Friday’s spring sky was a clear blue. A slight breeze blew the 65 degree air across the green, through the trees and out over the lakes. Our foursome was assigned to start at the twelfth hole on the eighteen-hole course. In a charity golf tournament, each team is assigned a hole where they begin their game. Teams then cycle through the course, ending on whatever hole was before the one they started on.

On one hand, Brian was a great teacher. On the other hand, he was a horrible golf cart driver. At one point, we were inches from the lake while he was looking for a ball. He stood his ground claiming, “Don't worry. These carts are made for this.” I trusted the cart but I struggled with trusting Brian only three inches from the water that threatened my beautifully new yellow and navy golfing outfit.
Since we began on the twelfth hole, we systematically planned to take a quick lunch break when we reached the first hole near the entrance. The cheeseburgers were hot off the barbecue grill, cheese melting down the sides and all. We enjoyed a quick visit with our guests and promptly jumped back into the game. We were now in front of a foursome team of teachers who inevitably won the honorary title of Lowest Golf Score, which earned them the appropriate prize of golf lessons. Lucky girls!
My favorite hole was number seven. The flag was behind a lake with head-on traffic behind a row of trees on the right and a beautiful sliver of lovely green grass on the left. We stood elevated, looking down at three steep slopes dropping down towards th

All in all, the day was delightful. I finally learned why the game of golf was so loved by so many. Other than my seventh-hole success story, my favorite moments were spent holding hands with my darling husband in the golf cart on an amazing spring day in sunny OC, California. What more could I ask for? Oh yeah. I want to go again this weekend, OK?