Arizona On My Mind

Arizona On My Mind

The early afternoon sun shone buttery yellow in a cornflower blue sky this past Sunday. The day was unusually warm and pleasant for a mid-autumn day in my little part of northeast Ohioland. I walked up the rising ground from the clubhouse toward the first tee at a local golf course then stood on the tee. I raised a hand to shade my eyes from the sun and gazed toward the first hole.

“What's the distance?” I asked my companion Ray.

“165 yards”, he replied glancing down at the scorecard in his hand as he wrote down our names with the stubby yellow pencil.

I fixed my steady brown eyes at the pin on the first hole and noted the fluttering of the flag. Wind a bit from left to right, I thought. I'll hit a full-swing five-iron a smidgen to the right and draw it slightly around. Piece of cake.

I placed the white Titlest golf ball on the tee and took my stance. I gazed to my left again at the hole to affix the sight-picture into my mind, looked back at the ball, waggled the Tommy Armor magnesium iron twice and took a smooth stroke. The ball leaped at the contact with the swinging iron and rose like a fighter jet boosting off the catapult of a carrier, rising sweetly into the bright blue sky and curving ever so slowly to the left before gently settling on the emerald putting surface. I smiled, stepped away from the tee box and said to Ray, “Your turn, partner.”

Of course that's the way I'd have liked to have it happen. That was the way I wished and hoped and tried to have it happen. And, of course, that's definitely not the way it did happen.

What actually happened was this: I was huffing and puffing like an aged steam engine and sweating bullets after climbing the rise to the first tee. I hadn't even touched a golf club for years so when I pulled the iron out of the bag it felt like it was the first time I'd ever done so. I'd even forgotten what brand the club was. I'd looked at the first hole and remembered the dozens if not hundreds of botched shots I'd made there over the years. So, with a thousand conflicting thoughts rumbling around in my head about swing, stance, head placement, ball placement, hand position, grip, backswing, power stroke and followthrough, I deftly pulled my first shot 30-degrees left and directly into the line of residences that sat over there.

Oh crap... out of bounds, I thought. But at least I didn't break any windows!

I could feel my cheeks burning redly with embarrasment as I quickly teed up a second ball and proceeded to top it about a hundred yards more-or-less toward the hole. I was laying three with still a wedge to the green. On this crappy little par 3. Lord... Lord... Lord.

Ray did much better, of course, and continued to do so the rest of the round.

Ray is my newest friend. He's also the husband of a dear, dear lady friend of my wife and myself. He's her second husband, her soul-mate and a guy I wish I'd known as long as I've known his wife Pam. He's also a much better golfer than I. I figured my only salvation on that Sunday was that he had not played for a number of years also.

I like Ray. He's a man of few pretenses. He is what he projects he is. He's not a braggart, but is a man who has done many interesting things. I enjoy listening to his stories, I enjoy being in his company and I enjoy his view on life itself. I'm even beginning to understand his political viewpoint on some issues.

A little.

I've spent the last couple of our meetings trying to place his face. He has one of those mugs that sorta remind you of someone else. Maybe president Truman on a good day? Perhaps John Lithgow in one of his earlier works? Or that actor that played that cop on that TV show... what's it called? The one where...? Hell, maybe he even reminds me of my 8^th grade science teacher.

In any event, he had a face that reflected a life well-lived and a joie de vivre about the years that lay ahead of him.

Did I mention yet that I liked him?

His wife was college buddy of mine, a bridesmaid at my wife's and my wedding, one of our best friends during young adulthood during her first marriage and someone I'd trust with the keys to my castle and the combination to my vault.

They were, in all respets, a great couple and I loved being able to call them both friends.

I have no doubts, dear reader, that you'd like them too.

They've called Arizona their home for the past decade-and-a-half or so, in a small desert town not far from the spiritual Mecca and global power-spot of the crystal gazers and new-agers, the mystical Sedona. They're both retired now, Ray from a computer admin position with a well-known tourism company, Pam from a psychological therapist position at a nearby hospital. Since Ray's retirement was recent, they decided to grab their cat, bid adieu to their Arizona friends, fire up the GPS and drive their motorhome east to take the vacation they'd promised themselves for a long, long time. And to take care of some business in their old hometowns.

So early in September my phone rings and I hear Pam's voice saying, “We're here! We're here!” And so they were – parked in the driveway of her mom's house sat a beautiful large motorhome with colorful Arizona license plates.

My wife and I were just about to leave on our own vacation, so, as much as we hated it, we weren't able to get together with Pam and Ray for a couple of weeks. During that time period they accomplished a lot of the business they had to take care of and had visited with many relatives and friends. They'd even taken a short break and had driven to a campground “down the road” and had spent some quality time together alone, too.

Not long after my wife and I had returned from our vacation we finally had a chance to get together with our Arizona buddies. It was a simple movie and dinner outing, but the movie was quite good, the dinner was even better and the company was outstanding! We ended up back at their motor-home where we fiddled around on their laptop for a bit and yakked back and forth for a couple hours, catching up on what we'd been doing over the years and reminiscing a bit about the old days. During the conversation I said something about how Ray and I had never had the chance to “hit the links” like we'd said we'd like to and Pam had said, “How about you guys going tomorrow?”

I replied, “ Tomorrow is Monday and we have to work.”

My lovely wife interjected by saying, “No it isn't. Tomorrow is Sunday.” I'd seemed to have lost a day somewhere.

Dammit!

I paused a moment, realizing that my previous talk about my “vast” experience playing the game was about to bite me in the ass!

I gulped, accepted the fact that I'd been called in this particular poker game and said, “Sure. Sounds like fun.”

Not long after the date was made to play golf we retired to our house and left Ray and Pam alone with their kitty.

At home that night I went to our basement, gathered together my clubs and shoes and pondered on the upcoming match. I thought about the fact that Ray had went through surgery on an arm not too long ago. I thought about the fact that he had a pacemaker inserted not that long ago also. I added to that the fact that he hadn't played for a number of years.

And concluded, after all that calculation, that my ass was still probably toast.

As my luck would have it, the day was picture perfect, in fact it was one of a string of abnormally gorgeous days for that time of year. My hopes of a gully-washer that would cancel our outing and save my face were dashed.

Ray jumped into my car after I arrived at their motor-home the next morning with 3 golf clubs in his hand.

Three. Golf. Clubs.

I asked him if he might perhaps be a bit overburdened with the number of his golfing implements and he smiled.

“Ya only need three if ya know what yer doing,” he replied with a grin.

I recalled reading about how the golf pro Lee Trevino used to sucker opponents by playing with a Dr. Pepper bottle tied to a rope and using that instead of a club. And beating them soundly.

And Ray had THREE WHOLE CLUBS!

I was doomed.

You know from the beginning of this blog how the first hole started. I struggled with the first hole, took a snowman (an eight for the unenlightened) and walked doggedly to the second tee.

I suppose I could go on, hole to hole, and describe how we played. But that'd be really boring, wouldn't it? Suffice it to say that we had a great time and, miracle of miracles, my play even got a smidgen better. I wasn't even terribly disappointed with it overall after my gargantuan layoff. Ray even figured out his game a bit and played even better too. Granted that he had to make some adjustments to his game due to the constraints of his healing arm, but by the time a few holes had been played he was hitting them well. My short game was unsurprisingly abysmal and all our putts were short due to the slowness of the greens.

In the final accounting he beat my by a good margin, but I didn't care. We had a great time playing a game we both loved and had relished over the years and we seemed to find each other's company fairly enjoyable.

We shared a beer after the round and some pleasant conversation.

For the last gathering the four of us would have this trip around we ate a lunch at one of our favorite restaurants the following Tuesday. We were comfortable together and spent a nice hour-and-a-half eating, chatting and comparing notes on what we were planning over the next year or so. But all too soon it was time to say goodbye again. We walked to our cars and did our customary hugging and shaking hands, watching each other's eyes, imprinting our faces in each other's minds, holding on to the moment, remembering.

And then we walked away from each other and back into our lives.

So our friends are once again on the road, heading south, south, south and west, chasing the summer, keeping to the warmer climes, forsaking the cold and snow to follow the sun back to their snug harbor in the desert.

I wish you well, my friends. I wish you happy miles on the road, fascinating visits to new locales, good eats, new friends and a warm welcome when you return home.

And, to our friends Ray and Pam, until the next time we meet, all our very, very best.