Monday, August 24, 2009

Seal Cove, PEI - Golf day

Wednesday, August 12, 2009

I like to wake up in new places, open the door, and step out into a new reality. I can see how some people turn into permanent travelers. It helps to have an inquisitive nature and a desire to explore one's surroundings, attributes which Carol, Nicky and I share.

Usually, the first order of business is to unfasten the bikes from their carrier and take a quick look around. Today, however, we decided to walk along the beach out to the tree covered spit that beckoned to us from the Casita. When the tide is out, directly across from the spit, a remarkable island emerges from the depths. Seal Island, as we came to call it, truly lived up to its name.

Meanwhile, back at the Casita, I was about to make good on one of my promises to Carol.
Ever since we've been married we've spent at least two weeks each year at my father's Florida home at Mariner Sands. He lived on a golf course. Although he had been an avid player he was forced, for health reasons, to give the game up at 82, shortly before Carol and I met. Subsequently, these visits no longer included playing a round or two. This did not deter Carol from developing an enthusiasm for golf, since we always watched The Masters there, and it turns out she was an avid putt-putt player in her youth. Every night we were at Mariner Sands we'd go out the back door and walk for miles over the moonlit course, luxuriating in the night fragrances peculiar to Florida. With Nicky scurrying all around to track down an interesting smell, these were happy times indeed; so much so that Carol now wanted to actually play the game.

A fine 9-hole course called Eagles View was just a few miles down the road. I waited as long as I could for tee time and around 5pm we started out. The reason I wanted to play so late in the day was because I thought there would be fewer players on the course and we could take our time. (This should read more like, “so as not to hold up players while we missed shots and searched for lost balls, etc”.)

Anyway, we rented some clubs, paid the green fees and off we went. Carol had never actually played before and I, though far more experienced, was wild, inaccurate and downright crummy. This is not a good combination. The first few holes went really bad. I wasn't much help to Carol because I barely knew what I was doing myself. In spite of the late hour we had to let 4 or 5 groups play past us. By the time we got to the fifth hole things began to improve. Carol discovered two clubs that she could hit more consistently with and I regained some of my old form. By the time we reached the ninth green we were both feeling and playing a lot better. Instead of thinking, “I'll never do this again”, I'm now of the opinion there's hope for us. If we find a driving range on this trip I plan to pull over and we'll hit a bucket or two. Who knows? Maybe golf will play a role in our future.

By the time we got back to the Casita we were pretty tired. Pulling our own carts and walking a couple miles up and down the fairways took its toll. Instead of our customary evening stroll we plopped down in the bed and watched another film Carol had acquired along the way. This time it was Dream Girls, the thinly veiled story of Diana Ross and the Supremes. I really liked it. One can't help from admiring the contributions as well as the struggles of black artists. I just hope, with the election of Barack Obama, that America can come to terms with its slavery heritage and finish the healing process.

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