Hubris and Golf Don't Mix

Last year I promised myself that I would start posting my golf scores and get a handicap, so that I could play in Talking Rock’s Spirit Cup ladies golf tournament. That seems like a reasonably innocuous, maybe even fun goal; right?

A day before this year’s tournament begins, I regret my dedication. I have an embarrassingly high handicap. It’s 47.7. Ugh. For a ladies tournament, the maximum handicap that can be applied is 44 point something. If I scored 126 for 18 holes (pretty average for me), my adjusted score would be 126 minus 44, or 82. Let’s just say I won’t be going pro in this lifetime.

I am so nervous about this tournament! My friends tell me not to worry, because it’s about the fun and food and drink – not the competition. I’m good with that, yet still sincerely fear hacking up the course and humiliating myself.

So here’s my plan…

1. Golf clothes and shoes are already washed. I’ve put my tournament outfits together, all the way down to undies, socks and caps. I can’t think about attire on game day.
2. Try to relax and enjoy my practice round today, while getting to know my partner.
3. Lean on my friends who are at a similar skill level and the ones who are pretty darn good golfers.
4. Avoid the temptation to overindulge at the welcome party. This is going to be hard enough without being hung over tomorrow.
5. Lastly, I will think repeatedly of this last line from Roy M. Barineau’s “A Golfer’s Prayer”: Most of all, God, let us find happiness in our game, experiencing joy, fun, and delight even though the ball does not always roll our way. Amen.

Hopefully by this time next week I will be telling you what a wonderful experience I had in the Spirit Cup. Wish me luck!

What - Me Worry?

Yep. Life is good; incredibly good for me these days. I am thankful for all the blessings.  But... I have to admit that I still worry.

My chronic worry list:

• I hope our happiness isn’t disrupted by illness or injury.

• The stock market volatility has a direct effect on our retirement finances, and the wild fluctuations are disturbing.

• Our siblings that have personal and financial issues.

• I want my aging mother to enjoy the rest of her years in comfort and surrounded by love.

• If we can’t sell the condo in Chicago next spring, we may have to rent it.

• Keeping my Type 2 Diabetes at bay.

• How I’m going to find health insurance in Arizona.

It’s a pretty short list, but all important stuff.  Some things we can prepare for, but we don't have plans for everything and I haven’t figured out how not to worry.  I hope that meditation and prayer can help me lighten the load.

Afternoon with a Teenager

Yesterday, I spent the afternoon with a neighbor’s 17-year old niece from England. I offered to take Julie for lunch and shopping, as her uncle was going to be tied up at work for the day.

This wouldn’t be an unusual event for most of my friends. But, remember, I have no children of my own. I have a niece and nephews that are spread across the country and I don’t get to see them often. I don’t have much recent experience relating to teenagers. Nonetheless, I looked forward to our outing.

I think we had a good time (I know I did). Perhaps I learned a few things about contemporary teenagers – or did I merely recall some things about being 17?

TARGET: Target turned out to be Julie’s “favorite store in the States!” We enjoyed browsing among the sale racks, and she purchased some lip gloss.

HOODIES: Julie shared that she is not a frilly kind of girl and that her closet is full of hoodies. Didn’t we all have some sort of favorite clothing as kids? (I remember an addiction to frayed jeans and flannel shirts.)

SKULLS: When I admitted that I don’t get this whole skulls-in-fashion trend, Julie found it pretty amusing. But she couldn’t really explain it either. She thinks it’s kind of cool, and would buy something with a skull design, except she was pretty sure her parents wouldn’t approve. Good call.

DRIVING: You can get a permit to drive at 17 in England. Julie’s learning, but for now gets to school and visits friends on a motor scooter. (I would have killed for a scooter when I was her age.) She’s a little nervous about making the transition to a car.

LUNCH: Julie ordered Chicken Fried Chicken with white gravy, and a Chocolate Milkshake. I was so envious. Remember when you could order anything you wanted to eat?

THE FUTURE: I was stricken by Julie’s mature look toward her upcoming university education and future employment opportunities. She knows she wants to study Child Development, but is leaving the door open to exactly where her interests will lead her from the many options she hopes to have.

It’s good to spend some time with people that give us a different perspective. Julie is a lovely young lady and a credit to her family. She gave me a gift by sharing the afternoon with me.  On one hand, she made me feel decidedly 55...but I also clearly remembered being 17.  Both are cool with me.

Arizona Morning

One of the things that clinched the deal for me on our home in Arizona was the view from the wall of windows on the back of the house. Every day we see the green of the golf course, the desert scrub, hardy trees, and distant mountains…a wide, serene, and sweet-smelling landscape that lightens my heart.

Dawn is a magical time. The sun washes a warm gold light onto the hills. The grasses and flowers start to glow. Hummingbirds and cottontail rabbits feed, seemingly undisturbed by the mowers grooming the 2nd fairway. I don’t mind either, as the scent of freshly-cut grass adds a welcome dimension to the scene.

Even in this first week of August, nights cool down considerably. This morning’s 6:00am temperature on the back patio was 68 degrees. We’ll top out at over 90 degrees late this afternoon. With luck, monsoon rains will help cool us off in the early evening. For now the windows are open and we can smell the desert flowers and hear the buzz of hummingbirds zooming past.

I didn’t used to be a morning person; but an early Arizona morning is not to be missed. Excuse me while I go get my second cup of coffee.

The End of a Family Era

Coming up the lane to the home place.

Eventually it becomes inevitable that ancestral history and emotional family memories are trumped by the need to face the end of an era. The Bailey/Buchholz Farm is in the process of being sold. A deal closed yesterday on the portion of the land that includes the home place, the “North Farm”. Sale of the remainder, the “South Farm”, will close next month. That land will now be owned by a local farmer who is a family friend.

My husband’s maternal family, the Buchholz’, owned hundreds of acres of farm land in central Illinois' Ford County since settling there in the mid-1800’s. Rons’s grandfather and namesake, Ronald Buchholz, was the last in a long line of family farmers. He retired in 1980. The livestock and chickens had already been sold, and local sharecroppers Ray and Jimmy took over farming the corn and soybeans. Ron’s parents, James Bailey and Barbara Buchholz Bailey retired to the farm in the mid-1980’s. Jim reveled in his retired life as a “gentleman farmer” until his passing in 1995. Barbara succumbed to Alzheimers and spent the rest of her days in a nursing home in Springfield, IL. Ronald lived until he was 95. A cousin sold her acreage to a corporation over ten years ago. The beautiful old farm house has remained, loved but unoccupied, except for occasional family gatherings since 1995.

For many, many years in Melvin, generations of Buchholz’ were not only farmers, but entrepreneurs in the small town, and pillars of the community. The building housing Melvin’s general store and “opera house” even had the Buchholz name carved in stone on the façade. It was demolished about 10 years ago, a depressing harbinger for the town of Melvin as well as for Bailey/Buchholz progeny.



Amandus Buchholz (Ron's Great Great Grandfather) in his general merchandise store.

 

The five Bailey heirs are scattered across the country, living their own lives and building their unique legacies. There is not a farmer among them. The rising value of farm land and commodities, and the deteriorating condition of the farm house, pushed the possibility of a sale to the forefront of consideration. It became clear that it was time to let go. So the sale moves forward.



Ron on the farm in the mid-80's.

Divestiture of the farm is providing an unexpected boost to our retirement. We always included Ron’s share of the farm as an asset in our net worth, but did not count on it being sold during our lifetime. It’s a bittersweet turn of events.

Current generations of family do not share the same dreams as our ancestors; however we believe that they would want us to live our own lives and follow our dreams. I think they would be pleased that they could help.







We're Meant to Be Here

It's no secret that I love the home we have established in Prescott, Arizona in the community of Talking Rock.  Recently I wrote this rhyme, which I have also applied as lyrics for a "campfire" song.  It's been fun to work it out, accompanying myself on my ukulele.

TALKING ROCK RANCH

Way out West
Far from city lights
Where coyotes sing on
Bright and starry nights
There is a place
Nestled in the plains
Where rabbits dance
In fragrant summer rains

It’s Talking Rock
We’re meant to be here
In Talking Rock
It’s so darn clear
We’ve found our home
No need to roam…
Talking Rock,
Talking Rock Ranch

In desert heat
And winter’s falling snow
Where toasts are shared
And treasured friendships grow
There is a place
A mile high
Where sunsets paint
The canvas of the sky

It’s Talking Rock
We’re meant to be here
In Talking Rock
It’s so darn clear
We’ve found our home
No need to roam...
Talking Rock,
Talking Rock Ranch

We’ve found our home
No need to roam...
Talking Rock,
Talking Rock Ranch

Unencumbered

I am beginning to understand why my mother tells me that she doesn’t want more “stuff”. This makes gift-giving more challenging, and generally results in purchases of consumables such as food items, luxurious toiletries, or clothing. At 80, Mom doesn’t feel the need to be in acquisition mode any more. Now I get it.

Stuff makes life more complicated. Stuff has to be organized, stored, maintained, and sometimes (worst of all) packed and transported in a move. We get so accustomed to having our stuff around us that we don’t even know why we have some of it anymore. Regardless, it’s hard to purge ourselves of it.

Don’t get me wrong… I like my creature comforts. I have gone to great lengths to create a comfortable nest for myself and my husband. But after moving households several times, I have also experienced the euphoria of leaving mountains of unwanted baggage by the curb for garbage pickup. It’s a freeing feeling.

The purging process is painful. It has to be accomplished a drawer, a box, a closet at a time. We must face some hard facts like, “OK, I’m never going to be a size 8 again”, or “My snow skiing days are behind me”.

Letting go allows us to move forward unencumbered, fully enjoying the present and looking to the future instead of being tangled in the flotsam and jetsam of the past.

Now go tackle that junk drawer!