For once in my life, I was early.
I arrived with my golf game and my bathing suit long before the official arrival of the first day of summer.
It did not matter. I was ready.
As it so happened my first golf game and my first boat ride of 2021 happened on the same day.
It was a perfect blue and green day and the horrible wind that has been blowing relentlessly since forever had died down to pretty much nothing.
And so, I loaded my clubs, apparently only forgetting the ones I took out when I took my grandsons to the driving range the other day. Golfing without my favourite clubs gave me the perfect excuse for the terrible game my first game of the year turned out to be.
That being said it was absolutely awesome to be on the links on such a beautiful day in almost summer. The sun dappled greens were a sight for my poor Netflix-infected eyes and the chorus of the chirping birds in the trees where they lived along with numerous lost golf balls, mine included, was like music to my ears reminding me of all that was good and beautiful in this world.
And then I teed up and took a practice swing and willed my ball to go far and straight down the fairway. I visualized. I bent my knees slightly, held the club tightly, but not too tightly, and held my mouth exactly right.
And I took a swing.
The shot dribbled feebly down the fairway like it had been nudged gently, not spanked by a sure and perfect golf swing.
There’s always next time. I have golfed long enough and often enough to know that elusive perfect golf shot is still waiting for me in the wings of the future. And it will happen.
That’s what makes me come back. And keep trying. Over and over again.
And as my son-in-law said, “a bad day on the golf course is still better than a good day in the office.”
I moved through the blue and green day of almost summer like a true woman of leisure, packing up my golf clubs and heading out on to the flawless blue waters of Sylvan Lake in an almost new beautiful red and white boat.
The boat, jointly purchased by my two girls and their husbands, purred like a kitten, did not break down once and caused us absolutely no grief, despair and/or a desire to say awfully bad words like the old boat did.
And so, we set out on the crystal-clear waters which were interrupted only every so slightly by other boats and it was like all the worries of the day evaporated into oblivion.
Last year I water skied. I only skied once, but I did it and it was exhilarating.
But I was so much younger then, of course.
“Mom, the water is so cold,” my daughter told me anxiously, after she had just climbed back into the boat after her own amazing ski where she slipped in and out of the wake like some kind of lithe and ageless water baby.
I do not think you should go. You could have a heart attack or something.”
Well, I looked at the flawless lake, its flat service unbroken by boat waves or wind, and felt the sun warm on my head and I weighed my options.
“Okay,” I said. “I’ll wait.”
And I leaned back and closed my eyes.
This was good. This was enough. In fact, this was perfect.
Treena Mielke is a central Alberta writer. She lives in Sylvan Lake with her family.