ORIGINAL ART BY PAUL T. BOECHER© FUNNY STORY BY KATHY BOECHER©

For the past month or more, the golf courses in our area have been open and are being used by many. The grass has not yet revived, so instead of meeting someone on the 9th green, it’s more like a rendezvous on the brown.

I’ve not played golf for decades.  The last time, I was the mother of three young children and wore a wig that day, since my hair wasn’t going to cooperate no matter what. This was to be a short escape – a quiet respite for me – away from the children for a few hours. Time would be well spent with my only sibling.  I actually used to be a pretty good golfer, but that particular day would dash any hopes of ever becoming part of the LPGA.

The course was on was a series of winding paths and intermittent hills, so we opted for a cart rather than walking.  We were close to the 18th hole when it happened.  We got into the cart, started it up and went sailing down the hill.  It soon became apparent that the cart didn’t have working brakes. As my life swiftly passed before my eyes, I was convinced that I was about to die. We hit a tree, and everything went flying.  Golf clubs scattered everywhere along with a few toys which had been earlier stuffed into the bag by my children.  My wig sat cockeyed upon my head.  We lived to see another day, but I was so embarrassed when a young man (I later discovered he was one of the Green Bay Packers) came running to our aid.  He began to pick things up and noticed some of the toys on the ground.  He politely asked if they belonged to us.

I must confess – I’m not a very good liar – but I simply couldn’t bring myself to admit they were mine.  That, in addition to my unusual appearance, must’ve given him a lot to talk about back at the clubhouse. Maybe this is why I have such a hard time with R & R.  I can handle rest, but relaxation conjures memories I’d sooner forget.