Martha and I would sometimes take a week in Orlando during the winter. We would drop the kids off with the grandparents and head south. It usually took us two days to get there. We would stop in Chattanooga Tennessee. See Rock City, see Ruby Falls, and usually Martha had the aquarium on her mind. The time we went to Ruby Falls, we got on this elevator and descended into the mountain. After leaving the elevator Martha had an anxiety attack of Claustrophobia. I took her around the elevator and the 20 feet or so to the outside of the mountain. Once she knew we weren’t really that far underground she was OK.
Once in Orlando we would find a motel and get ready for fun. We would sight see and visit all the toursst traps. However, I wanted to get some golf in while we were there. Martha liked to sleep in. So, I would get up at O dark thirty and drive over to the Dubstread Country club, a municipal golf course.
I found out that there was a foursome of retired gentlemen who had the first tee time reserved. I also found out that they were usually missing one of their members due to sickness appointments or whatever. So generally, I got to play with them. They were all from the south and referred to me as the F—ing Yank. We actually got along quite well. One of the fellows was quite the ball hawk. You had to keep an eye on him to make sure he didn’t pick up your ball.
One-year Suntec the company I worked for bought some logoed golf balls They had the name and a fireball on them. I was using one of them to hit over a lake to a par three hole. I missed the green, just off the edge. When I got around the lake my ball was missing. I asked the ball hawk to open his bag, he did, and right on top was my ball. He swore he had that ball for months. I didn’t have the heart to dispute him. One golf ball isn’t worth friendship. Just ask my buddy Burt from Halifax.
