It Isn't Forever

Several years ago my friend Mindy offered both of us a writing challenge.  The topic was making a mix-tape for a person one doesn’t know.  We both wrote fictional stories around this notion, and even though they were fictional, I believe the seeds of both stories contained nuggets of tragic truth.  I know mine did.  Creating mix tapes, especially during my teens and twenties was a passion for me.  They were important for personal use and for connecting with friends.  Plus, they are legendarily supposed to be some sort of powerful romantic audio love letter that can and will win the heart of a crush.  It makes for a magical idea, but I’m not so sure of its actual effectiveness.  It never stopped me from daydreaming about this possibility. 

Mix tapes (or the modern equivalent – CD, or more likely, streaming playlist) were always important to me.  I have always made them. It has been going on for even longer than I’ve been buying music. They used to come along fast and furious. I could and have cranked them out for myself to listen to in the car, or Walkman or to simply catalogue a moment in time.  In 1986, on a school night, for no apparent reason, I created a tape for my own enjoyment titled October 18, 1986 (the rainy evening it was born), and it included three songs named “Shame.”  This became an annual tradition for a few years – all containing at least one song titled “Shame” (that’s a lot of shame), and then was reborn as a CD series after receiving a kidney transplant on an October 18^th.  Mostly though, these mixes have been made for friends, co-workers, classmates, and relatives. I’m not sure why, other than my near psychotic need to share my love of music. What better way is there than sharing the actual music?  It’s much more effective than my efforts to write about it.  Perhaps all of this has been practice for the dream scenario mentioned above (and sadly rarely ever implemented) – the mix tape for a crush or a girlfriend.

During this Covid-19 pandemic home time, like so many, I’ve been purging junk that is taking up space around my place.  I’ve been browsing through a giant stack of old spiral notebooks, mostly dating back to 1991-93, full of writing - old record reviews, short stories, several drafts of a mission statement of sorts for the fledgling This Wreckage ‘zine, a disturbing number of lists of personal single and album rankings - my own strange version of Billboard countdowns, and a few sketched out song lists for potential mix tapes.  Unfortunately, there is no sign of a playlist for a particular mix tape that I made that has become legendary in my mind.  It’s a mix I made for a girl, where I laid everything bare.  A collection of songs that were able to break my heart and thrill me with shivers.  If only I could hear that collection again.  Sadly, I do not remember what exactly wound up on that Maxell cassette.  I have some ideas and some pretty sures, but with too much alone time on my hands, I have become obsessed with the notion of recreating this long forgotten mix.

Nineteen Ninety One was a really difficult year for me.  I had to drop out of college and move back home to the isolation of the Oregon coast, due to my mom’s serious health issues that would lead her down the road of undergoing long distance kidney dialysis (the closest clinic was at least an hour away from our home) and seriously declining health, leading to her unfortunate passing nine months later.  Plus I had my own related health problems (genetics!) that landed me in the hospital for about a month, due to a botched surgery.  Let’s just say that recovery was slow and painful.  It felt like the table my life resided on had been flipped over suddenly, leaving me blindly searching for some sort of solid ground to stand on.  So, I did what I had mostly done up to that point in life, I shoved all the pain, fear, and uncertainty down into my gut and tried to rebuild some sort of foundation to stand on.

The following year found me back at my High School-era job making pizzas, shuffling through life, creating a handful of Xeroxed ‘zines with Wil and trying to get them some exposure, and then eventually returning to a different school in Seattle that fall for three months.  Why three months?  Well, in December, I found out that I needed another surgery, so at the end of 1992 I packed everything up and moved back home, which honestly didn’t feel like much of a home anymore.

For much of my late teenage years and into my twenties, I battled depression.  I always chalked it up to the tumultuous times that young adults are always told about, you know, never fitting in, not cool enough, no love life, no taste for partying, spending most of my time alone, etc.  No big deal.  Swallow it down.  Rinse and repeat.  Hold onto my nature of being quiet and even keeled.  Yet, this time, after dealing with another major surgery, things were different.  I began to talk more, I began sharing my thoughts, and my insecurities.  I became an open book.  Once I returned to work at the old pizza joint, I remember being a 21-22 year old, working with a lot of 15-16 year olds, and I felt like a complete and utter failure.  Many of my friends were closing in on their college graduations and here I was in the local teenage hangout asking about the town gossip from a boy who was still a year away from shaving once a month.  That kid became a proxy therapist for me as I blabbered on and on about how life sucks and why.  I could no longer hide my depression - my total sense of loss.  Everything bubbled up to the surface. 

Now that I had become an open wound, a raw nerve, I began to yearn for my life from two-plus years prior.  I missed the idea of possibility, potential, and hope.  I started to reach out to the few people I knew from school, which included a young woman who, during my dark years away, had become to mean the world to me.  I couldn’t get her out of my mind.  She became some sort of ideal who inspired me to become a better person.  I can see it in those This Wreckage mission statement rough drafts I tossed recently.  There was a desire to broaden my horizons, connect with people, and to offer a place for open expression.  It was about this time the mix-tape plan hatched in my head.  I would mail it to her and it would be a compilation that laid out the story of my scrambled emotions and yearning heart and to let her know how important she is.

 

This is where things get hazy.  I have a feeling that I opened the tape with the solo live rendition of Mark Eitzel’s “Firefly.”  I had been obsessed with that whole album (Songs of Love Live), and that song in particular for a nearly couple of years by that point.  Though, Eitzel’s sad sack “Thanks for coming” that opens the song, or the “I’m always fucking this part up” apology during his guitar bridge, have become repeated jokes over the years within the small circle of my friends.  It’s the warbles and imperfections of his soaring repeated howls over his loss (“Where did you go?”) of a loved one has made people I’ve shared it with laugh, albeit uncomfortably.  It’s a heart wrenching song that never fails to send debilitating shivers down my spine.  That temporary notion of fireflies was strong in those times, and I think I likely bookended things and closed the tape with the Magnetic Fields’ beautiful “100,000 Fireflies.”  Long before Stephin Merritt graced most of his songs with his droll baritone, and every album would be based on some sort of gimmick, his songs were sung by the folk-sounding Susan Anway, whose voice managed to infuse the words with a simple melancholy.  I purchased the 7” single for this song during the height of my love of loud, fast, abrasive music (industrial, hardcore, noise).  However, this quiet, fragile, unique sounding song about the bittersweet nature of love couldn’t have been a more perfect representation of my mindset.

“I went out to the forest and caught
A 100, 000 fireflies
As they ricochet 'round my room
They remind me of your starry eyes
Someone else's might not have made me so sad
But this is the worst night I ever had"

 

Elsewhere, I’d like to imagine that I put on something by the Field Mice whose plaintive uncomplicated songs are the type that no one is supposed to like, because it's too hard to admit their sheer vulnerability have such much emotional power. I’m afraid the spare plea for physical contact of “It Isn’t Forever” was the choice I may have made for this collection.  It’s a song that begs to be heard, while alone, late at night, when the last thing in the world you want is to be alone.  “It Isn’t Forever” alternates quiet verses of longing with loud abrasive instrumental passages that, like the title, display the all too often fleeting nature of intimacy.

 

I must have also put on the majestic and invigorating love song “Sunshine Smile” from Adorable, because it was this girl’s electric eyes that captured my initial attention, dropped my jaw, froze me in place, and placed about 100,000 fireflies ablaze in my stomach.  I cannot hear this song without thinking of her.  Speaking of which, I would’ve been remiss if I hadn’t have placed Ride’s crashing single “Taste” onto this tape.  Again, the chaotic burst of pure energy that drives the song, Laurence Colbert’s unbelievable rollicking attack on the drums, and the ‘oohs’ and ‘aahs’ that come in about 30 seconds into the song make for the exact representation of what was going inside my mind and body every time I was anywhere near her presence, and for long after.  It doesn't hurt that "Taste" was released not long after that first time I was awestruck by her.  It became my constant adrenalized soundtrack to guide me through her presence.

 

There’s a chance I may have doubled down on the Mark Eitzel pain, when he moonlighted for a few songs as the vocalist for the creative instrumental band Toiling Midgets.  The turmoil and self-flagellation that he goes through in the searing “Golden Frog” can only end with a repeated conclusion to himself “you were weak.”  A feeling that I often felt of myself then and now.  The anthem of someone who is often too afraid to take chances in order not to disrupt whatever tiny fragments of comfort remain. 

A good balancing follow-up to that abasement could’ve been “Awesome Sky” from Boston punk rockers Moving Targets.  I'm about 87% certain that this amazing instrumental was near the end of side A of the mix.  Despite being absent lyrics, this song may have encapsulated my emotions better than all of the other soul-baring lyrical songs included.  Its restless energy, its earnest search for that glimpse of an 'awesome sky' that keeps getting momentarily obscured by something. Once we reach that triumphant sight (what a chorus!) the song reaches incredible heights like a stellar sunset poking out between clouds or over a magnificent horizon.  Yet like the sun disappearing, the song quietly runs out of steam and disappears.  Gone for good.  Leaving us astonished and inspired.

It’s difficult to know how I filled all 90 minutes of this tape.  Could I have gone for it and crammed it entirely with spirit shredding content?  Was I that willing to be exposed?  Perhaps I threw on something such as Concrete Blonde’s delectable wizened cover of Leonard Cohen’s remarkable “Everybody Knows,” to keep the thread alive but not so damn direct, or the surprisingly groovy and tender love song to planet Earth: “Living in the Rose,” from the normally political and intense New Model Army – a song that would’ve been brand new at that time.  I had to have included something from the Sundays too.  They were and are one of my all-time favorites who wrote a ton of the types of songs to fill this brand of mix-tape.  I imagine that I would’ve snuck the stunningly beautiful and brief b-side “Noise,” an ode to silence and solitude on there as a tasty set up for their second album highlight “Goodbye.”  The first single to follow up their flawless debut is indescribably pretty as it builds to a satisfying and dramatic climax, before ending with the inevitable cold send off to her now former lover.  A dose of reality crashes into the dreams of heaven.  That was it.  A goodbye wasn’t needed in this case.  It was over before it had a chance to begin.

 

These songs I’ve mentioned are merely educated guesses as to what made it onto that tape.  I remember dubbing it on a lazy music filled sunny spring afternoon.  I distinctly remember being abuzz from the emotional impact the lovelorn songs had over me after completion.  I remember feeling completely despondent, yet alive with an unidentifiable sense of accomplishment.  This recorded cry for attention was likely a terrible mistake, but I knew I had to do something.  I was bursting with love to give and utterly incapable of believing the notion that I could ever receive that kind of love in return.  I could not and still cannot imagine it, so the whole thing was an exercise in futility. 

 

By the time autumn of that year came around, I had gone back to bottling everything up.  I nearly stopped speaking entirely.  An overwhelming sense of loss and emptiness swallowed me.  A callus formed around me creating a numbness that still encompasses me to this day.  I have been smashing frustrations, disappointments, sadness, and illness into my gut for so long that there is no room for anything else.  The bubbling over anxiousness, excitement, passion, and most important, anticipation that filled that mix tape and the reason behind it stand as a symbol for everything I feel I’m missing.  I think the idea of recreating that grouping of particular songs, despite the sorrow attached to them, is a tiny spark of life buried deep within my clouded mind fighting to get out.

I’m not sure it can.

Sparkle in the Rain

As I passed my always delightful and animated co-worker Jody in the downstairs hallway at work, we exchanged our usual greetings, but then she suddenly stopped.

“Is everything okay?” she asked.

“Yeah, I’m fine,” I paused, “Maybe a little under the weather.”  This was my description of how terrible I have been feeling battling off the side effects of my new and massively increased immune suppressant medications.  I have not been tolerating the new meds well.  The side effects provide intense muscle pain, nausea, dizziness, weight gain and oh so much more.  All of this happened on top of an already broken heart leading from another failed attempt to find a shot at loving companionship.

“You’ve lost your sparkle.” She said with a level of concern I have not generally seen from her normally carefree attitude.

“Did I ever have a sparkle?’

Our conversation was then sidetracked by the interruption of more passing co-workers, which at this job always means some sort of errand will soon follow.  There is no way to stay on target there.  There are only passing moments of crisis that need immediate attention.

-----

This was an exchange that happened a few weeks ago.  Not much has changed since then.  I am still battling feeling sorry for myself, still filled with heartbreak and still feeling empty.  I am someone in desperate need for a vacation and that is what happened this last week.  The LPGA could not have arrived in town for the annual Safeway Classic at a better time.  It is something I look forward to every year and have blathered on and on about it here (via Summerside and Numb, and of course via the LPGA website last year, among others) and to pretty much anyone who is around.  So after a couple of days of trying to complete errands and to try to take it easy and rest, Wednesday rolled around and it was time to head out to Columbia Edgewater Country Club to fulfill my volunteer caddying gig.  

There are two major changes to this year’s edition of the tournament.  The first is that the venue has been moved back to Columbia Edgewater from Pumpkin Ridge for the first time since 2008, where it had been held for many years prior.  The second is that the tournament has been thankfully changed to the more traditional four round format, as opposed to the three round event it has been.  Any chance at more golf with these ladies is a plus in my book.

This would be my first year of going through every round solo.  I’m not sure that this is a good thing, because of my tendency to become too involved and lose myself in the proceedings to the point of madness.  It seems some levity and perspective nearby would be beneficial.  But then again, being solo may be a good thing.  It may be best not to have witnesses around to see me go through the emotional rollercoaster that I inevitably will experience.

 Paige Mackenzie

At any rate, once I arrived at the course on a beautiful sunny and comfortable day, my mind began to let go all of the sadness and dread and started to feel anticipation and excitement.  I was quickly assigned to the amateur partner I would caddy for and we found out that we’d be playing with the incredibly amiable Paige Mackenzie, who is originally from Yakima, Washington (which she jokingly calls the Palm Springs of Washington).  She was glowing and bright and funny and warm and I did watch her golf for a handful of holes during my first year of attending in 2010.  She was memorable, because she’s really pretty and has a unique style.  On that day, she was wearing a cardigan sweater, which I have never seen on a golf course before.  Anyway, she led us around this amazing course, which I wish I could play someday, but fear that its old money private status will lock me out of such an opportunity.  The way this works is that the pro and her caddy play a round of golf and mildly prepare for the tournament ahead and they are joined by four amateur golfers who pay for the opportunity to play with a pro and each of those players is assigned a volunteer to caddy for them.  The money raised for this event is put to different charities in the area.  Luckily, my guy, Cameron, was a good one with a pretty decent game and we worked well together.  I take the caddying job more seriously than most.  I know the game, understand the game and though I am not a good player, I know what to do and I actually think I’m pretty good at it.  It’s a great way to start the week.  Not only does one get the chance to meet one of these amazing women and get to know her in her element, but there’s a chance to see the golf course inside the ropes (the ropes are what keep the fairways and greens separate from the spectators) and learn about the hidden dangers and potential shots the players will face once the real competition begins.  Overall, it was a great time and nothing really crazy happened, aside from standing alone with Cameron’s clubs while I waited for him to buy a beer on the 7^th hole, and having hall of fame golfer and long time television announcer Judy Rankin come up behind me in a golf cart (presumably for research), stop and say “Hi,” before driving on and finding out that my camera now only takes blurry pictures.  Like last year though, I now have a new pro to root for!

 my nice camera

Thursday morning arrived with a surprise (to me at least) rain, thunder and lightning storm.  We have not had any significant rain for months and lightning is rare in these parts, but here it was.  The first tee times of the day were scheduled for 7:15 AM and my girl from last year’s Pro-Am, Jee Young Lee, was set to tee off at 7:48.  My plan was to follow her group and then find Paige Mackenzie’s group around 12:30 PM.  I showed up at the course at 6:45 ready to go and watched some players on the range and practice green lamenting the failure of my camera and my cheapness, which has left me with 2005 cell phone technology  It does have a basic (ically useless) camera, but no email.  I went to the huge porta-potty assortment, that was laid out like Stonehenge, for obvious reasons and while inside heard the intensity of the rain increase and an air horn blast signifying lightning in the area and for everyone to seek shelter.  As I emerged, I sought quick shelter in a covered patio area next to the pro shop.  This area, it turns out is where the players and caddies were designated to go, because before I could react, I was surrounded by about 45 LPGA players and their caddies, all sitting around silently fiddling with their far more advanced cell phones.  It was clear that I did not belong there, but I stayed still and tried not to make any sudden movements.  Security was in the area and I didn’t want to get tossed before anything had started!  A few more weather stops and starts followed, but play eventually began about an hour late. 

 Jee Young Lee

The last time I saw Jee Young Lee in person, about 54 weeks prior, she had gone from a player I had barely heard of to my new favorite golfer and I had this to say about seeing her finish last year:

“When she finished (her round), my companion Christine followed me around behind the grandstands, where I shook hands and offered continued support to Jee Young’s father, where he thanked me profusely again for my support.  What I really wanted was a chance to get a picture of me with her after the round, since I had taken so many of her with other people.  But as we circled around where the players exit the big stage of the 18^th hole and where there are generally autograph seekers and such, I saw Jee Young and her caddy alone with their heads down walking directly to the driving range to practice – with her father trotting over the join them.  It was that moment where I kind of lost it.  I think I confused Christine as I kept walking back and forth and leading us nowhere with lots of golfers and action still to be witnessed.  But it was that moment when I knew that this was it.  The tournament and the writing gig that I had been building up with anticipation for nearly an entire year was ending and I didn’t want it to.  This place is where I belonged!  I wanted to race down that hill and embrace Jee Young and help console her and hopefully find a way to console myself.  In that moment, I didn’t want to go back to my stressful job.  I didn’t want to go see all of my doctors anymore.  I didn’t want to go back to my apartment and be alone.  Being at that tournament and around those players lifted me to another plane where my illnesses and limitations no longer were a part of my life.  My constant daily headaches were barely noticeable, my energy level maintained enough to get me around those damn hills each and every day without fail, and I was filled with feeling and passion and confidence that often drift away from me during regular days.”

It sounds like a lot of hyperbole, but it really isn’t.  This is how intense I felt at the time and all of that returned the moment I saw JYL appear on the practice green and then head over to the first tee.  She has continued to struggle and play well only in spurts for the last year – but never consistently enough to finish at the top.  I wanted so badly to will her to a great weekend of golf.  I won’t bore anyone even more by going into the details of the round, except for a few things.  Jee Young Lee was playing with young American golfer Vicky Hurst and Venezuelan Veronica Felibert.  Vicky Hurst turned out to be interesting, because a retired guy from Southern California named John was there rooting her on, just as I was rooting on JYL.  It turns out that he attends the two or three events in Southern California every year to cheer her on and picks a tournament every year to travel to.  In other words, he is living my dream.  He is free to go see these women play golf when he wants to.  We chatted a lot during the round and found ourselves, as is common, rooting for each others' favorite as well.  We made plans to meet up again Friday afternoon to cheer on our gals.  Veronica Felibert is a really talented player, but she is way too deliberate for my taste.  Her pre-shot routine seemed to take days each time.  The other significant moment happened on the 13^th hole – a short, scenic par 3 over water.  It was terrible for JYL, but comically the moment I’ve been preparing myself for since last year when I noticed that Jee Young’s brother caddy seemed to have a quite an antagonistic relationship that was unhealthy.  This year, she has gone through more than one caddy (a position I would be more than satisfied to fill!!  Maybe that’s why I took the volunteer caddy job so seriously this year!), having left her brother behind.  At the 13^th, the tee had been moved forward – shortening the hole from the practice rounds – and her caddy did not account for this.  In other words, he gave her the wrong yardage.  She hit a towering perfect looking shot that curved in over the water from right to left directly at the flagstick, but unfortunately bounded over the bunker behind the green about 20 yards too far.  She picked up her tee and gave this new caddy a glare that one reserves for their biggest enemy.  I felt a chill run down my spine and a wave of anticipation surge back up.  If any time was my chance to jump right in and get a dream caddy job, this was it!  JYL walked up to her shot way ahead of everyone else and wound up hitting an amazing shot high up over the bunker from the thick rough onto a steep downhill slope and somehow stopped the ball within a few feet of the hole drawing ‘oohs’ and ‘aahs’ from the few of us watching.  She sank the par putt, handed her putter to her sheepish caddy and gave him a little punch to the shoulder.  She flashed a smile and my chance died right there.  When the group went to the next tee, her father (“pops”) came over to me and explained in broken English about the flub up the caddy had made.  I told him that I’m ready whenever they need me and we both laughed, even though I was not kidding around.  Anyway, the round ended with all three players at 1 under par and they would need to do better on Friday to make the cut and get into the running.  As John and I watched our group finish on the 18^th hole, Paige’s group was teeing off right behind us on the first.  No lunch break for me!  I turned around and headed back out onto the course.

Paige Mackenzie’s group included Amanda Blumenherst (who surprisingly had just announced that she was leaving tour tired of being apart from her new husband) and the fantastically silly Tiffany Joh.  Apparently, according to Paige’s mom (I got to know both of her parents out there) since Blumenherst was walking away from the game, the LPGA allowed her to pick her group, so it’s no surprise she picked Paige (they’d become friends on tour), since I get the feeling that everyone gets along with her, and Tiffany, because she simply explodes with fun-loving personality.  In fact, Tiffany Joh has made several funny music videos and posted them on Youtube (as ‘cupofjoh’), claims to be from Whale’s Vagina, CA on her twitter page (@tiffjoh) and has an incredible website that must be seen (tiffjoh.com).  They all played similarly to my morning group and all needed to do better on Friday.

Tiffany Joh
 

Friday morning arrived warm and sunny and my groups had switched tee times.  The morning would start out with the Paige Mackenzie group and finish with the Jee Young Lee group.  I learned a lot more about Paige through her mom as we strolled around the course.  Turns out that Paige has been struggling with a hand injury and back issues (She broke her back in college) and has only grossed around $42,000, which considering the expense of playing, traveling, paying for a caddy, agent, living, and who knows what else, isn’t very much, so she isn’t in a position to take time off to heal, because she needs to earn a living.  How can I not root for her?!  She wound up playing well, shooting a 4 under round and easily making the cut, which landed at 2 under (The ‘cut’ is when the field is cut in half for the weekend.  Those who do not make the cut do not earn money).  Neither Tiffany nor Amanda made the cut, as they both struggled on Friday, but Tiffany still gave me a funny grin as she exited the last hole (the 9^th) and headed toward the locker room.

Paige Mackenzie and Ji Young Oh signed hat

This time I was able to sit down for a few minutes and grab a quick bite to eat and send annoying text messages to a few unfortunate individuals about the proceedings.  They all humored me as I stood by and watched Jee Young Lee practice her putting.  This is the part of her game that seems to elude her.  She is so talented (they are all talented) and has all the tools to be a consistent winner.  During the three rounds I have watched her play; she has hit three of the most remarkable shots I have ever seen by anyone.  These shots that have made tears well up in my eyes and be thankful that I had sunglasses on to hide them.  But she struggles to sink putts consistently, which is the path to victory.

The afternoon round with JYL, Vicky and Veronica was rough from the beginning.  They also started out on the 10^th hole (and would finish on the 9^th) and shaky putting and missed shots were contagious in the group.  Vicky started out strong, but absolutely fell apart down the stretch.  Veronica couldn’t hit the ball anywhere near where she wanted and started to play slower and slower, which led their group to fall behind pace, which brought a warning to speed up.  Failure to do so can cause a 2 stroke penalty, which would make this all the more troubling.  Vicky and Jee Young were clearly flustered and were playing way ahead of Felibert, but it didn’t seem to encourage her to play any faster.  JYL had managed to get herself to 2 under par, but bogeyed the 17^th and 18^th holes and spent the entire second nine fighting back through the slow play and her failing iron play (she started hitting a lot of shots left and into trouble) and she lipped out no less than five putts and also had one miraculously and unbelievably sit over the edge of the hole, but not take gravity’s course and fall in!  Six putts she could’ve easily made.  One of those birdie attempt lip outs happened, and I shit you not, when some muffler-less truck gunned down the side street that runs adjacent to the 7^th hole, blaring Peter Tosh’s “Legalize It,” just as she started her backswing.  She then lipped out a putt for birdie on the par 3 - 8^th after a really solid short iron put her in fairly close, after which she smacked her leg so hard that I was worried she might’ve damaged something.  I fell to my knees (not a good thing in my decrepit condition, because I may not be able to stand again) and buried my face in my hands.  John, my two day cohort, who had already lost hope with Vicky Hurst, but still maintained his composure put his hand on my back and quietly said: “There’s nothing you can do.”  This missed birdie putt meant that Jee Young would have to sink about a 160 yard approach shot for a two on the par 4 and difficult 9^th hole – she was stuck at even par for the tournament.  Any sign of a sparkle that I had gained in the rain the day prior dissipated as I walked alongside the 9^th fairway watching her chances of winning or even earning money for this long trip fall away.  It is so difficult to watch this all unfold in person.  It was so difficult to watch all three of these players fighting so hard to make it, but all for naught.  Unlike most other sports, there is no guaranteed contract.  As Jee Young pitched the ball from just left of the green and tapped in for par, she hugged her caddy and immediately grabbed three golf balls from her bag, signed them and gave them to the Oregon Junior Golf kids surrounding the green.  

Jee Young Lee signed golf ball

I said my parting to my new friend John and dejectedly headed out toward the exit.  I paced around frustrated by that covered area I had found myself in the day before.  I used one of the porta-potties again as precaution and then emerged with Jee Young Lee standing with her caddy talking quietly.  Her dad had not been out there this day, so it was just the two of them.  As was the case last year, I wanted nothing more than to offer sympathy and compassion and to try to do something to help ease the situation, but instead I decided I would just walk by and head out.  As I did so, the caddy, whose job I tried to steal, stopped me and said “Thanks for cheering us on!”  I turned around and offered my condolences.  I got to speak with Jee Young for a few minutes.  I’m not sure how much she understood, since she’s from South Korea and English is not her first language.  I’m not sure if she remembered me taking the wacky picture of her and “snacks” in front of the Oscar Meyer Wiener Mobile the summer before, as she nodded that she did, but it meant the world to me.  She smiled wide and spectacularly and thanked me and signed the golf ball that she had used for the round and gave it to me and I felt better, but still incredibly helpless and empty.  There’s clearly a huge hole in my heart right now and not even the LPGA can rescue me.

"Snacks," Jee Young Lee and the Wiener Mobile

The remainder the tournament was exciting and fun, as expected, but I had put too much energy into cheering on JYL to fully enjoy the rest.  I cheered on Paige Saturday & Sunday and she did well, finishing overall in a tie for 23^rd at 10 under par.  After she and Ji Young Oh finished up on the 18^th hole, I raced out to watch the penultimate group to catch young Thai golfer Pornanong Phatlum in her 70s cop sunglasses with her caddy brother in matching crazy skirt and short combination (how can I not cheer for her?  I can say this about almost all of these players).  She had a chance to win her first ever LPGA event going in to the day, but the pressure got her and you could see the tension increase in her arms with each putt.  In the end Suzann Pettersen won for the second time in the last three years playing spectacularly again.  There’s always next year for Jee Young Lee and Paige and the rest of my favorites, who I am not always able to watch while out there.  And for them there’s always the next tournament and I will be there in spirit, wishing I could be out there with them.

Pornanong and Pornapong Phatlum