Summer Hours

It's not quite summer yet but spring has definitely sprung. Time to push work aside and make more time for golf. For a few weeks each year, Baltimore weather and San Diego weather are synonymous -- sunny and in the 70s. I relish this time before the real summer comes, with muggy days and temps high enough to melt rubber. I've been playing golf three times a week now, and on the off days I have time to do things like sketch picturesque scenes from life on the course...

...or go practice at the range, where yesterday the atmosphere was increasingly party-like the farther away the stalls were from the range station. I set up at the far left and after a few minutes, I saw these two 30-something women approach. They looked like they just came from the office, wearing dresses and loafers. There are plenty of people out there who don't actually golf but like to hit balls on the range for fun, especially after a tough day at work, but usually they at least change their clothes first. It was crowded, so one of the women set up directly behind me and her friend took a spot a few stalls away. I heard the sound of balls being hit "Thwack! Thwack! Thwack!" in rapid succession, without evidence of forethought or focus, until there was a sudden "Thwack-thunk!" sound of a ball being hit directly into the short wall dividing my stall and that of the woman next to me.

It served as an ice-breaker, and we quickly got to chatting. I found out that those weren't office dresses, but golf dresses they were wearing. And the loafers were brand-new, patent-leather golf loafers. The woman said that she and her friend took up golf because they wanted a sport with cute clothing. She showed off her brand-new white leather golf bag, which had pink butterflies printed all over it. She said she bought her set of irons because the shafts had pink in them, though she hadn't even bought a driver or putter yet. She said she was thinking of getting one of those putters you hold against your chest while swinging because they look so cool, and I said, "If you want to be cool, definitely do not get one of those long putters! Only dorks use those." And we laughed. After more chatting and giggling, in between punishing more balls, I realized it's been awhile since I had giggled so much at the range.

After the woman and her friend left, I wondered if their interest in golf would last longer than a summer. I started to recall my early days with golf, and how I focused on cute golf accessories to lift my spirits from what can be a difficult, challenging game. Suddenly a voice announced on the loudspeaker, "Attention! Please do not attempt the Happy Gilmore on the range. Thank you." I looked along the stalls to see a group of teenagers looking guilty and chastened, and then bursting into a fit of giggling.

I smiled to myself, hoping all of these characters make it past the range and onto a course someday. And if they do, I hope they never lose the giggles.