Golf Reunion

Last weekend, we stayed two nights with Bill and Pam in their son’s home in Denver, North Carolina, near Mooresville.  We had a nice visit with Pam and Bill, drove by our old home and neighborhood, and enjoyed seeing Mooresville again.  On Sunday evening, we met with friends who we go with to Corolla on the Outer Banks every Spring.  The weather was perfect as we ate outside at a familiar restaurant; the food was delicious and catching up with everyone was great.

But the best part of the weekend was a golf reunion.  Almost 20 years ago after moving to Mooresville, I started playing golf with Andy and Brian, who I met at a Newcomers party.  After a year or so, Bill joined us and we slowly added members to the group.  Brian and Andy left but a core of eight to ten players have been playing ever since.  Not only did we enjoy golf twice a week, we became good friends.

On Monday morning, Bill and I drove to Mallard Head Golf Club.  Bill is on injured reserve and planned to ride and visit while I planned to play.  When I walked into the clubhouse, every regular player was there with a big welcoming smile.  I can’t describe what a great feeling that was.

We played golf then retired to the clubhouse for their famous buffet, a hot dog and a soft drink for $2.00.  We talked and told golf stores and laughed as I remembered from three years ago.

The next day, we had lunch with the golfers and their wives.   Another fun time!

But something was missing, or rather someone was missing - John Eastman.  He was a regular member of the golf group and kept us laughing with his jokes and observations.  John was ill and in hospice care.

Aloma and I, Pam and Bill and Ed and Steve S. visited with John after golf.  John didn’t look good, but at times had the old spark.  We even got a smile out of him as we told golf stories.  As I left, I held his hand for a moment and said  goodbye.

We got a call on Wednesday that John died that afternoon.  We knew he was ready.

I loved seeing my golf friends and seeing John for the last time.  I feel blessed.

Seasoned Man

stevelem117@gmail.com

Shane

Our beautiful redbud tree in the backyard was sickly this spring and died in mid-summer.  Our estimate to have someone come in, cut it down, grind up the roots and plant another tree was $700  to $1000.  Too much.  Even though the tree was about 20 feet tall with a eight inch diameter trunk, I decided to do it myself.

I bought a bow saw for $10 and cut limbs for three weeks and hauled them to the street for pickup.  I started digging this week.  Some of the roots were as big as my forearm so I bought a long-handled, double bladed axe for $29.

For three days I dug, chopped roots and dug some more.  On TV shows of  woodsmen, they make clean cuts with axes.  I couldn’t hit the same spot twice.  I would hit a root so many times, the fibers would just give up.  

I needed motivation yesterday and I remembered the scene in the movie, “Shane” where Shane and the farmer, the little boy’s father, worked together and bonded while cutting a huge stump out of the ground.  I visualized myself as Shane while I swung the axe.  At the end of the movie as Shane rode off into the sunset, holding his side, with blood seeping through his fingers, the little boy cried out, “Shane, I love you.”  I tried to get Aloma to cry out to me, “Shane, I love you,” but that didn’t work.  So I silently said it to myself.

When the hole was about three feet deep this morning, I was able to pull on the trunk enough to expose the remaining roots.  I cut them and rolled the stump out of the ground.

While walking into the sunset with my aching body and my hand over my racing heart, I heard the little boy call, “Shane, I love you.”  It was all worth it.

Seasoned Man

stevelem117@gmail.com