Golf, God, and Nursing Homes

Tell me, what is it you plan to do
With your one wild and precious life?
– From “The Summer Day” by Mary Oliver
“Grandma, Grandma! Look at me!”
Ted and I walked beside the grandstand, watching for our son to cross the finish line at the St. George Iron Man competition.
“Grandma!”
I looked around to see which grandmother was wisely ignoring the persistent little girl.
“Grandma! Look!”
I caught a glimpse of the little girl dangling upside down with her knees hooked over a metal rod, her shirt somewhere around her ears, and realized with a start that it was our granddaughter.
Fast forward a few weeks—well, it seems like only a few weeks—and this same granddaughter, now taller than I am with long blonde hair and an athletic build, hugged us and every other family member within reach after her high school graduation in St. George.
“I love you,” she said as she hugged us five more times.
After we’d taken photographs of her in her cap and gown, her smile almost as bright as the St. George sun, our daughter-in-law came up and said, “Jace’s grandparents have invited us to their home at noon to celebrate the big day.”
Jace, who had figured prominently in the photos, was our granddaughter’s boyfriend. We knew him and his mother, but not the rest of the family. We declined.
“They really want us to come,” our daughter-in-law insisted, so that’s how we found ourselves around noon inside a gated community set on the edge of a golf course.
We rang the doorbell, and Jace’s grandmother, a petite woman with a slight limp and beautiful gray hair, answered the door and invited us into their home which featured ceiling-to-floor windows overlooking the golf course.
“We’re so glad you could come,” she said. “Grab some nuts to hold you over until the brisket’s done. We’ve set up outside on the patio, but we’re hoping it won’t be too windy.”
As Ted and I picked up little cups of nuts and M&M’s, our son and his wife arrived, bearing six big bags of assorted chips.
“These were all she’d let me bring,” our daughter-in-law whispered as she set them on the counter, and then we all made our way outside where people were chatting on the patio.
When our granddaughter and Jace arrived, looking much more comfortable in shorts and T-shirts, the brisket was finally cooked to perfection. “Come fill your plates,” our hostess called.
After we’d settled back at the table with our food-ladened plates, Jace’s granddad, Larry, and his best friend sat across from us. Larry had pulled his long gray hair back in a ponytail and wore khaki shorts, a Hawaiian-style shirt, and sandals. Our son, an avid golfer, asked, “How often do you play?”
“Every day,” Larry said, taking a bite of brisket. “When I was about your age, we lived in the East, and I was totally fed up with my job. I told my wife I was going to retire and play golf every day for the rest of my life.”
“What did you do before you retired?” I asked, cutting a piece of watermelon, curious about these passionate golfers.
“President and CEO of Footlocker, you know, the shoe and clothing store that unlocks the ‘inner sneakerhead’ in all of us.”
We knew.
“Then, Footlocker partnered with Sketchers, and they brought me out of retirement with a deal I couldn’t refuse. My wife and I traveled the world to handle Sketcher business, and, of course, the company paid for it all along with the perks. Isn’t that right, honey?” he called to his wife who was checking on her guests. She nodded and continued making the rounds.
“I eventually retired from there, and then one of the Argentine companies called me. Did you know that Argentina has a thriving footwear industry?” He took another bite of brisket.
We didn’t know.
“I’ve retired three times, but finally my wife and I and my buddy and his wife play golf every day. We also play at Hermosa Beach where we have another home. We spend six months here and six months there. Some people would say that’s for tax purposes, and they’d be right.” He grinned. “We’re living the dream.”
An hour or so later, with errands to run, we finally rose, shook hands with Larry and his buddy and hugged our hostess who had so generously invited us to crash their party. On our way out, we stopped to chat with the graduates. Our beautiful, and now very mature granddaughter, will be leaving St. George soon to attend pilot’s school. Jace is staying put since he’s already employed by his high school to make sports videos. Hopefully, they’ll be doing what they love for the rest of their lives.
The next morning, after saying goodbye to our family, we packed our 4-Runner and headed up the highway toward Escalante, but the graduation and our conversation with Larry had caused me serious reflection. Unbidden, my aunt Helen’s image came to mind along with her words about what she planned to do with the rest of her life after falling, breaking her shoulder and arm in seven places, and ending up in a Kansas nursing home. “I don’t want to be here.” Her voice faltered, and I could hear her crying over the phone. “I’m not afraid to die, but I’ll stay until I’ve finished whatever God still has in mind for me to do.”
– To Be Continued