Keep on Working

 

Every September for the past several years, I have posted hyper-enthusiastic posts regarding my annual vacation time spent attending the annual visit to Portland by the LPGA (Ladies Professional Golf Association).  Except for last year.  Last year, I was hobbled too much by my medical condition, the tournament was moved to a terrible location and it was mostly rained out.  I did try to attend one day, but the course was simply too hilly.  It was upsetting, but I kept telling myself: next year.

Everything started falling in to place.  The tournament is set to return to its usual location at Columbia Edgewater CC and return period.  A new sponsor has signed on (AmazingCre – whatever that is), and the field looks to be loaded with stars.  However, I am not ready.  Generally, I get involved for the entire week.  I have volunteered to caddie for the two Pro-Ams and attend from dawn until near dusk all four rounds of the tournament.  I genuinely love it.  Perhaps too much!  Every year, I realize that I feel truly at home out there and feel great!  It makes me giddy!  I have always been able to overcome my physical limitations and push through and walk those hills repeatedly in the sunshine.  I had considered buying what they call Champion’s Club tickets (which are like luxury box seats in an arena (food and beverages are provided), but these seats overlooking the final hole are now too expensive for me to consider, even though I have bought them in the past.  I most enjoy following and rooting on my favorite players as they make their way around the course, but had considered the Champion’s Club seats as an alternative due to my current disabled state.  Unfortunately, they priced this particular riff raff out of the market, and the realization that the walk from the adjacent field parking lot to the golf course would likely be too difficult.

Now, on the eve of the tournament, I find myself truly lost.  I don’t carry cable TV anymore, so I will miss the TV coverage and I won’t get to see the golf and the trials and triumphs that take place everywhere on the course.  It is depressing.  To most, it likely sounds silly.  Yet to me, it’s emblematic of where I am now.  So much of who I am and what I do, or have always done, is gone.  Live music?  Gone.  I know there are ways to make some of these things happen, but it is all just too much for me to handle at this point.  I’m in mourning for what I used to be able to do and have not yet figured out what’s next.  I find myself sinking deeper and deeper into depression and this event that I always find so important and so rejuvenating has slipped through my hands for a second year in a row.

Next Year.  There’s always next year.  Gotta keep on working.

Don't Feed the Bear

I often wonder what other people are listening to, when I see someone dancing around behind the wheel of their car, or wearing earbuds as they make their way around a walk, or run, or sit at a desk in a cubicle.  This includes the players I cheer on at the LPGA event I attend each year.  Especially this year.  Almost every player warms up before her round with earbuds on (in?).  Are they listening to DKFM, like I am when I go for walks around the nature park on my way home from work?  I would imagine that the music choices run the gamut from K-Pop, to hip-hop, country, maybe good old retro 80 and 90s music, or whatever passes for top 40 these days.  In my mind, they would be listening to the brand new New Model Army album to prepare for competitive battle, or something both quietly intense and calming like the latest from Slowness - like when I used to play New Order’s “In A Lonely Place,” or the twisted tragic turmoil of the Cure’s “The Kiss,” or strangely, “Welcome to the Boomtown” by LA duo David & David – in order to pass the down time before basketball games during my mediocre school sports career.

Everyone that knows me, knows that I love attending the Portland Classic golf tournament each year.  It is a highlight that in many ways keeps me moving forward – keeps me trying – so I can return the following year.  This year, keeping in mind that I would continue to follow my favorite players around the golf course from hole to hole, I decided to splurge and purchase what were called “Champions Club” passes for all four days of the tourney.  These passes would allow me access to the grandstands behind the 18^th green, unlimited food and beverages, and V.I.P. passage into surprisingly nice porta potties.

Every year, after the tournament, I write about my experience with a little coverage thrown in.  This has been going on since 2012, and I am finally ready to stop trying to convince anyone else of the incredibly entertaining merits of this experience.  Instead, I will simply tell a bit about the week, simply in order to try to sort it all out.  It’s been a couple of weeks since it all went down and I’m still not sure if I can.  Now that I’m back fully immersed into the horrific work grind, it’s all fading rapidly.

To be honest, my annual vacation week did not start out great.  Every year I volunteer caddy for two Pro-Ams on Monday and Wednesday.  These are tournaments before the actual tournament, where corporate big wigs pay money to play a round of golf with one of the pros.  This money then goes to charity.  As a volunteer, I caddy for one of the amateurs.  It’s fun for me, because I always get to meet a pro, see them play up close and marvel at their ability, as well as walk a golf course from the fairway I will likely never be able to play.  There have been several moments where I have laughed to the point of hysterics out there – hearing the banter between a player and her caddy, or with a subtle jab at some of these corporate blowhards who are trying to show off.  This year the Pro-Ams were poorly organized.  There was a lot of uncertainty since a lot of people who were registered were not on the list.  Little things were not in place like water to drink, or napkins for the meager food spread, or any kind of set up for checking in.  The people in charge were confused and unprepared, which doesn’t make sense, because this has been happening pretty flawlessly for years.  Though this summer has been mild, the volunteer days were marred by miserable heat.  I was actually worried about my health out there.  For that matter, nothing went quite as planned all week leading up to the tournament.  Everything was off-kilter.  Nothing bad, but all my plans were changed or canceled last minute, and I was in a funk.  I guess it was fitting that it carried over into the caddying event.

Luckily, once the tournament began early Thursday morning, everything fell into place.  I had a group of players I was excited to see in person teeing it up at 8:10 AM and off we went.  Thus began four days of the fun emotional rollercoaster watching great players struggle and triumph as their rounds progressed.  I was discouraged watching Morgan Pressel play really well tee to green, yet she could not buy a putt.  Her putts all looked good, but none of them would drop.  As each hole passed, her frustration grew, and you could see the rest of her game start to crack.  It was not to be her week.  I did almost witness an ultra-rare double eagle in person, as Jeongeun Lee6 hit her second shot on the par 5 fifth hole to about six inches.  The ball slowly rolled by the hole, always looking like it was going to drop.  For the third year in a row, I watched Amy Yang play up close.  Though she struggled in the first round, she shot back to back six under rounds to get in the mix by the final round.  Unfortunately, that final day was rough.  She was off to a slow start, but then went on a great run on the front nine.  Then came a short missed par putt on the 8^th hole, and a bladed chip shot on the 9^th that led to a double bogey.  This erased her previous progress and she went into a stall the rest of the way – finally finishing in a tie for 20^th.

When I wasn’t strolling around the grounds of Columbia Edgewater, I would find refuge in the Champions Club.  I had spent all that money, so I had to take advantage.  On Saturday, I stopped in for lunch as I came around the turn while following Amy’s round.  They were serving unusual looking enchiladas.  I grabbed a plate and silverware, place a little salad on there, then some sort of bean mixture, and then struggled a bit with the lid of the chaffing dish that kept the enchiladas hot.  There was no place to put the lid aside and having deficient control of my left hand, I was struggling.  This was the moment that a really old white haired man wearing an all red outfit nudged me aside, scooping another couple enchiladas onto his plate, pronouncing “These things are way better than they look!”  I was dumbfounded as I held the lid.  It took me some time before I realized that I had just been assaulted by the Bob from Bob’s Red Mill – wearing the same gear he wears on all of their promo pictures.  He was correct.  The food was really tasty!  I never saw him around after that. 

Later, after Amy finished up her round – going from a tie for 63^rd to a tie for 10^th - I returned to the luxury of the Champions Club, retrieved a beer, and watched all of the remaining pairings finish up on the 18^th hole.  It was really cool.  They also had the television coverage playing up there, so we could keep up on action on other holes.  During some down moments, I was exchanging text messages with a handful of different friends who somehow put up with my occasional golf course updates, when I happened upon a GIF (in search of something else) of a chained bear attacking someone.  For whatever reason, I could not stop watching it, nor could I stop laughing.  The harder I tried to suppress the laughter, the worse it got.  Tears streamed down my cheeks, and the older couple sitting to my right moved to the row in front of me.  I laughed harder.  The guy to my left, who had been making small talk with regarding the golf, got up and left.  Soon there was a bubble of space surrounding me, and the laughter came on again.  This went on for some time, at least until I became emotionally overwhelmed by the rousing cheers for some fantastic shots into the 18^th green, as we were witnessing some amazing golf being played.

I don’t know what to make of any of this, but by tournament’s end, the week was no longer off-kilter.  I was feeling thankful for the experience and excited that the tourney came down to a final putt from this year’s champion, Australian, Hannah Green.  I had rooted for her to win the Women’s PGA title while watching on TV in the spring, so was happy to see her succeed, and sad that it was all coming to an end again.  Along the way, I met a fellow fan, Alex, who said to me that this is his favorite week of the year.  That he takes the entire week off from work to be able to see his favorite players, and he thinks that the LPGA is the best event to see in person.  Weird, right?

One of these days, one of the players I follow around all 72 holes will breakthrough with the victory, so I can take full credit.  The soundtrack will be provided by David + David.

Movies

Why do we like what we like?  I’m sure there’s all kinds of scientific studies out there that try to explain the phenomenon of taste, but I’m too lazy to do research, and the way things are now, what good does it do you?  Facts and science and reason just get in the way.  Why does it seem easier to explain what we don’t like than what we enjoy?  This time of year, I find myself thinking about reasons a lot.  As I go on to enjoy my annual immersion into the LPGA visit to Portland, I seem to need excuses to provide to people as to why I enjoy it all so much.  I’m not sure why, because I don’t need to justify it, but I try and try.  Perhaps I’m self-conscious, because even the majority of my fellow volunteers at the tournament and the amateur golfers we caddy for don’t follow the LPGA, or attend the actual tournament itself, which I do not get.  These people get a chance to meet bright and talented LPGA stars and they have no interest in coming out to see them perform in the heat of competition.  Most of the people I know don’t understand my love of it either.  It generally brings out bemusement or just a blank stare if I begin to explain how much fun I think attending the tournament is.  This is the highlight of my year!  I have gone on and on about it on this site for several years, and once again I begin to contemplate my motivations and question why I like what I like.  Why do I love it so much?  I don’t particularly enjoy playing golf anymore, and yet, I can’t get enough of walking around a course for 8-10 hours a day watching it and going on an emotional rollercoaster pulling for the players I like the most.  Speaking of which, I think I’ve found a potential new favorite golfer: Robynn Ree.  She’s a rookie on the tour and the Cambia Portland Classic was the first top 10 finish in her young career.  It was her restless energy, that she was wearing what seemed like gear from my High School, Taft High in Lincoln City, Oregon, (orange skirt, black top, and black golf hat with an orange T), and that she seemed to be occasionally drinking from Capri Sun pouches during the round that drew me in.  Capri Sun?  I haven’t had one of those since like 5^th grade.  I didn’t know they still existed.  I remember not liking Capri Suns, yet I was so excited that she pulled one of those weird foil pouches out of her golf bag before teeing off on the 15^th hole.  Why?

Robynn Ree

Back in High School, when I was about 17, I discovered the old TV show “The Patty Duke Show” on the Nickleodeon Channel’s “Nick at Nite” rerun fiesta.  I’m sure it was delirium setting in, as I had reached a high point of insomnia by this age.  I was attending school, working essentially full-time, watching late night music programs like “120 Minutes” and “Snub,” as well as classic reruns of “Hogan’s Heroes” and “Mister Ed,” and listening to music all night on my headphones.  It was during one of these mixed up nights, maybe after trying to read Johannes Kepler’s Harmonies of the World for a school report (mistake), I developed a crush on Cathy Lane, the identical cousin.  If you are unfamiliar with this show, it stars Patty Duke as both a crazy American teenager and her identical cousin who is, I think, supposed to be Scottish.  None of it makes sense, nor does my fascination for the show.  The opening to the show promises all kinds of wacky hijinks that would ensue from such an insane concept clearly born out of serious alcoholic binges from the creative team, but is actually quite subdued and a little sad.  But Cathy.  I had no time for Patty and her hot dogs and lack of control.  Cathy was my girl.  I often felt heartbroken by episode’s end, as she never seemed to find the right boy, while Patty always had suitors, aside from her whiny steady Richard.  The crush went so far that I even sought out and read Patty Duke’s autobiography in-between stabs at assigned reading by Homer, Aristotle, Aristophanes, and a bunch of other old guys for school.  Getting intimate knowledge about Patty (or Anna) and her twisted childhood did not change anything: it was Cathy Lane I liked, not the two Patty’s.  But why?  Why did I like that character?  I know it was Cathy that kept me watching the show, but why?

The assumption is that we like what we like because of the pleasure we receive from whatever it is.  Yet, we all know it’s much more complicated than that.  It’s not so clear cut.  Why do some of us enjoy things that scare us, or burn our mouths, or cause us pain?  Plus, like a small curious child, one can keep asking why to every justification a person can provide.  It can keep on going and going.  Personally, I don’t think we need to know why we are all drawn to our particular interests, though it can be fascinating to ponder.

Around this time of year, back to school time, many many years ago, I will never forget moving into my dorm room for a second year at college.  It was very early evening and time for dinner in the horrifying campus dining hall.  I slowly wandered down the stairwell, loudly humming Kim Deal’s falsetto vocal part from Pixies’ “The Happening” (“Beneath the Skyyyyyyyy…”) because of the perfect acoustics, while wondering about the non-appearance of my new roommate for the school year.  I went outside and feeling unready to face the dinner and being overwhelmed by the warmth of the evening, I sat down on the steps on the side of the dorm building across from the University Center where the meals were generated.  While sitting there pondering the state of my life, I spotted a girl standing by an outside table enthusiastically telling two rapt people some sort of story.  I could not hear the conversation, nor did I know who any of these people were, and I could not take my eyes off of this story teller.  Her eyes were alive with energy.  Her gestures bold and her smile engaging.  All other activities around me faded away.  It was as if my heart and blood pumping through my veins had left my body and were now under her command.  I’m certain I must have been blocking the way for others coming in and out of the door.  Everything but this girl was muted and pushed aside.  I became filled with electricity and nausea and paralysis.  Time stopped. 

I’m guessing most, if not everyone, has had that kind of moment at some point in their lives, where we are so suddenly stricken by another that everything else melts away.  Why?  What is it that makes this happen?  I encounter women that I find attractive for a myriad of reasons nearly every day, yet I’ve only had a couple of moments like this in my entire life.  It’s good that it doesn’t happen all the time, because nothing would ever get done.  Is there some sort of underlying understanding that we intuitively are drawn to within people that makes them that much more alluring?  In this case, I was right.  This woman is a great person full of amazing traits who I cheer on from afar to this day.  But what about when these things go horribly wrong?  What we like often leads us into serious trouble like addiction and abusive relationships.

Sometimes it feels like we’re all puzzle pieces finding ways to connect by using our list of likes as the connecting points.  Unfortunately, unlike in the movies, we don’t seem to be very good at it, because there are too many sides to our shapes .  It’s not so easy to make connections.  We all find ways of complicating everything.  When I mentioned that I was trying to conclude a piece about why we like what we like with no conclusion to Alexandra via text she suggested that it’s all Voodoo.  I’m inclined to agree.  I don't think it would make any difference if we all knew what truly makes us tick and why.  We'd still all do what we do.  I do not have any idea why I like what I like, nor do I know how to live a life where I like most of what I do.  One might think that I'd have learned how to do that by now.

This song seems especially apropos and highly recommended:

Holiday Flyer "Movies" 1999

"Could it be that we're just empty

And we're looking for something to take up space

It's so frustrating"

Hotel California

A couple of years ago, I attended a work retreat with a bunch of co-workers where we were introduced to Insights Discovery training.  I will let the Insights Discovery organization describe themselves:

What is it? At the very start of the self-awareness journey is Insights Discovery. A psychometric tool based on the psychology of Carl Jung, Insights Discovery is built to help people understand themselves, understand others, and make the most of the relationships that affect them in the workplace.

Yes, this was some sort of employee bonding bullshit that many of us are forced into and dread.  The kind where we have to talk about our feelings, split into groups, play games, and pretend that we’re there for more than the paycheck that keeps us afloat.  At least there weren’t any trust falls.  Overall, it actually is pretty insightful (I guess that’s where they got their name), especially since the pre-session questionnaire was short and simple, while the personality profile they conjured up was, for me, fairly spot-on.  With this collected information, they place each person’s results into a color wheel that is made up of four general categories.  Obviously, they all bleed into each other and we all carry some of each color, but most of us have a dominant quadrant that describes our dominant personalities.

One of the exercises that we all did, was wear a color wheel taped on our backs, while we all moved about the room to initial the place of wheel we perceived everyone else.  Some people had marks all over their wheel, while most had a common position.  No surprise, everyone marked me as a blue.  Cool blue.  And, yes, my test results also placed me in that category.  What I found personally interesting is that the test results scored people’s personalities for both work and home.  Everyone that shared their results with me had two different versions of themselves.  For example, they may be more Earth Green at home, but ramp up their Fiery Red attitude for the office.  In my case, my scores were essentially identical (fractions of percentages off).  I’m not sure what exactly this means or how to take it.  I’ve always felt trapped inside myself.  Apparently, no matter the situation, I am inescapably me.  Over the years, when I’ve asked friends for suggestions on how to win over whatever current crush I have, the most common answer is: “Just be yourself.”  I’ve never understood this, because being myself has never worked with any success previously, and now I know, that I am ALWAYS myself.  It’s no wonder I get so sick of my own company.  Having said that, we’ve had a few follow-up Insights sessions since, so it’s fresh in my mind.  It has me considering my sameness.  It has me considering how I’m perceived by others.  It has me thinking about others – not just colleagues – and why they do and say the things they do.  What are we?  How many versions of ourselves do we all have?  I know I’m not sure what to make of my own actions sometimes, or my motivations.

In a recent conversation with my friend Mindy, she was telling me about her hotel accommodations during a recent visit to Portland.  I began to reflect on my own history of motel/hotel stays in my life from the small freeway truck stop towns and their one or two run down motor lodges my family stayed in on our occasional pilgrimages to Spokane to visit my mom’s side of the family; to the sleazy dives my friends and I would cram into on road trips to play golf or go to Confusion Hill as a joke; to the more business class style hotels I’ve chosen as I’ve grown older.  I no longer have any interest in sharing a room with pals to save money.  I still cannot afford fancy, but I do now demand a much higher grade of place.  It has to be clean and the bedding needs to be something I feel comfortable crawling into.  We’re talking your Courtyard’s, Double Tree’s, Garden Inn’s, Clarion’s, Comfort Inn’s, and Embassy Suites’.  You know the type, they have conference rooms on the main floor, a strange bar that seems to only open when an employee feels like going over to it, and they have those little breakfast areas, where one can load up a plate with mini muffins, burn yourself on the tiny waffle iron, choose amongst several juice dispensers, and if you’re super lucky get a cooked to order egg.

The first one of these I remember staying in a place like this was in Honolulu for Wil’s wedding in the early 2000s.  The hotel would leave the daily newspaper outside the door of my room each morning.  While I was there, I was still undergoing three times a week dialysis treatments, so I took to reading the Honolulu Star-Bulletin in its entirety during the four hour session.  I have never been a regular newspaper reader.  My family only subscribed occasionally, and I would only check a few comics, the sports pages, and the entertainment section for ads for concerts when we did.  But, as I was asking Mindy about her current room, I began to realize that I have developed strange habits in these business hotels over the years.  Things like reading the newspaper, and drinking coffee.  I know it is sacrilege to a lot of people, but I never acquired a taste for coffee.  I think it tastes freaking awful!  Plus, I have a very limited desire for hot beverages.  And yet, often while waking up early in my rented business class room, I will sit down at the desk, read from a newspaper, maybe have CNN on the TV, and make a tiny pot of coffee that they provide.  Even for a single night’s stay, I will unpack my clothes and utilize the empty dresser drawers.  I will hang shirts in the closet, and most of the time, I will actually work up a sweat trying to unfold the seemingly always ancient, difficult to manage ironing board that is usually hanging in the closet.  It will screech and howl its discomfort at being roughly stretched and manhandled, but I become determined to wield the hot steamy iron and smooth out all of my clothes that are not used to being cared for.  I also must take advantage of the free (I know it’s not free) breakfast spread down near the lobby and likely will have to deal with the others doing the same thing.  There will inevitably be uncomfortable greetings as we watch someone take the last two biscuits, and some awkward small talk possibly about the headlines from the free newspaper I just boned up on. 

Why do I become this person?  Is it some kind of need to fit in?  My history does not suggest this.  I’m fairly positive that I’ve been the only person in a black clad crowd at goth, punk, or industrial concerts before wearing a golf shirt and shorts.  I’m not sure why I become this person.  Is this someone still the same one from my color wheel?  Is it a part of my thrifty nature to suck every last amenity out of my hotel stay purchase?  This seems likely.

In a few weeks, I will, once again, be attending the annual LPGA tournament both as volunteer and spectator.  I seem to become another person in this environment too.  I become outgoing (a big ole’ Sunshine Yellow!) and engage all kinds of strangers in conversation.  I actively seek out areas where people are congregating, as opposed to avoiding them like the plague, as I would normally do.  Even while I’m out there in the summer sun for entire days on end, I wonder who I am.  Maybe I should tape a color wheel to my back while I walk from hole to hole and ask people to guess my color.

This piece is dedicated to Mindy Crandall who encouraged me to write about my strange hotel behavior, but also because she and I share a mutual hatred for the Eagles and their song “Hotel California.”  Sorry, Mindy, thiis piece took a turn I did not plan for and I could not resist utilizing our favorite song for the title.

Ruined in a Day

Late afternoon, during the first round of the Cambia Portland Classic, I found myself completely out of gas.  I was worried, because this was just the first of four long days (Besides the two days of Pro-Am caddying I managed to get through).  Even the golfer I had decided to cheer on, Amy Yang, her first trip to Portland, seemed to be lacking focus.  All round, she couldn’t make a damn putt.  On the beautiful 13^th hole – par 3 over water – she hit a shot that reminded me of how I play, when I’ve completely given up and am about to give my golf ball to Ken to throw down the fairway in lieu of actually swinging a club anymore.  Meanwhile, I was thirsty, hot, and sore.  My feet were covered in blisters and I was worried that my normal fiery run of inspiration from the annual LPGA visit was going to be cut short.  I sent text messages out pleading for someone to drive out onto the course, drag my lifeless body into their car and dump me in the parking field near my car.  No one was willing me help.  As Amy (ranked 11^th best in the world!) missed putt after putt and proceeded to build a score of three over par, I had to crawl my way on my hands and knees towards the 17^th hole where the beer tent generally resides to at least enjoy a cold one before expiring – only to find that it was gone!  As panic set in, I began to wonder if this was how it would all end.  Not from a botched surgery, or from all the strong medications I take or from cancer or a failed transplanted kidney, but from sheer exhaustion out on a golf course watching the LPGA.  If that were to be the case, then I would be more than okay with that.  It’s not very often that I feel like I make a decision throughout a day, where I can say: “This is exactly what I want to be doing,” but when I am out in the sunshine, on a beautiful golf course, watching talented professional golfers, I am doing exactly what I want to be doing.

Every year when I go through this, I ponder why I do the things I do.  I think about why I like the things I like.  I begin to question everything.  What is it about attending this golfing event that is so much of a thrill for me?  I never feel like I really find any answers, except my extreme dislike of my current employment becomes more focused and intense, and that I do not do enough of the things that bring me happiness (I’m sure most can relate).  Even though I get so much out of this event, I am fully aware that a huge percentage of people out there do not understand.  Every time I find myself informing people about the event and my excitement for it, I can see the mystified or the completely disinterested expressions sweep across their faces.  At best, I’ll get a sympathetic pat on the back as they try to understand the ramblings of someone on the verge of a mental breakdown (which is not far off the mark).  Yet, every time I am involved with this LPGA event, I meet fellow volunteers who have been at it for years, expressing the same kind of excitement (many of whom are not golfers), as well as meeting new volunteers with huge smiles on their faces, who find out how great this event is.  During the tournament, I overhear comments from first-timers like “This is way better than I thought it would be” over and over again.

I do love golf and have since I was a little kid.  I used to be a dedicated seasonal player.  Going out a couple of times a week from around May till October.  I have always watched golf on TV, which I realize to most people is akin to watching paint dry, but it’s the internal drama that I thrive on.  Golf is so individual and so mental, that is much different than most competitive activities.  I understand this as a hacker, who has had many dark moments cracking up from the internal pressure of trying to be good at the game and not pulling it off even for a moment.  I’ve been attending the Portland LPGA event now for seven years and I have barely put together 27 holes of playing golf in the last 4 and none in over two years.  Instead I’ve been living golf vicariously through these up close stretches of seeing how talented people manage.  It’s not just the competitive story-line of trying to win the tournament, but it’s the stories of each player trying to achieve different levels of success.  A young player trying to earn their first check as a pro, or an older player still trying to eke out a living as long as they can, it can even be as simple as trying to be better than the day prior. 

For me, the joy of watching these women play golf is that I can see their amazing skills up close, but also that I can see how they cope.  You get to know them through their body language, their reactions, and what they do during the moments while they are waiting for their playing partner to hit a shot.  Golf is so humanizing.  The game is played so much inside the head.  This year I chose Amy Yang to support, because over the last few years, I have seen her play really well on TV in major tournaments like the US Open, but she has never pulled through with a win.  I’m one of those people who often feels sympathy for those who fall just short.  I seem to have an appreciation of the underdog.  It’s clearly present with the music I love.  I have always been more inclined to sit at the empty or near empty table in the lunchroom, than to sit with the popular crowd.  Of course, there are stages of this, so I try to fill out my golf spectating by seeking out lesser known players to follow, players who could break out at any moment, and of course, the players at the top of the tourney competing for the big prize.  One of the things I love about golf is that any of these levels of players can win any week.  Anyway, back on track, Amy, for reasons likely only apparent to me, reminds me of my cousin Laura.  It’s something that I see in the expressions and mannerisms they share.  I made the decision to root for Yang, because I need a main rooting interest to maximize my own experience out there. With golf it’s unique in that you want everyone to do well - just your favorite a little better.  I don’t dislike players, as with other sports where, for example, I can hate the Seattle Sounders with an intense passion – so much so, that I get more satisfaction from seeing them lose than to see the Portland Timbers win.  And as usual, she won me over, like these players generally do. 

For this year’s tournament, Stacy Lewis, a multiple winning (but not for a few years), perennially Top 10 player won.  It was a great story, because she has had a long run of Top 10 finishes and runner-ups, but has not closed the deal since 2014 (she placed second in 2016’s Portland Classic).  And before the tournament began, she pledged that any money she earned, this Houston native would donate directly to Hurricane Harvey relief.  Sadly, for me, Amy Yang struggled both in the first round and the final round.  However, the ride she went on was dramatic as can be.  She began the second round tied for 122^nd and four shots over the weekend cut line (after two rounds the field gets “cut” approximately in half – the players who do not make the cut, do not earn money) and with 5 holes to play was still two shots above the cut line.  I began mumbling goals to myself for her to reach (“She’s gotta get at least 3 birdies over the last 4 holes) and that’s exactly what she did!  The slumped shoulders and forlorn looks to the sky after yet another just-missed putt from Thursday were now bright smiles and energized fist bumps with her caddy.  Then on Saturday, after a slow start, Amy made a clutch long putt for par on the 4^th hole after driving behind the big pesky tree down the left side of the fairway.  Then she birdied 5, eagled 7, and nearly aced the par 3 eighth hole (made birdie).  She then made birdie on the 10^th hole.  So in 24 hours she went from tied for 122^nd to a tie for 10^th!  I was practically floating on air.  The fireworks stopped from then on as she played one over par the rest of the way.

The final round, unfortunately, was bleak from the get go.  She bogeyed the first hole from the middle of the fairway and from then on struggled with every facet of her game, especially her chipping.  She just couldn’t put anything positive together.  The smiles and purposeful stride from the day before, became stern expressions.  Amy began walking far apart from her caddy muttering to herself with a stern lecture.  Pure frustration had set in.  And I was with her in spirit the entire way, but there’s nothing I could do.  Sometimes I joke that my presence curses the players I encounter and in times like these, it begins to feel real.  Despite myself, I let her go after 13 holes in favor of that final group with the crowds and popular kids.  I still feel guilty and sad about that decision, but I can’t wait to be out there to make up for it next year.

Independence Day

As I slowly crested the steep slope up next to the 18^th green, and then down around behind the grandstands and past the clubhouse – pushing the empty pull golf cart, my eyes began to well with emotion.  I swallowed hard and took in a fast deep breath in an effort to keep the burgeoning wave from splashing over the edge.  I pulled down my white golf hat to try to disguise my stretched and distorted face.

Stephanie smiled at me, as her right hand gestured to the area I should park the cart, and said, “You made it!  Grab some lunch!”  By the looks of the limited lunch offerings, I must have been one of the last volunteers back from the golf course.

“I can’t believe I made it,” I mumbled in response.  She smiled.  All I could think about was that six months prior, I was dragging myself around in a wheelchair around the 5^th and 6^th floors of the Rehabilitation Institute of Oregon, inside Good Samaritan Hospital.  They had me doing intensive Physical and Occupational therapies every day for three weeks.  “No, really, I can’t believe I made it.”  Earlier that morning, as I took that cart out to the 5^th hole tee box for the shot gun start of the Pro-Am, I was pretty sure I was in over my head.  I was stumbling around awkwardly on the uneven ground, quickly short of breath, and beginning to feel stress on my weakened left side.

I didn’t want to say anything about it to Stephanie, but out came a brief explanation about the stroke I experienced last fall and how hard I have worked to essentially get to where I was at that very moment.  I couldn’t help myself.  I was brimming with pride, a decidedly foreign feeling, and gratitude for all of the amazing help I have received along the way from therapist’s Kate, Denise, Adriane, Erin, and especially the wonderful Jaime for her miracle work over the last five months or so (I am still doing my homework!!).  Yes, I have worked really hard to regain my independence, first and foremost, a truly underrated thing.  But the more focused direct and immediate goal I have been striving for has been to be able to have the stamina, balance, and ability to walk well enough in order to volunteer caddie for the two annual Pro-Am’s and to be able to roam freely around all four days of the LPGA tournament: the Cambia Portland Classic.  It may seem like a silly thing to be so intent about, but if you’ve spent any time perusing these words I share here, or have spent any time with me, you already know how much this all means.

Morgan Pressel

This was my 5th year volunteering as a caddie and my 7^th year in a row of attending and I am already looking forward to next year’s event (hopefully, back in August where it belongs).  I have already espoused endlessly about my enthusiasm for this tournament and my love of the LPGA (see the rundown of last year’s event: SomethingMust Break), so I will try not to repeat myself too much about the quality of the golf, the competition, and the approachability and friendliness of the players, whom you get to see so up close – like a courtside seat for nearly every shot.  A quick example: it was touching to see Morgan Pressel smile and pick up a toddler who was stumbling toward her as she moved from the 15^th green to the 16^th tee box – as Morgan (we’re on a first name basis) gingerly returned the little girl to her rightful guardians and took a moment to take a picture with the family and sign a golf ball, even though she was really struggling through a terrible round of golf. 

Brooke Henderson

Admittedly, the tournament lacked a little spark for me this year.  I have lost my two favorite players to early retirement, first Leta Lindley in 2011 (see Summerside), then Jee Young Lee last year.  I found that I need to have a true rooting interest.  Still, the tournament was really exciting down the stretch until Brooke Henderson grabbed a stranglehold on the lead for good by the 71^st hole with an impressive up and down, but I missed the intensity I have felt in previous years – living and dying with every shot of a particular player.  There are so many great players to root for, I am having difficulty picking one!!  Plus, I continue to bring some kind of curse to the players I go out to watch hole to hole (is it my deodorant?).  They seem to play fine until I show up (see the Morgan Pressel example above).  How often does one see a player shank a shot into a tree and have the tree keep the ball?  Hello penalty stroke.  Hello triple bogey.  My apologies, Victoria Elizabeth.

Victoria Elizabeth

In the end, however, this one was more for me and my own goals.  I made it!!  I tracked just over 72,000 steps on the course watching these talented women over four days (one of the sponsors was handing out pedometers in an effort to raise charitable dollars), when it was only a few weeks ago that I was still relying heavily on the use of a cane to get around.  Now that I have managed to do that, I know I can continue to work to get better.  There is still a long way to go and likely a lot of frustrating challenges ahead, but I needed to make it through this big event to prove to myself that I still have the will to keep on.

Something Must Break

Wow.  It has come and gone again: my annual journey into the world of the LPGA and the long running Portland Classic out at the stunning Columbia Edgewater Golf Club.  Increasingly, it has become not only the highlight of my year, but in many ways the only thing that keeps me trudging through each chaotic and crises filled day.  This year proves, once again, that the thrill remains.  I simply cannot get enough of this event.  It’s overwhelming, like a huge music festival where all of my favorite bands are playing at the same time!

The tournament itself was anticlimactic this year, as the impressive young Canadian phenom, Brooke Henderson dominated over the weekend and went on to win by eight strokes, while setting a tournament scoring record, but it’s the details and moments of triumph and dismay that make the multiple trips around those 18 holes so memorable and intriguing.  Once again, I volunteered to caddy for the money guys in two of the Pro-Ams.  On Monday, I unknowingly caddied for the mayor of Hillsboro (one of the other caddies looked him up on her phone, so I found out after the round), who was a pretty fun guy that looked a lot like the zany David Feherity.  Our pro was the vivacious and pretty Jenny Suh, who continued to prove that these ladies are not just great at golf, but the best ambassadors for the sport period.  She was personable, funny, patient, and helpful to the amateurs.  She coached local sports radio talk show host Isaac Ropp from wildly erratic play early in the round to a series of great shots by the end.  This has been true of all of the other players I’ve encountered so far in this environment.  For the Wednesday Pro-Am, I was able to recruit an old friend, Jon, out to join me.  He is not a golfer, nor does he know much about the game, so he was nervous and worried about taking part.  However, aside from the waiting around part before getting assigned to a group, he did fine and had a great time.  Our pro was Lizette Salas, whose heartwarming story of getting to the LPGA is one made for TV (see here), as she came from rags to riches through the hard work and support of her family and her own perseverance.  She was quiet, but she began to be more open and funny as the round progressed.  

The caddy gig is always a must, especially because of the up close view of these professionals and the chance to see the golf course from the fairways, but the tournament itself is what really gets my adrenaline pumping.  As always, I try to follow groups through entire rounds and preferably two full rounds each day.  Making the decision of who to follow is getting more and more difficult each year, as I am collecting more and more favorite golfers, plus I am devoted to supporting Jee Young Lee, the pro from my first caddy experience in 2012.  I decided to cheer on Jenny Suh from the Monday Pro-Am for the Thursday morning wave and Jee Young Lee for the afternoon. Both players shot rollercoaster rounds of two under par and one under respectively.  Jenny Suh started off slowly before a couple of bogeys had her already eight shots off the early lead.  Luckily, she rebounded with a stellar second nine holes, which included four birdies.  

When Jenny finished I raced over to the first tee to catch Jee Young Lee tee off with her group.  There is a lot of exercise and no rest out on the course for rabid golf spectators like me.  Like Jenny, J.Y. Lee had a crazy round.  She opened with an effortless birdie on the first hole and worked her way to three under par through the first eight holes.  But then, suddenly all went awry.  She bogeyed the 9^th hole, and then hit a drive that bounced over my head and into the trees on the 10^th hole, which led to a shot into the water hazard and a double bogey – erasing her progress and putting her back to level.  This is one of three shots Jee Young hit directly at me, making me wonder if she was trying to get rid of me.  The round continued along a similar erratic pattern, but she managed to scratch out a hard fought one under round.

Friday was the reverse: JYL in the early AM and Jenny in the afternoon, with even less time to connect from round to round.  However, it was two of their playing partners who stole the show this day.  Caroline Masson, from Germany, continued to hit solid shot after solid shot and then got hot with her putting, leading her to a best of the week eight under par 64 for the day.  Jee Young Lee also played well.  Early on, her iron play was a bit wobbly, but she kept scratching out fantastic and nerve wracking par saving putts, which twisted my guts into knots each time.  Luckily, she started hitting the ball more consistently, and then finished with two nice birdies on her final two holes (8 and 9), including about a 30 foot bomb on the ninth hole. During the round, her caddy introduced himself, perhaps noticing that I was one of two people who followed the group every single hole and after the round he and Jee Young came up behind me as I was studying the pairings guide (tee time schedule).  We were all giddy from the finish.  We chatted for a few minutes and I was so excited I completely forgot my main goal for the week, which was to leave the tournament capturing a picture of her and I together.  I’ve said this every year since 2012, but it has yet to happen.  My mind turns to jelly when she is in front of me and I guess I swoon like a teenage girl at a Beatles gig.  No picture taken, but a thrill to meet her again, especially under happy circumstances.

Quickly and filled with a buzz, I scooted over to the first tee to see the Jenny Suh group.  Again, it was her playing partner, Candie Kung, who shot a flawless round of golf.  She wound up shooting a six under par 66 for the day, but it could’ve been so much better – like record breaking better.  She missed at least five very makeable short range putts for birdies.  She kept placing the ball close to the pin after hitting every approach shot from the center of the fairway.  Candie’s caddy was oddly captivating too.  He looked like one of those old large size G.I. Joe dolls with the felt hair and beards and would read the greens for Candie with extreme exuberance.  He seemed to use his whole body, flopping around, crouching, lying down and circling the hole repeatedly.  It was all very strange.  Meanwhile, Jenny struggled and was clearly frustrated.  She simply could not get anything going.  She managed to steal a couple of birdies along the way, but finished poorly and wound up with a one under round.  Good news is that both made the cut, so the drama of seeing J.Y. Lee barely miss and barely make the cut the prior two years was avoided.

The weekend began with disappointment.  Because the PGA Championship was also this last weekend (congratulations to Jason Day for the big win!  Well deserved.), Golf Channel scheduled their television coverage of the Portland Classic during the time the live coverage of the men’s tournament was airing on CBS, so they could free up air time for their repetitive and endless post game breakdown.  The result being the players played in threesomes and teed off both the 1^st and 10^th tees to condense the field.  This is something normally employed for weather delayed tournaments to try to squeeze play into the scheduled days.  It was frustrating because it left me with only one chance to go around the course with a player.  As a result, Saturday was pretty non-descript overall, as Jee Young Lee really struggled with her iron play and only managed an even par round, which was a bit of a miracle considering the trouble she kept getting into.  Her round included a lipped out putt on the 7^th green that went on to slowly trickle down the slope about 30 feet away – apparently the hour or so of rain (finally!!) the previous day had not taken the fire out of these lightning fast greens.  This was also when Brooke Henderson grabbed complete control of the tournament – eliminating any final round drama.  The bright side is that my friend, Christine, joined me out there, driving in from Moscow, Idaho to see the final round and a half.  

Sunday was different.  We arrived comfortably in time to see Jee Young Lee’s group tee off.  She hit three fantastic shots into the par 5 tenth hole, and as I stood next to the 10^th green, Lee looked over at me, smiled, and mouthed “hi.”  I immediately melted.  All of these years, I was never sure if she even remembered who I was, as she has always held a pretty strong game face intensity during each round, and our language barrier has kept our post round interactions pretty limited.  She then stepped up and rolled in a birdie.  What a perfect start to the day!  I could not have been more excited.  It’s a good thing Christine and Jon were both there with me, otherwise, I may have floated off into the atmosphere.  The entire round was like this.  Jee Young Lee was smiley and chatty with her playing competitor, Ryan O’Toole, and her caddy Steve.  She had such a relaxed demeanor.  It was surprising and fun to see.  She played pretty well and finished the tournament at six under par overall, but this is when a creeping panic started to settle into my chest.  The tournament, the thing that keeps me going, one of the only things that inspires and energizes me anymore, was coming to an end.

Thankfully, my friends were with me, when Jee Young Lee and her caddy emerged from the scoring tent after her round.  Steve handed me Jee Young’s game ball, signed, and told us that she is retiring from golf.  She is going to move back home to South Korea, marry her fiancé, and start a family.  Christine was sure to snap a picture of JYL and me together – not allowing me to lose my head and forget, as usual, especially with this sudden news leaving me dazed.  Jee young Lee was kind enough to spend those few moments and say goodbye.  I am thankful for all of the great memories and thrilling moments and highs and lows she and her golf have provided over the last few years, but I will miss her.  I will miss following her progress on the LPGA.com leader board throughout the year from faraway tournaments.  

Looking at this picture now, I see her as a person relaxed and happy with her decision to move on.  Meanwhile I look terrible.  I look sick.  I look like someone in pain - physical pain from the cyst slowly growing in the base of my brain, which feels like someone has jammed a walnut through my skull, and the emotional pain of someone who does not know what to do to find contentment or happiness anymore, except out on the golf course watching a player who I will never see again.

Two years ago, after this tournament, I made a decision.  I realized then that the excitement and life-affirming joy that I always feel while climbing the hills following these wonderful women around a golf course was a feeling that was completely lacking in my personal and professional life.  I envy all of the people out there, from the players to the caddies, to the coaches and the LPGA events staff, for having a dream and going out and finding a way to live that dream each day.  Don’t get me wrong, I know that everyone involved has their issues, gripes, hassles, downfalls and nightmares – we all do.  This was when I decided that instead of complaining about my job day after day, I’d do my best to make my job better.  

I began the long process of studying potential software systems that could really enhance and streamline the processes of the non profit organization I work for.  I’ve struggled through bureaucracy, gotten involved with RFI’s and  RFP’s, contract negotiations, and stuff way above and beyond my pay grade all in order to essentially change my job into something that moves beyond the day to day putting out of fires, all of which could be easily prevented with decent planning and consistency in place.  During this time, there have been massive delays and road blocks and what feels like either devolving management, or my own diminishing ability to deal with the constant unnecessary chaos, or both. Somehow I have continued to push forward with this project, but the fulfillment has not yet been forthcoming.  Instead it has been a battle that I have a lot of wounds from.  I am losing the ability to believe that any kind of system can ever be implemented with any success, because the entropy of my work place seems to always lead to a confusing mass of disorganization and nauseating stress.

As I have mentioned in previous examinations of these annual LPGA events (New Life, Sparkle in the Rain, and Numb), I am increasingly discouraged with the direction of my life and am not sure where to turn.  As I return to work after my week long LPGA adventure, I return to piles of work that has been left undone during my absence, and to tons of needed preparations and information gathering for this big project as the implementation finally begins to come to fruition.  But there will be no available time to work on any of it due to the mess.  Part of me is tempted to walk away, though I have no plan for how to make a living as a back up.  Part of me wants to grind this out and see this damn project through, but I’m realizing more and more that even if I manage to get this thing to work and work well, it’s not a dream or something I am genuinely passionate about.  Will the effort be worth it?