My Golf Story -- first written October 12, 2009 at 9:17am

My significant other and I took his 15-year-old son and his best friend to practice shooting balls into the tree-lined grass a few weeks ago. You know, I'm not a golfer; none of us really are, but Duane is very practiced and methodological. He shoots beautiful balls far and wide to literally disappear into the white background of the sky and clouds. He tries to instruct me so that I can shoot, too, although, you know I really couldn't care a flying fig.

So of course, I'm trying to keep myself entertained. Having already bored myself from using the golf club as Mary Poppin's umbrella, I decide that I'm going to try to hit the ball like he does. I want my ball to do that, too; to look like a large fleck of snow falling from a cloud. He hands me a club that looks like it has an engorged tumor on its heel, saying the ball will fly best with that one. 

I try this angle and that angle, only twisting myself around and completely missing the ball. He tells me how to stand and swing, but it seems wrong, disjointed, and uncomfortable. That can't be right. I use my equally weak skill of geometrical analysis and carefully place the golf club just so. I miss the ball again. Duane is somewhat patiently waiting for his turn, but I tell him to not mind me; you play yours and I'll play mine... 

With him off my shoulder, I proceed to have more fun and not be afraid to try new things. I'm blindly swinging at many balls so we can finish and go on to do something more exciting, like go see a movie. Only a few balls left.

I hear my falsetto emitting an alternate version of "Edelweiss" over and over: "♪♫small and white may you fly so high, into the sky forever. ♪ Edelweiss, ball so nice, soon you'll be in the air, the air♫" My body is swaying, and my entire energy is soaring with the flow of the song and the sky, and my stick is, too. I swing looking at the clouds, and my gaze moves poetically towards my stick, with my body and club moving like a slow, wide pendulum. I swing it high, then low, then wide, my refrain a low, soft wind. "♫soft and white, it's not night... ♪"

https://youtu.be/z6-P3pFhmQI

Duane's finished now, and the teens are giving me that impassive "we're done, crazy lady" look. But I continue nonplussed. I feel the melody envelop my soul, the stick, the ball, and even up to the sky. "♪small not wide, ♫ ball so nigh... ♪" I am one with my motion, completely emulating the feeling I have, overcome with Julie Andrews' heartfelt melody.

I care less about where the ball goes and more that I enjoy this one last turn. I want to savor it like a fine mousse covered with ganache. And then I finally let it hit. It's a bird. It's a flying pint-size lunch milk. No. It's my golf ball! I see it for a split second in front of the green of a tree, then it disappears into the paper-colored sky. And it's just the way I wanted it; just the way the song makes me feel. I feel a gasp escape, and my eyes widen and start to mist. The song, my swing, my spirit and the ball are in a beautifully synchronized decrescendo. I stare yonder for a pregnant moment, then turn towards Duane and the teens. “Wow, look at that! "Did you see that?" 

The kids take a step after Duane, the clubs swung over his shoulder. In an almost Clark Griswold voice, he announces "Yup, ya ready?" I grab my empty plastic bucket. "Let's go." I gingerly followed, my face frozen in wistfulness. 

https://youtu.be/nG_s-AfjIes

Blog: 

Talk about a time when you had a specific goal, or when you had to do something challenging.

Say:

What the goal or challenge was.

Why it was difficult for you.

What strategies you used (or what you did) to try to make it more manageable.

Whether you succeeded in the end.

Describe how you felt about yourself at different points of the challenge, and what you learned in the end.

Include the reactions of other people who knew about your challenge.  Did they help, or distract you from your goal/challenge?

Write at least 250 words.

Leave a comment on my blog and on the blogs of at least 3 classmates.