A Golf Widow’s Lament

My husband, Studly Doright, is a Golfer. Note the capital “g.” Normally he plays golf every Saturday and Sunday with an occasional Wednesday evening thrown in unless the weather doesn’t permit. And in Florida, the weather permits roughly 98% of the time.

When I was a younger woman I detested the many hours his golf habit kept him from home. I felt like every couple in the world was out strolling with clasped hands at farmers’ markets while Studly and I were separated by a chasm comprised of eighteen holes. I complained a lot. He ignored me.

Then one day about a decade ago I began to enjoy those times when he was on the course. I took myself places he wouldn’t enjoy like public gardens and parks, tea rooms and chick flicks. I went to local nurseries and learned about butterfly gardens. I roamed the aforementioned farmers’ markets and attended art exhibits. In short, I happily cultivated my interests.

Then eight weeks ago Studly had surgery to repair an extrusion of his sciatic nerve. He was in excruciating pain prior to surgery, but managed to play golf right up to the day they cut into him. Golf allowed him to focus on something other than the pain.

The weeks after the surgery have been tough. While his pain has lessened, he has jumpy nerves and restless legs that keep him from sleeping well and reminding him that he’s still recuperating. Worst of all, he won’t be cleared to play golf until the second week of August. That’s about to drive Studly, and me, nuts.

Perhaps if he felt better we might enjoy a few couples’ activities like I used to dream of us doing. But nowadays I really prefer doing things by myself. He’s my favorite guy, but he isn’t a farmers’ market aficionado. Still, if he was up for some outings, I’d gladly include him in my plans

Last evening Studly said in his saddest voice, “I’ve missed at least 16 rounds of golf, but who’s counting?” Broke my heart.

Maybe I can cajole him into going out for breakfast this morning, and we can browse through a motorcycle shop. That’s about as close to a farmers’ market as he’s going to get. Never thought I’d say this, but I am so ready to be a golf widow once again.

Peace, people.

Golf on TV

There was a time when I could only groan when forced to watch sports on television. Since we had just one tv until I was a teenager I became resigned to watching one sporting event or another every weekend.

Depending on the season, Daddy had the old black and white RCA tuned to either football, baseball, basketball, or golf. I didn’t mind football as long as I could watch the Dallas Cowboys play, and back in the day the networks showed the bands performing during halftime.

Basketball was okay, as well, but baseball and golf were both good reasons to go outside and play. Occasionally, though, it was just too hot to spend time outdoors under the brutal Texas summer sun, and I’d end up watching the televised snooze fests with Daddy.

By far the worst was golf. The matches droned on and on while the announcers spoke in hushed voices that invited a good nap. I could read an entire book, put together a 750 piece jigsaw puzzle, and start another book in the course of a tournament. I’m sure my sighs conveyed my utter boredom and disgust, but Daddy couldn’t be coerced into switching to another program.

I learned who Arnold Palmer and Lee Trevino were:

So imagine my surprise when I grew to enjoy watching golf on tv. Studly Doright and I spent most of this past weekend watching the U.S. Open, and I was as glued to the coverage as he was. It helps that our big screen television has vibrant color and surround sound making the experience much more satisfying than it was on the old black and white set.

Best of all I learned to enjoy watching the tournaments with my Dad before he passed away, and my years of forced watching with him gave me a knowledge of golf’s history that Studly is lacking. I rub his nose in my superiority occasionally, but mostly I just snuggle next to him on the sofa and we give the golfers tips on reading the greens. Sometimes they listen.

Congrats to Brooks Koepka for his back to back U.S. Open wins. He listened.

Peace, people.

How I Spent Saturday Morning

Studly Doright has successfully slept more than four hours at one time for the past three nights. Hopefully this indicates that his nerve endings might finally be settling down after his back surgery. He woke up practically jumping for joy this morning, and hurried me through my shower and breakfast so I could accompany him on his errands.

His first stop was at a golf shop. Studly hasn’t been released by his surgeon to swing a club yet, but he likes to look. Then we went to a motorcycle shop to buy new grips for a bike he’s working on for the grandkids to ride. Motorcycles are much more fun to look at than golf clubs.

Afterwards I mentioned that I could really use a new pair of sandals. When Studly is in a shopping mood it’s good to put in a request.

The cats like them. They might slightly resemble their scratching post.

Peace, people.

Sunday, Boring Sunday

My feet never even left Doright Manor yesterday. I slept in until 9 a.m., had a Kind breakfast bar and a cup of coffee with Irish cream while simultaneously watching MASH reruns and reading The Dark Tower VII. I think I even took a nap. The morning just flowed over and around me like a lazy river.

Studly Doright played golf on Sunday morning after being sidelined for over a month by sciatic pain and returned home in time to enjoy watching the final round of the Masters golf tournament with me. I’m not a golfer, but I grew up watching tournaments on tv with my dad, and watching the Masters is akin to seeing a painting come to life in real time. The beautiful course at Augusta testing the skills of the best players in the world is always a thrill.

Now we plan to spend the evening catching up on The Walking Dead. I’ll drink a glass of wine, or two. Then it’s off to bed. Maybe I’ll be less boring tomorrow.

Peace, people.

Sort of a Review: “Hostiles”

Rain interfered with Studly Doright’s Sunday golf game, so he took me to brunch at Southwood Golf Club where Chef Mike makes the world’s greatest egg white omelette. Mine was a fluffy concoction of bacon, onion, tomato, and cheddar cheese that was so light it appeared to float above my plate. Okay, maybe the mimosa I ordered was responsible for the special effects, but it was a stellar meal.

Afterwards we went to see the film Hostiles starring Christian Bale and Rosamund Pike. Ten minutes into the film I turned to Studly and asked, “What in the world have you brought me to see?” The beginning is so brutal I thought I was going to need to leave. But I stayed, and while violence is a main theme of the film, a storyline did develop.

Christian Bale is intense as an Army captain charged with escorting Chief Yellowhawk, played by Wes Studi, and his family to Montana from New Mexico where they’ll be set free after seven years in captivity. Along the way the small band of soldiers and Native Americans face one trial after another, including their encounter with Ms. Pike’s character.

Studly joked on the way home that he wondered if there had been more than four pages of dialogue for the entire film. I told him there was, but it was uttered in such a mumbling fashion that at least two pages could be discounted.

What is it with actors mumbling dialogue? One bearded character was so difficult to understand that I tuned out all of his dialogue. At least let me read his lips, for pity’s sake. If I were grading Hostiles I’d deduct ten points just for the mumbling.

The story was okay. There was nothing new here, as far as I could tell, but I did appreciate the way Bale’s character evolved. The scenery was beautiful and the film felt real. Just don’t go see it if you’re at all squeamish!

Peace, people!

Stretching Like an Athlete

Athletics were never my thing. As a card carrying klutz, I’ve shied away from anything requiring physical prowess for most of my life. Oh, there was a brief period during which I played racquetball, but even then I managed to hit myself in the face with the racquet on more than one occasion. I tried golf, but was soon spending considerably more on chiropractic treatment than on greens fees.

As a result, I kind of gave up on doing any activity that was physically demanding. I have tons of other excuses: a disdain for gyms, a dislike of workout classes, an allergic reaction to sweat….You get the picture.

Now, at 61, my body is telling me I should have done something to keep myself fit. My hips hurt, my back aches, and my arms are flabby wonders that wag even when I try to get them to play dead. I feel like a bag of lumpy gravy.

I see a chiropractor, Dr. Verrier, on a regular basis. He’s helped me a great deal. Before I began regular treatments with him I couldn’t walk without significant pain. He’s worked wonders, but I still had some issues with my hips that keep me awake at night.

Then Studly Doright suggested I also see someone at a Tallahassee business called Stretching Your Life. One of his golf buddies recommended the business and Studly wanted me to check it out.

Stretching Your Life is owned by kinesiologists who teach their clients to stretch like athletes. They’ll even spend an entire hour stretching you! I’ve had two sessions of intense stretching and am amazed at what I’ve missed out on all these non-athletic years. I still have a long way to go, but my kinesiologist, Jen, is upbeat about getting me to a healthier place in my life.

Here’s a link to Stretching Your Life. Their website alone has a great deal of helpful information along with exercises to do at home. (I receive no compensation for sharing this information, by the way, but I wanted to spread the word.)

https://g.co/kgs/Fbs46h

I’ll give updates on my progress with the stretching. Hopefully I can work out some of these kinks that have begun to feel like the norm. I don’t mind being 61, but I do mind feeling like I’m 91.

Peace, people.

Our Christmas Letter

Studly Doright and I were too lazy to send out our annual Christmas letter this year (and the year before, and the year before that), but after receiving the twelfth such letter from various friends and family members I began feeling guilty. Without such a missive how will anyone know what an absolutely awesome year Studly and I had? Fortunately I have this forum, so with just a bit of exaggeration, here is our offering:

“Doright Year in Review”

Dear Friends,

It’s that time of year again when we regale all of you with our adventures great and small, but let’s face it, the Dorights only have great adventures. All others are swept under the rug.

In January we moaned about temperatures dropping into the 50’s. My tan faded and Studly had to wear long pants to play golf. It was devastating.

February brought more of the same, but Valentine’s Day broke up the monotony. Studly made it special by purchasing a 10-karat diamond necklace for me to wear to the grocery store. It pairs well with the mink he bought me for Christmas last year.

In March the temperatures began creeping into the tolerable zone. I spent a great deal of time at our beach house while Studly made a killing on the stock market and switched to shorts on the golf course. He shot a 69 on his home course and recorded two holes in one. The PGA contacted him about joining the senior tour, but he declined, saying it wouldn’t be fair to all the other golfers. What a mensch!

April and May were memorable for their showers and flowers. I entered the annual garden show with an orchid I discovered on my last trip to South America. The National Society of Horticulturalists have named it the Nana Glorious in my honor. My entry took first, second, and third place honors at the event.

We spent June, July, and August abroad. While Studly golfed in Scotland and Ireland, I explored quaint mountain villages throughout Europe and discovered yet another rare flower. Being the generous soul that I am, I pointed it out to a local woman who will go on to win multiple accolades for her contribution to botanical studies. Studly isn’t the only mensch in our family.

September was quiet as we recovered from our travels. Studly worked a bit, as his sharp mind and quick wit are in great demand. I was approached with a multi-million dollar deal to publish my memoirs. I just laughed and said, “Darlings, I haven’t even begun living yet!”

In October I traveled to visit our five precocious grandchildren. Fortunately they all take after me and will be outrageously successful.

November brought us together with most of Studly’s family. We celebrated his 60th birthday with a small concert. Sting said it was the best event he ever performed at, and asked if he could join us for Christmas this year.

So here we sit, Sting, Studly, and I, sipping spiced rum around a massive Christmas tree in the grand salon of our cabin in the Rockies. Sting keeps wanting to sing, but Studly says, “Enough, man. Let’s enjoy a Silent Night.”

We hope you all have a Merry Christmas and a Happy New Year!