Most days find me complaining bitterly about the golf course “terrorists” mowing the greens at 6:30 a.m. I curse them as my heartbeat begins to slow, and have over the years learned to fall back to sleep for another hour. Soon I will start fuming about the incessant chatter in my back yard. The aggravation of the men calling their golf balls “she,” and the occasional epithet about what went wrong with their shot. I mitigate my annoyance by watching these horrible golfers take ‘The Walk of Shame” to the drop area on the Lady’s Tee, which meant their ball went into the water and they’re already lying two. And though I shouldn’t, I cringe at these silly guys in their ridiculous mismatched outfits with dark socks, white golf shoes, plaids and patterns thrown haphazardly over their beer bellies. Who dresses them?
However, every cloud has its silver lining, and ours is in the evening with the sunsets and the sprinklers. The spray seems to clear the air and tamp down the dustiness of the course. Sometimes the light hits it just right and multiple rainbows appear out of nowhere. The sunsets change the colors, giving the trees and grasses a deeper hue that blends so perfectly with the newly cleansed air. Not the Bellagio Fountain or an Arizona sunset, but beautiful just the same.
From the street, our home is paradise. From our den, it is like living in the middle of Disney World. Too busy. Too noisy. Too hot.
Forgive me for my candor about the golfers, but now that we’re probably leaving Florida in the not too distant future, I’m getting anxious to get where we’re going. Maybe this whole change of heart on golf-course living has suddenly turned into sour grapes. I’m certainly going to miss the sunsets. But I’m not going to miss the noise. I can’t wait to live on my own Jolico Farm.