Summer camp and professional development

A few weeks before I was to exchange custody with Donkey, the continuing education catalogue arrived. I figured there’d be something I could do to busy myself while I waited for them to come home for the summer. I looked through IT, photography, writing, and gardening.I thought the “Intro to Word Press” would be good, and I liked the sound of “How to Map a Murder”, but ultimately decided I’d make sure I was sticking to the blog, and I didn’t want the other class on my transcript the first semester post-contentious-divorce. None of the IT classes were general enough to give me what I was looking for, my camera isn’t good enough, and I have 2 expert, graduated from the garden of their green thumbs, hometown garden gurus to consult for my own.

Keep flipping and there are other things of little interest; I have no desire to learn pottery or glass blowing. But then there’s outdoor recreation: tennis, bird-watching, golf…golf? Golf for women? Golf for beginner women? I ripped out the page, marked registration day on my calendar, and decided to sign up and pay before I could change my mind.

Photo by VGB

Good thing, too. I forgot all about it, and remembered halfway through my day. I didn’t want to go either, just as I expected. I was tired from my Memorial weekend with Is & No, and the 8 hour drive home Monday. I was missing my babies and wanted to lay on the couch and find something useless to watch.

I’m also stubborn and cheap, and those classes, 8-weeks worth, cost $100 + bucket of balls each week. $90 of the $100 was already spent and nonrefundable. I went to class. I scrambled over to MMA’s house and borrowed a set of clubs.

MA offered to go with me to the driving range for practice. I accepted because I needed it; I only made contact 3 times. I accepted because there would be someone between me and everyone else so no one would really see me. I accepted because he gets the award for Most Likely to Be Honestly Patient, and I would probably learn something and all teasing (current & future) would be mutual.

I mentioned this to VGB and practicing at the driving range turned into a family outing for put-put. The teacher did say the majority of the score is won on the green. What better place to practice putting than put-put course: read the green, determine direction and distance, and swing.

Photo by VGB

We had a 4-some and Lulu, who we spied is actually Super Lulu when no one is looking.

Together we played 18 holes. MMA both had pointers. Don’t move your hips, waist, wrists, elbows, neck, or head. Look at the hole, read the lay, look at the ball, use your shoulders, and swing. Once I understood what uncomfortable position to hold, it was all good. Think pendulum: rocking, equal pace, back forth back forth, shoulders move arms, arms move hands, hands move club, club moves ball.

MtA’s advice did it: “Do you know what golf stands for?” she asked. “Gentlemen only ladies forbidden?” I answered. “Yes, and do you know why?” “Boobs?” “Exactly, that’s what makes it so uncomfortable.” Ok. Easy enough. No more ultra-quadruple-extra-padded bras for golfing.

Photo by VGB

By the end I had the hang of it, and felt more comfortable moving only my shoulders.

Photo by VGB

I still need to do better with the full swing. I swing alright, but the ball won’t let me hit it.


speak loudly, donkeys are sleeping

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