... and Back.

Resuming chit chat...

So, there was a NGA Hooters Tour tournament here at Scotch Hall Preserve Golf Course last week.  Before you write that off because of the name of the sponsor you should know- if you don't already- that it's a pretty fierce field of players.  It is the 3rd largest professional tour in the United States.  On the average course they are able to play, about -20 wins the event.  I bet no one is scoffing at Hooters now.  I bet your eyes bulged instead.  The Hooters have low cut lines.  

I'm sorry, that last line requires me to take pause and give applause to the craftiness I just heard in my head.  Very nice.

This course was a little bit different for the participants.  It is a difficult one.  It is beautiful, very hard, and very windy.  For instance, on the 3rd day when one player walked off the green and noted to Nick that the wind had changed direction (making the course much easier), he said "This is probably more like normal!"  Had it not been competition and completely out of place I would have piped up and inserted a "No, not really." ...that I've never been out there when the wind was so calm.  Granted, I don't go out every day, but I sometimes have to lunge and exert serious energy to open and close my car door.  Never am I able to carry on in a phone conversation with Nick if he's out on the course.  I can't hear him through the static the wind makes.  But, that's the charm of the course.  Golfers like the challenge.  That's redundant.  People don't play golf unless they want a never-ending challenge... so golfer kind-of means 'one who torments the self with perpetual challenge and most likely defeat.'  The course reminds me of the European Tour events I was able to watch Nick play.  They have weather that whips.  That's why they do so well when they come to the States.  Especially if it's stormy.  They are used to it, it seems.    

-12 won the 4 day competition.  The cut was 6 over.  That is NOT normal.  That was with typical Scotch Hall Preserve wind.

Now, my sweet and talented Nicholas had one victory and one defeat.  His intention was to get the tournament to come to Scotch Hall Preserve, do the work required with rounding up sponsorships and all of that logistical planning, help set up the event to make sure nothing was over-looked, and then play in the tournament too.  Sounds brilliant.

... if your Ironman.

I came home from the writer's meetings and subsequent traffic debacle feeling puny and tired.  Then, I saw my hubbo.  He was about 20 pounds lighter than when I left him and looked ragged.  He wasn't sleeping because he kept thinking about what he needed to do from all sorts of different angles for the event and for the other aspects of his job.  On Wednesday, I went to the Pro-Am dinner hosted at the course under a tent and realized he was hauling around water coolers with ice and crates of water... different tasks requiring manual labor that he is, of course, up for doing, but when I saw it I also saw disaster ahead.  It was like rounding a slight curve on I-85 to see that all the lanes are stopped and DETOUR- ROAD CLOSED is flashing on the electronic billboard. (I'm referencing my Carzy situation.)  And like that, I knew there was nothing I could do about it.  I asked to help.  I assisted and drove trash to the big dumpsters at the back of the property... but that's the extent of what I was able to do to make it better.  I imagine it's like mommies feel with their children.  They are constantly confronted with the fact that they can do nothing to "make it go away" for the ones they love.  That is what golf reminds me of at times.  Because, if I were him I would have declined to play.  But, he tried to anyway because he said he would.  I have never, ever seen him play like he did.  I hope he doesn't feel like I'm throwing him under the bus here... but it was bad.  Really, really bad.  Everyone knew.  Nick was out of commission.  It was just hard to watch.   He even had the red-eye I talk about when he's passing out from fatigue as he walked the course.  

From Wednesday to today I have gone out to to see if there is anything I can do to help.  I will probably continue to do so until I see him with energy.  But, it isn't just him I'm itching to help.  It's his entire staff.  They are all hard workers and such positive people.  The tournament was a success because of all that effort and sweat and smiles.  When I asked Nick if he was disappointed, he replied that he was, but that it was his job to make sure everything was in place.  That this is how these guys (players) make a living.  And if something went wrong because of him, that it would have been the failure on his part, not that he couldn't even resemble the way he normally played.  And THAT my friends is the man I am proud of and respect.  He hits life's fairway every single time.  

I do want him home though, just for a day or two, to stick in a dark cave of a room and close the door, only opening it to give him chamomile tea or pasta.  I want him to be dreamy for a good long while.

More on the actual course-  It is phenomenal!  It is gorgeous and everyone who plays it raves about it- including professional golfers.  The guys who maintain the course should walk with their chests bowed out because it is something to boast about.  Our friend Brent, who did well and was in the lead group on Sunday, said it best.  "This is a hell of a course, man!  I'm mentally tired at the end of the day from thinking about the wind and my shots.  It's great...  Yeh, it's a hard course."  Nick replied, "I knew you'd like it."  Which he explained why as being- because it's more like a Tour course... meaning PGA Tour, because Brent played out on the PGA Tour.  

... and I'm done on the tournament talk.  I'm done dee.  I shanked it from the tee, I'm in the hazard... my tournament talk is lost.

To talk about a subject that doesn't surround moi, because I know you are sick of hearing it, I will bring up the movie I last saw.  No, I won't.  Because I last saw Solitary Man.  I like the lead-in song by Johnny Cash and I like the lead man, Michael Douglas, but I don't like the thought of writing about that movie.  At least right now, anyway.  The one before that was Knight and Day.  I liked it.  Did you like it?  'Cuz I did. 

It was over-the-top like Salt, but I liked Salt too.  A movie doesn't have to be realistic for me to enjoy unless it is stressing realism throughout the movie.  And this most certainly didn't give any pretense that it was completely realistic.  I am surprised that I only now watched it.  I heard about it when the script was still called Wichita from this friend that shoots on location during filming.  He didn't say much except that it was going to be great.  And I agree.  You know, Tom Cruise may have jumped on Oprah's sofa, but he's great to watch on-screen.  I don't care what people say about him, I like watching his films.  I think it is amusing when people scoff and say he sucks, can't act, yada, yada.  I think that's amusing because he's an icon in the film industry and in between Top Gun and Oprah's sofa people thought he was spectacular across the board.  I think when speaking of him in professional terms he's solid, hard to dispute it.  He has a distinct style.  He is entertaining.  He is believable.  That goes a long way in acting, no?  (insert chuckle here)

Cameron Diaz, well, everyone knows she has chops.  No need to discuss.  ... And legs.  She definitely has legs now doesn't she... 

I wish I had more for you, but that's it.  It was writers to golfers and now I'm back.  Waiting for my husband to join me, but I AM BACK. 

Half Way to Carzy

The funny thing about writing what you think down and pushing the "publish" button is that you are certain all those thoughts will expire and develop into new perspectives and opinions.  Then, with a head full of fresh, changed thoughts you read your old then-fresh thoughts and you think "Geez, I don't believe that at all anymore.  I was so naive, so short-sighted."  Then, if you are like me, you get the shivers because it nauseates you to read the stupid words you produced once upon a time.  You wonder, "Should I erase the stupid words?" And then J.Lo answers the question with one catchy Ben Affleck influenced album title This Is Me... Then.  

Ownership.  Owning dumb thoughts in print is a real downer sometimes.  I was the person I now growl at... it's there, right in front of me to see and read.  I still don't delete it.  And it is because of the same reason J.Lo held her head high after each boyfriend transformation.  It only matters if it is the only thing anyone ever reads.  Life is a progression.  To be truthful, the change I see in my thoughts makes me proud.  I think being a learner for life is a badge.  I don't want to think and believe the same things in twenty years as I do now.  For one thing, the world changes and won't allow it.  That must be for a reason right?  Everything changes, so my thoughts must change too.  That's the way it rolls.  And I don't want to be stuck.  So, if I have to read ridiculous statements from the past to remind myself of the precious value of learning, then so be it.

It still is embarrassing, though.

Things have been busy lately.  I went to Atlanta for a Writer's Conference.  I spent time with family (not enough).  And the entire week since I've been back has been jammed full of golf tournament madness.  Would you like me to elaborate?  Because I will.  No problem.

I'll start at the Writer's Conference.  I must confess that it was my first function of the sort.  I will put it as my professor did when he asked me, "Are you a joiner?  You're not a joiner are you?"  My response was a quick "No."  He said, "I'm not either."  

I don't like to bind myself to big groups of people.  When you are associated with a group and in the group are people that don't represent you in any way whatsoever, it is troubling.  I hate it.  I did join a sorority in college.  But, I remember during RUSH that the reason I picked the sorority I did was because there seemed to be no clones in the bunch.  There were all sorts of girls and they got along.  It seemed like a group of individuals and not a bunch of mimicking gals that you feel like you never get to know because they never show anyone their true self.  So, (and I was a Kappa Delta) I loved my girlies.  The whole variety.  I still do.   

-I'm really having to focus right now to stay on point.- 

The Writer's Conference was quality.  Very interesting.

I only registered for a 3 hour seminar and to attend a panel Q&A due to the timing of when I signed up for the event.  But, it was productive and I met a few wonderful people.  

Can I be completely honest? 

Yes. 

Okay.  I had an odd realization during the event and that was: I related more to the agents than the writers.  I didn't expect it.  I didn't know what to expect but this certainly wasn't the outcome I imagined.

For instance, (and this is excluding the few wonderful people I noted earlier) I witnessed grown individuals acting absurdly desperate and rabid. One guy cornered an agent, a strikingly beautiful and expecting lady.  It was late, she looked like she wanted to call it a night and this guy kept leaning over her speaking intensely while invading her personal space so much that she had to continuously step back.  She got out of the conversation just in time.  She was about four steps from hitting the escalator!  There were several conversations going on similar to this and I was moaning inside because it was painful to watch.  

During the panel discussion I experienced a similar thing.  Complete invasion of space and a conversation I could NOT get out of no matter how hard I tried.  I thought "Where is your third person point of view now?  Don't you see yourself from above?  You are acting like a lunatic."  

To sum it up... It was positive.  I met a few writers that were sweet and interesting.  I met a couple of agents that were fantastic and helpful, one being a contact I can rely on in the near future.  I attended a couple of informative sessions led by agents in the know.  But, the urge to donky-kong-bonk some agent-cornering writers and sweep some of these agents up and take them to safe space was still present throughout.

These eager writers aren't the only people that morph uncontrollably when confronted with people they consider special.  I've seen grown men giggle and squeal, run behind a tree and make an inappropriate call to a friend during a golf tournament... I repeat DURING A GOLF TOURNAMENT, right by the green, where golfers were trying to putt, to say that he just saw Kevin Costner and was acknowledged by a hand gesture.  It was a celebrity pro-am.  Nick was playing behind Kevin Costner, which meant slow play, because so many people want a little piece of personal entertainment and Kevin Costner is nice and obliges them.  The men especially were ga-ga over it.  A joke didn't even have to be funny and they were pouring with laughter over the words.

It's all really weird to watch.

Happens every time.

Next is the car ride home... during which I went half-way to insane and back.  I call that going Carzy.  Do you get it?  Like crazy but CARzy... pretty funny, huh?  I played with my relatively new iphone and video recorded some of the drive.  I have always been a driver that, when going solo, acts absurd.  The longer the trip, the more absurd I get.  So, as I-85 was detoured off the interstate due to the entire road being closed, I decided I should see what the absurdness looked like in case I needed to change it immediately.  At the beginning, I was conscious of myself.  Then, as traffic worsened I forgot more and more about the video and there I went... just being me... ridiculous.  I have five stages of Carzy.  I showed stage two to my parents and sister.  It was SO long that I had to load it on YouTube because I couldn't email it and when I called her a few days ago I heard her kids in the background making fun of me and laughing.  Which made it all okay.  I sacrifice pride for the sake of their laughter.  It took me 11.5 hours to get home and I was initially on track for 8, having made superb time in the first part of the trip.  By the end of the night I was listening to Michael Jackson and talking about how my grandmother's name was Billie Jean and that that was probably the coolest thing I'd ever heard of.  Yep.  Then I said I got turned around because I started going Weast.  Stages 3,4,and 5 are staying in my pocket!

I'm not done, I still have golf tournament chit-chat, but it just so happens that I have to go TO the tournament now. I need to help my husband who has been working day and night and forgoing sleep to make sure it is a success.  So, I am going out too.  It is the first day I didn't start out on the course... but, i.m.m... you are important.  And I am often neglectful of you.  So, I'm splitting my day for two duties.

... I'll be back.  

    

sneak peek

Clearly, she sees what the world intends to be. But what she seeks, the clarity she searches for, is just beyond her vision.  

Can she wipe her eyes; can she scrape a layer of haze away and it reveal the one she hopes to rest her eyes upon? 

Or, is it forever disguised as a possibility and in fact a never-ending tease?

Hope can only hold her for so long.

With nowhere to turn for an answer of any kind, she desperately clinches her belief that she can't be wrong.  In a world where truth is a constant illusory mirage of a destination, it feels that her course is limited anyway, in the attempt to find what exists in a real- not practical, not proven, not pragmatic way, but in a purely relevant, revelatory, and renascent way.  Real is the word she searches for.

Real is the word she defeats and defies, as is.

Real is more than a word.

Real is more than a world.

Real is       .

What exactly?

She searches on, with hope and with fervor and with the resourcefulness she was born with as a compass and shield.  The sky's code must be broken.  And the air must be opened, like a curtain call- show the cast and crew hidden backstage helping to produce the show called life.

"I spare my props, I shed my costume, I throw my lines to the side.  My character is bare."

She declares.

She cares not about the applause from this audience that could be imaginary. And she dismisses the hisses they call out.  They are ghosts of a bad dream.

Bum, bum, bumbum-

Drum rolls and drum beats-

Reveal-

Real.

We meet. 

...Just a sneak peek.  An excerpt.  Please, please tell me your thoughts. :)

ifinally write

I have lost a crucial component to my writing operation.  The mouse is without.  It sits beside me motionless and with no green light indicating the link to my laptop is a solid one. The last time I updated this blog I wrote about scary weather creeping our way.  It wasn't creeping actually.  I think this is how they started using these expressive words- "It came storming through." or "He came thundering down the hall."  The weather charged us and having seen examples of the potential whip lash that could be ours too without taking precaution, we all picked our closets (I'm speaking for the entire town.)  I gathered my laptop, cleared the small guest room closet out completely, put a pillow in the floor, and sat in it.  One by one my pups came.  China crawled on my lap.  She had screamed already.  I am not misprinting that... it is a scream, not a bark.  She was seeking comfort and wanted safe keeping.  Then Selma Lu (my other lap dog, ha!) came in and fit in the left over space.  Honey Te'a is still learning our ways so she sat outside of the closet looking at us intently but with her own elbow room.  And then, Nick came home... he drove through that whipping mess... and sat in the floor looking at all of his ladies huddled in a tiny closet.  It blew over.  Then I had to clean up the room and fit everything back into that tiny closet.  To make this all relevant to the lifeless mouse on my desk top- I snatched the usb remote plug-in thingy out of my laptop, not caring about it beyond thinking "Do I need this?  No.  I don't care too much about it.  I just won't lose it.  I'll lay it here." I remember the  thoughts.  I don't remember the place I put it in order to not lose it.  I hide things so well sometimes that I can't even find them. Mostly in haste does that happen.  

Now, I care about it.  

It will come to me... things always find their way back.

Since the storm, I have watched a couple of movies.  Due Date was one of them.  I rented two from RedBox- Black Swan and Due Date.  We watched Black Swan first and when Nick picked it to put in the dvd player I remarked, "You know Nick, that's one thing I really appreciate about you.  You picked Black Swan over Due Date to watch first."  Then I reminded him of what Due Date was and he responded "Oh... shit."  He was mildly disappointed that he passed over the funny movie, the "guy flick".  So I, of course, said "Switch it.  I don't care which we watch first."  And he did not.  We watched it and we both liked it better (much better) than the comedy.  Due Date was pretty good but like Nick said when I asked what happened to a dropped off character, "I think they said, "Umm, we need to end this.  Done." I'll admit that I did go upstairs and leave the ending unattended.  That was not polite of me.  Could I have guessed the ending?  Yes.  Did I guess the ending?  Yes.  But it was, no doubt, funny.

Next, we watched a two part documentary about the Russian Revolution and it brought to light a subplot so-to-speak.  It was a story within that large tragic story that I hadn't heard. It was about the Kronstadt sailors.  They revolted, gained their freedom, handed it over to another tyrant, wanted it back, and then got killed by the Bolshevicks.  That's basically it.  A massive generalization of what went down, but do you want to hear me yap about that?  No.  I can guess you don't.  Because I begin yapping about my feelings about anything less than pure, undiluted freedom and I get a bit ferocious and then I don't mind slinging a few insults- soft ones I think- just jabs here and there- and I don't make any new friends.  I might lose some. (At this point in my life, that's okay with me.  I want my principles in tact over my popularity.)  You never know, it could deliver a friend or two.  I have friends now that see things like I do, from the same point of view.  They talk about it.  They don't mind discussing.  Regardless, I will not explain further the documentary.

Then, we started watching Gandhi.  I looked over and Nick was shut-eye.  As soon as I pushed play his head went down.  When he is tired and his eyes shut, if I wake him and he opens his eyes to look at me, they are so red.  It's as if he were sleep deprived for ages and is out of focus with blood shot eyeballs.  It strikes me as a curious thing every time I wake him.  I did that the other night when I got a text that Osama bin Laden was dead after we were already in bed and Nick was asleep.  I, as gently as I could, stirred him and read the words.  He muttered something and then he rolled back over into his sleep again.  I think my face displayed several consecutive expressions as I contemplated and had a few thoughts about it.  I leaned over, turned the lamp off, and went to sleep.  First things first- wait.  Several stories and retracted stories will come out and then at the end of the day, nobody will ever know the exact truth of what happened.  Even the ones in the location at the time won't know the entire sequence of events start to finish.  It's such a large-scale start to... wait.  Was I about to say FINISH?  I'm sorry.  I apologize.  It most certainly isn't finished now is it?!  One person is dead, but before that heaps of bodies fell and it appears they still are and still will be falling with no end in sight.  Cheering and chanting in streets like the opposition did ten years ago is not my M.O.   There's nothing to celebrate in war until it ends.  And even then, it is relief not celebration.  Anyway, this relationship between MidEast and West has been going on for a long, long time.  You saw it with Carter.  You saw it before Carter.  Even I remember it in elementary school with daddy Bush.  It is here today.  On and on and on...  That's the reaction that came from the two of us.  We rolled over and went to sleep knowing nothing really changed.  It's a machine in motion.  Wag the dog.  All of that.  Nothing reported is reality.  As John Mayer says- "And when you trust your television, What you get is what you got, Cause when they own the information, oh They can bend it all they want."........  At that sleepy moment Nick gathered what I said, but the eyes were in some sort of repair again, red as fire and bright blue in the middle.  It's kind-of freaky looking.

Gandhi will be watched tomorrow evening.  I already liked it.  Before I realized Nick was unconscious I enjoyed the sidewalk scene.  "There is room for us all."  I love him and his words.  It is such an abstract paragraph up there.  To have mentioned Gandhi and bin Laden in the same paragraph is disorienting. 

I have continued reading my books- The Crooked Timber of Humanity and Night of Stone.  I read the latter aloud to Nick in bed and guess what I got three pages in... the red-eye.

It was horrible though.  (The book is great.  What happened is horrible.)  I will pick different material to read just before bed.  It is descriptive and the subject matter is Stalin's (Lenin's possibly worse successor) grotesque and barbaric reign.  What a murderous s.o.b.  It is not human.  He and those like him are creatures that have none of the humanity I know of on the Earth. They are compositions of something far darker and loathsome.  You could see it in his eyes.  His eyes say it all.  The eyes always do.  I'm learning a lot of new things about the Russian history and the world's- including U.S.- part in it all.  They consistently traded one tyrant for another.  There was always a mad-man ready and waiting.  I'm going to try and write about it later when I've gathered more from my reading.  I think any and everybody I know would be interested.          

It has been a John Mayer night.  I enjoy it.  It is playing now and I dig it.  Nick selected the tunes and he was spot on.  Each song provoked a thought.  

"Why Georgia?"  I want to know.  Why?  Am I living it right?  

How about: "We're never gonna win the world, We're never gonna stop the war, We're never gonna beat this, If belief is what we're fighting for." Indeed.  Indeed.  

"My dear, we're slow dancing in a burning room." Such a beautiful description of a complex relationship.  These lyrics choke me, "How dare you say it's nothing to me.  Baby, you're the only light I ever saw." 

And of course, "There is no such thing as the real world."  Tru dat, homey. When I first met the "real world" I was astonished that there was no other layer in the back of what I was seeing.  "This is it?"  I thought.  I couldn't believe that the systems and components (people) of those systems is what was moving and shaking the world.  No magical potion.  No wizard or genius that comes with adults in the business world.  It was a shock.  It was scary.  I'd always assumed that there were supremely intellectual and creative leaders pushing things forward in a seamless, perfect manner and if one could not meet the highest of standards, they failed short of the cut line and were ousted.  In other words, I thought the business world was like athletics.  I thought it was a solid performance, judgement, excel or pick another kind of operation... this "real world."  Disheartening.  It is smoke and mirrors.  It is fake-it.  It is get by and/or put the time in... or just lie to get ahead.  Sell yourself and you'll get the job, doesn't always matter if it's true or if you can do the job.  Once you get it- delegate.  Pass it off.  I kept thinking "Who is actually doing the work?"  My answer was the one person in the group who can't let the project fail so they do whatever they have to and then they end up resentful and full of stress in the body and the jokers that take the credit and talk a big game gallivant around as if they matter so much in the world and at the end of the day... they are the ones stress-free with a healthy body and bank account.  That "real world" was disappointing.  (He's right.  There's no such thing.)  It rewards doing nothing, abandoning morals and ethics, and being the sort of sorry person that your grandmother would be ashamed to claim.  I'm not on that corporate ladder.  It is hard to live doing something that, in your life, doesn't matter.  If you can't see the contribution of your efforts being purposeful or positive it is so hard to wake in the morning and bust booty doing it over and over and gathering the resentment that goes with being the one who DOES it.  I am lucky, I realize.  I have a husband who appreciates what I do.  He also takes care of me.  I don't have worries because my husband makes it so.  It brings a tear to my eye as I type that.  He is my strong, insightful, hunk of a man.  He suggested I could, if I wanted, jump off the Corporation Station-bound train and I hopped while it was moving, rolled in the long grass, and jumped on my horse to ride into the sunset of a blissful horizon.  

Luckily, I have experiences that were better than many I hear about.  I had pretty sweet jobs.  But, I looked around and saw the grime.  It was the world of Busting A** To Do Nothing Really Important In The Life Of The 'Buster'.  Every morning take your ticket.  Hope your number is not called and you are the one spoken of on the traffic report's fatal wreckage site to avoid.  An ant in the scurry racing to gather for the queen.  Then, a skipping, humming kid comes and steps on your ant hill.  Over. I didn't want that for my life.  

It was really nice when he toured playing golf.  It was intense at times, but the new places, new faces, new course to walk across the country was something that felt special.  And the friends I made were special too.  Even if we don't speak often, there is a bond that comes with traveling and grinding week to week while everyone else in your life thinks your husband tinkers around on weekends!  It is unique because it can make you want to collapse, but it also feels too special to complain about.  So, everyone out there has one another, who knows in an unspoken way what you mean when you make references here and there about issues that remain hidden to the typical golf tour profile.   

We got new neighbors!  I'm super-pumped because they look normal.  Young, normal people we might become friends with anywhere.  It is exciting.  Normalville (as my friend Katy calls it) doesn't send many new people here.

They even have a rescued dog that likes to play in the field.  

Cinco de Mayo is coming... many funny stories to follow.  The second annual Flip Cup tournament is sure to resume.  We get rowdy and firey.  I'll try and take photos to post.... with my new iphone!!!  As I posted to facebook, "ifinally!!!"  I have joined the rest of the world and it feels good I must say.  I have the cutest Kate Spade, Dancing Couple artsy case for it too.  I'm crushing on my new gadget.

What else is there... not sure.  I'm set for now.  Katy brought me Silk- French Vanilla Creamer back from Charlotte and so I am cheerful about tomorrow morning.  Nico is "La, La, La, La." downstairs with Jason Mraz.  He sings along and he's good.  Ya know, I'm not going to try and think of everything I have to say... I'll just come back later.  I'll do the same as my new voicemail "Hey. This is Beth. Leave me a message or just call me back."  I was leaning toward the just call me back option.  Although, Nick called me laughing at me and my message.  "What do you mean?  Hang up and call right back?"  "No! Later.  Call later."  I said.  (Duh.)  And then he told me I didn't say that part... like it was so crucial that one wouldn't know what I meant.  That was my second attempt too.  The first one I botched and then started talking to myself aloud and the recording didn't stop so it was all on greeting message.  My third try was a success.  I think so anyway.  It's staying regardless.

Until Later.

            

Okaaay... before I REALLY go I have to share this video that my bro-in-law posted.  It is one of the best voice overs ever!  I laugh every time I watch it.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=nGeKSiCQkPw