Over Hill Over Dale

       So yesterday I gathered up my inadequacies and my golf bag and went to my usual Thursday league.
This week I drew as one of the members in our threesome a perfectly pleasant lady I’ve played with before, but she’s a former principal, and that, along with her Level 1 playing, always makes me feel like any minute I’m going to use the wrong end of the club.

The third in our party was an older, somewhat hesitant lady who told us it was her first time with this league. She’d been unable to get out since May because she’d been caring for her husband, who’d had a stroke this spring. This was her first time leaving him, although he was well enough that he’d taken himself to physical therapy.

All began well. Our new member and I were fairly evenly matched, while ex-principal as usual belted out drives that disappeared to the next county. It all came out somewhat even, though, because while newbie and I inched our way down the fairways, ex-principal occasionally had to swing out of the rough since those long drives developed a mind of their own at the end.

After we sank our putts at the third hole, our new member said, “I don’t feel well. I’m feeling faint.” It may have been the heat or worry over her husband, but she didn't feel she could continue.

Fortunately, I’d decided to rent a cart that day rather than walk. I elected to drive her back to the clubhouse while ex-principal stayed to tell those behind us to play through.

I deposited her safely back at go, but that’s not a trip I’d like to take again. In the interest of expedience I cut overland across the course. Most courses wind back and forth in serpentine style, doubling back on themselves. Trying to find my way back to the beginning without careening down a hill and expecting any minute to get beaned with a golf ball was a real test of concentration.  I felt a real kinship with those GIs out dodging enemy fire in WWII.