Love (and Marriage) is a Miniature Golf Course … Sorta …
Miniature Golf, Mini-Golf, Putt-Putt … just about everyone is familiar with the diabolical courses of “putt for the dough” fame that dot the American (and other countries’) landscape. In Rapid City, South Dakota, we played Pirate Golf. Out on the Outer Banks of North Carolina is a Miniature Golf course that is all finely manicured, natural grass. If you venture to Kure Beach, North Carolina, there is (or was) an awesome course there, and south of Jacksonville, Florida, there’s another fun one. In El Paso, Texas, there was one WAAAAY across town that also had those fun little spinny bumper boats with the outboard motors (they also had whack-a-mole, so that place was pretty much Heaven for a bit). It was also near Delicious (pronounced DeeLi-C-ious) that had some of the best gorditas on the PLANET … but I digress…
So as we were walking home from the store after doing the weekly shop this afternoon (we walk EVERYWHERE), and it digressed even further…
Tim: What’s today’s letter?
Tim: Hmmm….. Machiavellian.
Me: That’s cool. I like him.
Patrick (with headphones on and walking with us): Who’s this now?
Tim: Your mom likes Machiavelli.
Patrick: Wasn’t he in Hell or something?
Me: I’m so proud.
Patrick: I’m gonna run the dog when we get home.
Me: I’d planned to do that later.
Tim (smiling): Your son … messing up your plans since 1997 —
Me: Wait — him?
Tim (still smiling): Then there’s me … Complicating Your Life Since 1995…
Me: I’ll get that on a t-shirt for you.
Tim: Now, now .. it was a moment of moral weakness on YOUR part — YOU said, “I do.”
Me (aghast): What?!?! You TRICKED me!
Me: TRICKED ME! You TRICKED ME with Mini Golf!
Tim: What —
Me (gesturing wildly ‘cause I grew up in New York): You wooed me with mini golf and got me all “wow — he’s so hot AND he likes mini golf!” And now we don’t even play!
Patrick: Where is this coming from?
Me: Ask me again!
Patrick: Did she just call you “hot?”
Tim: What are you, nuts? I’m not falling for that —
Patrick: I think I’m scarred for life —
Tim: … we just played mini-golf in Ireland in November …
Me: But have we played LATELY?
Patrick: Um … mom … look around. No mini-golf on the island…
He’s right. We should fix that somehow … or at least do a temporary thing like a library miniature golf night or something…
I do love miniature golf. And, yes, we played Rainforest Golf in a mall outside Dublin in November. Even the teenagers decided it wasn’t too lame to tap a ball through a Mayan temple under strobe lights. My … how times have changed …
The first miniature golf course shows up in 1912, and The Illustrated London News ran an article on this “Gofstacle” course. By 1916, it spread across The Pond, and was popular until the 1930s when the Depression hit. It wasn’t until after World War II that courses started to see a comeback. Now? There are some elaborate and downright fun courses if you know where to look for them. We really did love Pirate Golf when the kids were itty bitty. We lived in Chadron, Nebraska and would make the trek up to Rapid City for Pirate Golf and the museum at The South Dakota School of Mines. I guess M could have been any of those — Museum, Mines…Minigolf … Machiavelli … or Machiavelli playing Minigolf in a Mining Museum … Nah. We’ll stick with Miniature Golf for the moment…
Poetry Form: Mathlish Sonnet
Once again pulled verbatim from www.thepoetsgarret.com and Tir na nOg Land of the Everliving: A Poetic Community
The Mathlish sonnet is a combination of the two line Persian Mathnawi added to a three line Arabian Mathnawi then repeated to make 10 lines and a Sicilian quatrain is used as the volta and closes the sonnet:
Sed quid seductor! Not nearly what he seems!
The days of giddy play around a course grow strangely dim
As life intrudes, I reflect on this and maybe it’s just him–
And what I thought he was, well, perhaps that was a whim.
Life moves quickly, hurriedly, and two words like “I do,”
Change everything about the world, and taking it in lieu,
Of other lives I might have lived, and other ways I might have gone
With other boys and other plans that easily I passed on.
But when the night seems blackest yet and there’s no sight of dawn,
I think about this guy right here who loves me best of all.
And realize now that clubs and greens are fleeting in their charm,
For eighteen years of wedded bliss (mostly), I would call,
Him my hole-in-one! (But he still owes me a sheep farm).