Your Word Weaver: February 2012

Allen and I will be married thirty years in a few days. There are many facets to a thirty-year marriage,

but I'm highlighting just one today, as I look back: Golf.

We were a threesome from the start ~ my husband, me, and golf. I remember when I knew no more about the game of golf than this: my husband loved it. I didn't understand the rules or the techniques or the precision required, but this I understood ~ my husband was passionate about the game ~ and I was passionate about him. And it was a privilege to me just to be with him as he pursued his passion. The beach was more my style, but I went where my man went.

In one form or another, golf has colored our world. I have a kaleidoscope of memories of rainy days and sunny days, sweltering days and days so cold that only love could have kept me in a golf cart. At first I just rode around with him, toting my books, of course, and I would alternate reading with exclamations of, "Great shot, baby!" And even when it wasn't a great shot, he still loved the game.

He tried for a very long time to interest me in playing. I sensed my limitations, however, and always declined. But one day I gave in, and within a couple of hours, I had clubs and balls, a cute little pink bag, one glove, and no concept of how really awful I would be. I soon discovered that for a girl who loved the sandy beaches, I had no patience with the sand on a golf course; but that was where I spent a great part of my time. Allen even coined a phrase for me: "Baby, it's sand under repair ~ just throw it out!" He always has been one to try and leave his wife some dignity. (Obviously, we were not playing with others.)

The history of my golf game is this: I've had bogies, double bogies, triple bogies, and bogies that required a calculator. But I've also had a few pars, fewer birdies, and yes, the greatest feat of all: a hole-in-one. It was just six weeks after I started playing. I had yet to ever hit a green in one shot, let alone a hole. But I did it. He dropped his club and looked toward heaven as if to ask, "Why?" Meaning, of course, why waste a good hole-in-one on a woman who (counting every stroke) shot 151 that day. Allen said I couldn't turn in a score like that. I said, "I made a hole-in-one and I'm turning it in." I think he was simultaneously proud and mortified. In my mind, I really don't need to do anything else in my golfing career. I am satisfied.

At this time, Allen plays with the guys several times a week, rather than with me, but I am still proud of his skill and expertise around the course. And even on a bad day, he's still passionate about the game.

And after thirty years of marriage, I am still passionate about him.

LMW