work.)

3. Took some close up photos of a family of geese.

4. Slept. All day. (See number 2.)

5. Practiced my golf swing while I was having my morning coffee at 5 pm. (See number 2.)

6. Hit golf balls in the neighborhood field. Watched Hannah run around and try to get all of them in her mouth.

7. Posted TWO blog posts. Wow. It usually takes me several days to just get ONE ready. (Update: It is already the next day and I’m not done with this. See?)

8. Did some research on resort hotels in Myrtle Beach. ( Part of vacation pre-planning. And I didn’t have any idea that there is a huge fire down there right now!)

Eight things I wish I could do:

1. Go on another Cruise. With much less drama than the first one!

2. Go to Hawaii. And stay there until I got tired of it.

3. Become so good at golf that I could quit my job and go on the senior tour. (Snort! Yeah, right after I break a hundred!)

4. Go back to the body I had when I was 20, but keeping the life wisdom I’ve acquired in the past 31 years.)

5. Buy a neat little house in the country for my son and his girlfriend who are having my first grandbaby next month. And a decent car for them to drive.

6. Kidnap my brother and force him to go to a doctor.

7. Retire with plenty of money so I could clean, rearrange and redecorate to my heart’s content, take a painting class, play golf all over the world, and cook dinner for my entire family once a week. (Yeah. Maybe I’d hire a chef, too.)

8. It occurs to me that winning the lottery would take care of most of this, so that’s number eight.

Eight shows I watch:

I’m not even sure I can come up with eight. We watch the same ones over and over, and we have all those Netflex rentals to keep on top of.  But I’ll give it a whirl.

1. CNN

2. Two And a Half Men

3. American Idol

4. Dancing With The Stars

5. The Dog Whisperer

6. Extreme Home Makeover

7. The Big Break (It’s a golf show. Yawn.)

8. Design On A Dime

Eight people I tag for this meme:

1. Debbie@ Buzzin By

2. Kyle@Meta Blog

3. Sandie@ Sandie Simply Says

4. Teenie@Teenie Thoughts

5. Jan @ Planetjan

6. Mrs.4444@Half Past Kissin’ Time

7. The Mom Jen @ Cheaper Than Therapy

8. Claudie @ Bubblin’ Over

How to Make a Putt


This is for Wordless Wednesday, Friday’s Edition.

I needed something to make me smile today, y’all. It’s been a rough month. Plus all this crappy weather lately is makin’ me miss the golf course. This is a picture of my husband, Jeff, on the left, and his friend, Kirk the Kirkster, on the right. Clowning around seems to come natural to both of them. And, in case you’re wonderin’, they made the putt.

It’s a relaxing game


This week’s spin cycle, brought to us by Sprite’s Keeper (, is about Relaxation.

My wonderful husband, Jeff, introduced me to the relaxing game of golf. Before I met him, my thing was shagging, which is the official dance of South Carolina. It was invented in Carolina Beach, back in the 1950’s, by a man named Chicken Hicks. Kinda like a slow Lindy, or a slow swing, it’s danced to Beach Music, (think:Under The Boardwalk), by barefooted Southerners on a sandy wooden dance floor, while carefully holding a bottle of beer in their free hands.

Anyhow, bein’ a Yankee and all, he didn’t know a darn thing about shaggin’, nor could he appreciate the finer points of it, so I quickly figured out that I’d have to learn how to play golf, if we were to have any shared interests, which I think are real important in a marriage. So for the past eight years, I’ve been chasin’ a bunch of little old white balls around, y’all.


We went and played yesterday, at “our” course….The Bucaneer Golf Club in good ole Burgaw, NC. And it was such a relaxin’ time. It was a perfect November day. There was the bright sun a-shinin’, a nice cool breeze, all the pretty trees changing into bright fall colors, droppin’ leaves all over the green fairways. Which makes it real hard to find yer ball when it’s rolled underneath a bunch of leaves, that the people who are supposed to be takin’ care of the course can’t be bothered to come out and rake off of the fairway. But it’s real relaxin’. Even though a dozen balls can cost upwards of 40 bucks, that’s about $3.40 per ball, but we’re relaxin’, so who cares, right?


Then there’s the ponds. So pretty to look at. Never mind that they take on the errie quality of bein’ magnets to the particular brand of golf balls that I carry in my bag. Nope, it doesn’t matter that every time I stand up at the tee box to hit a ball over a body of water (whether it be a pond, stream, crick, or mud puddle) my ball will absolutely, magically and other-wordly be drawn to the geographic CENTER of that body of water. No. I really don’t mind sacrificing 5 or 6 balls on the front nine (to the tune of $3.40 each), because I’m so relaxed. It’s a relaxing game.


Once in a while, my ball will land in the edge of a pond or in the tall grass alongside of a crick, but it doesn’t matter, y’all. That ball is still as lost as lost can be, cause you got to understand, there’s alligators in the ponds and water moccasins in the cricks, or ditches. They lay there and look at you, and they have this aggressive looks in their beady eyes that say, “Don’t F*** with me,” so we don’t. They have teeth, and they might be hungry. 


I love the fact that golf is such a genteel, gentlemanly game that is practiced with a universally accepted set of ettiquette rules. Like, when you are a group of six white-headed old men, who can barely see your balls, much less FIND them in the leaf-covered fairways, you really should wave through the twosome behind you, which can play alot faster and are waiting on you for, oh, at least 10 or 15 minutes on each hole. I like how this same group of old bastards manage to get out right ahead of us almost everytime we play. What REALLY tickles me to death is how they absolutley REFUSE to turn around and even ACKNOWLEDGE that we are there, even when Jeff hits a tee shot right into the midst of them and we give up hoping they’ll do the right thing and let us through, and we skip one of the holes altogether, so that we can finish up and get home before dark.


Like I said, it’s real relaxin’. Except when you hit a ball “thin”, and it rolls along the ground right into a bunker, and then you hit the next shot “fat,” and the balls flies short, right into the NEXT bunker (yes, there are ALWAYS multiple bunkers!) and then you stand too far away from the ball, and you “hit it off the toe” and it flies due right, to the other side of the cart path into the “rough” (alot of big ole grass and fallen branches and snakes and stuff) and you use your pitchin’ wedge just to try and knock it back into the fairway and you “skull” the ball and send it into a ditch, and you have to “drop” another ball and hit it, which costs you TWO whole points, and it has to go OVER the ditch, which bein’ a body of water, (albeit dinky), it gets pulled in by that magnetical stuff I already explained to you, and you lose ANOTHER ball, and have to drop ANOTHER one, which costs ANOTHER TWO POINTS, which you hit, by the way, PERFECTLY, except that your aim is off just a tichy, so the ball flies slap-dab into the middle of a tree trunk and ricochets BACKWARDS right towards you husband, who screams, “FORE” (don’t ask me, I have no idea what it means, probably one of those genteel southern ettiquette things) and he ducks, and then your ball is right back to almost where you started.


And my score on this hole is, so far, nine. It’s supposed to be four, to be “par”. Or five to have a “bogie”. Or six to have a “double bogie”. Who the hell knows what a nine is called? But, it’s not good. So, bein’ a true southern gal, it’s right about now that I decide to pitch a true Hissy Fit. I hop back into the cute little car, called a “cart” and take a long swig of the beer that we have illegally hidden in our cooler, and announce to my Yankee, experienced, golfer husband, (with tone), “I think takin’ shag lessons would be ALOT more fun than this messy crap!”

Like I said, y’all, it’s a realxing game.

It’s the humidity

After our fabulous, wonderful, fairytale day on the golf course in NY, we decided to take ourselves into Burgaw, NC today and play a round of golf at the grand ole Buccaneer Club, as a last hoohaw on our last day (morning, actually) of vacation.

Big mistake.

For one thing, the word “Burgaw” really means “Mudhole” in some obscure indian language. We were advised by the fellow who works in the clubhouse that it was “cart path only” today. Meaning….”We’ve had a couple of sprinkles of rain in the last week, so y’all are in fer some free mud-boggin’, shoot-dang!”

As we slogged around the mud paths in our mud spattered cart, trying in vain to avoid the deepest holes by sliding off the path every few feet, my brand new, clean golf towel drug through ten inches of fishy smelling gunk and turned a nice shade of turd brown. Which left me nothing clean to wipe my sweaty hands on. My nice white golfing clogs, that I just bought in Myrtle Beach last week….are now clogged with wet grass and covered in that unique Burgaw mud. Our balls managed to find every puddle on the course, which, if you play golf, you understand the significant dismay we felt at getting absolutely no “bounce and roll” all day.

I suppose all the wetness was keeping the maintanence crew from being able to mow, since every fairway was like a hayfield of tall grass here and there. Nothing like hitting a wet ball out of foot high grass and getting a stunning two yard roll into another mud puddle.

Then there’s the humidity. The flies love it. As do the mosquitos. And every other kind of bug that calls Southeastern North Carolina home. I’m convinced that our balls were literally caught in the pea soup mixture we call air down here.  I shot a 60 on the first nine holes, after shooting a 45 in NY two days ago. Becuase we were waiting behind a group of five elderly gentleman, who could not be bothered to glance behing themselves and see the cute two-some waiting patiently, we decided to call it a day. It was, all in all, a most miserable experience.

I guess it could have been worse. We could have decided, foolishly, to take the time to search for one of the dozen-plus balls we lost in the ponds, weeds, grown over ditches or mud holes formally known as “bunkers”, and gotten ourselves a cute, little, rattlesnake bite or met one of the friendly gators.

There. Now I feel better.