When I was in high school, my boyfriend said to me, “If you’re going to be in business, you need to know how to golf.” This was the late ‘90’s, when being “in business” meant wearing power suits with white sneakers and drinking martinis and obviously I was going to do that, so I agreed. He and I went to the golf course on a foggy fall day. He set up a tee and ball on the first hole, handed me his driver (I feel compelled to note that he was 6’2” and I was 5’2” and that club fit exactly one of us), gave me a quick, helpful instruction on how what to do, and stood back while I swung for the fences. Then, he walked twenty feet up to where my ball had landed post-hit, picked it up, and threw it in the direction of the green. We repeated that same process roughly a million more times – hit the ball, throw the ball – until we reached the fifth hole and he said, “You know, you’re good at other stuff,” and we left to go get ice cream.
I was “in business” by my early twenties, and so my boss invited me (and my white sneakers and martinis) to a charity golf tournament. “Do you know how to golf?” He asked. “Oh, yes,” I said, remembering the advice I had been given on my first outing. I borrowed a set of clubs from my friend’s little sister, bought three golf balls (I mean, how many does a person need?) – and, using those rightly-sized clubs, hit the crap out of all three balls right into the woods or the water on the first two holes of the course. I spent the rest of the tournament driving the golf cart – i.e. one of my many “good at other stuff” skills – and charming everyone with my near-constant chatter. Unrelated, I was not invited along on any future golf outings.
Fast-forward a decade or so to when Kyle and I took the boys to Arizona and he suggested we fill the time by going to Top Golf. Top Golf is a multi-story driving range with digitally-chipped balls that track where they go on the range. Also, it’s a restaurant and bar. The boys liked it because they could hit golf balls for two hours. I liked it because I could sit on a couch surrounded by nachos and cheesecake (martinis) and still have close enough access to my then-four-year-old to hold onto his shirt so he didn’t swing himself off the range. With about ten minutes left in our reservation, the four-year-old took a nacho breather and Kyle suggested I use his turn to whack a couple of balls into the virtual water hazard. Full of cheesecake and mirth, I did – except that instead of whiffing the shots, they went straight (and up and down like a rainbow, which I’m sure is the technical term for describing a proper golf ball path) and true.
“Mom is the best golfer in the world!” Four exclaimed.
Buoyed by my newfound designation as the best golfer in the world, I spent the next couple of years showing off my rainbow golf skillz at every Top Golf-esque driving range in the United States. Finally, earlier this spring, I told Kyle that I was ready to give for-real golf a for-real try. He quickly bought me a set of clubs before I could change my mind/the martinis wore off; and then told one of our friends about it so that I couldn’t do that thing where I would act really grateful and excited about the gift but then hide them in the back of the garage for all eternity.
That friend and her husband invited us out for my (third time’s the charm) maiden voyage. Kyle prepared by purchasing a sackful of golf balls and tees. I prepared by Pinteresting “cool weather golf outfits to wear with white power suit sneakers” and finding places to hide airplane bottles of vodka in my golf bag. We played nine holes of a game called Bingo Bango Bongo, which is where two golf teams compete to earn three points – longest drive, first to the green, and first in the pin – a great game to play with a novice, as teams advance to the best ball…no throwing necessary. My team won because I am the best golfer in the world (I got one total point, and lost two balls) and, unrelated, my teammate and friend was an actual skilled golfer. Despite the fact that it turned out that my golf skillz were only to be found at Top Golf, the whole thing was so fun – thanks to lovely, patient, helpful friends and a beautiful evening – that I decided not to throw in the proverbial towel, and instead kept it tied to my golf bag to wash off my balls (for whatever purpose that would serve).
Since then, another one of our lovely friends has invited me to Lady’s Night, and my co-worker has agreed to come with me to a thing called “Divot a Try,” where you pay $20 for a golf lesson and a drink ticket – and all of those things sound awesome. Also, I bought a golf skirt – so I guess it’s for-real-for-real that I’m an official golfer.
The other night, we took the boys out for nine holes of golf. I parred one hole and shot a billion on another. Kyle texted a photo (above) to my best friend, who replied “She’s a regular Cougar Woods.”
This week’s news has an old family and hidden treasures. Read on.
The nearly 340 descendants of Erick and Kari Evenson will soon celebrate North Dakota’s oldest family farm by ceremonially break the ground in Mayville using Erick and Kari’s original plow. (Grand Forks Herald)
Bismarck’s Pam Crawford has published a children’s book about change, starring an eight-year-old adventurer named Leia. (KFYR TV)
Head on out to McKenzie County Heritage Park this weekend for the annual dinosaur dig. (McKenzie County Farmer)
Congratulations to Minot’s Sidni Kast, the new Miss North Dakota! (KFYR TV)
Let’s Be (Official) Pals!
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