Tonight is one of those nights when a chilled glass of Colorado wine and Feist is the perfect pairing.
It’s been one of those weeks, (hectic, almost unbearable) the details of which are not interesting to anyone but me, and if I’m honest, they’re not even interesting to me.
I have a tendency to become harried in the face of a daunting to-do list. And by harried, I mean a panicky Howler Monkey with Tourette Syndrome, throwing things and yelling at others to read my mind or get out of my way.
I volunteer for a local non profit and we had our Annual Charity Golf Tournament this weekend where we hit up businesses in the area to sponsor holes or donate items for a drawing or send golfers to come and spend their money. I love the non profit I volunteer for. I truly believe in their cause, which is to help protect children from sexual assault, bully assault, and stranger abduction. What I don’t really believe in is the way we, and non profits in general, raise money. We spend so much money reserving a private golf course, catering meals, enticing golfers, pampering the rich, hoping that they will spend/donate more money than we are spending on them, so that we will have some left over to use for the program and the kids. I know, I know, “You have to spend money to make money.” Whatever. I just don’t like it. And, yes. We made money this weekend. I just hope it’s more than thirty-seven cents when all of the accounts are settled.
In one of my Panicked Howler Monkey moments, I decided to take a spin in one of the golf carts under the guise of “Checking on the Golfers.” I was of little help. I delivered water bottles to a couple of parched putters, but mostly I pissed off the serious golfers as they paused their game and waited for my cart to bobble across the fairway to ask how they were doing and if they needed anything. One gentleman just shooed me away with his hand. Cranky golfers.
I came across a section of the course where there were no tournament goers, no golf club members; just me and the native grasses butting up against the “rough,” and in the distance, the early morning Hot Air Balloons were taking flight. I felt very remote. And in that moment I remembered to be grateful. It was difficult. I didn’t immediately know of anything to be grateful for. I was sitting on a lush golf course, nestled up against the Rocky Mountains, watching the colorful balloons fade into the bright blue sky, the wind whispering against my neck, the Canada geese crooning their love for the earth overhead…and all I could think of was my litany of undone tasks.
I shut my eyes so that I could see a little better, and started from the beginning…
“I am grateful that I woke up, that this gorgeous morning isn’t unfolding beyond my door, beyond my consciousness. I am grateful for this moment where I am just Emily. I am grateful for the opportunity to be Mother and Wife. I am grateful for my girls, even if they weren’t mine, I’d be thankful just to be around them and the way they make life beautiful….
Several minutes later, I was still listing my bountiful benedictions with no end in sight when the green roof of a golf cart came over a hill a few dozen yards away. It was the Marshall, coming to tell me I had parked my cart directly on top of the delicate, recuperating lawn of hole 10 and could I please move.
I smiled, pretty sure he, himself is a cranky golfer in his free time. And as I carefully drove away, I was thankful for him, too, saving the grass that the geese love.