By Caitlin Kelly
Time for something fun, dammit!
So my husband Jose is a freelance photo editor for the United States Golf Association, a job he’s had, and loved, for three years. Typically, he works from our apartment, sitting in the hallway editing on a desktop computer but also heads west to Short Hills, NJ a few times a week to work out there at their headquarters as their archivist.
This time of year it’s all about the tournaments!
Here are some of my photos from the recent Curtis Cup, created by a pair of sisters; it’s a competition between two teams, made up of the best amateur American women and the best British/Irish women. It was so fun to see young women playing astoundingly — the youngest was 15 (!) and the oldest on the UK team 24.
The golfers all wore patriotic tattoos on their ankles and faces, and the spectators — aka the gallery — were a hoot, with lots of people draped in their country’s flag. Everyone applauds a great shot and there are some whistles, but it’s a genteel and fairly low-key crowd, which I appreciated.
Annoyingly — because it’s women and amateurs — the crowds weren’t huge, but that also made for a much more intimate experience.
Volunteers helped, holding aloft large signs saying quiet whenever the women were on the putting green, (the final stroke meant to drop the ball in the hole.) And it was quiet indeed!
That weird black thing with the wire is a microphone — to hear the sounds of putting and whatever the players are saying on the putting green
I’m starting to learn some of golf’s etiquette, lingo and lore — like the R & A (Royal and Ancient), the British equivalent of the USGA. I do know what a mulligan is and a hole-in-one but still can’t remember what a birdie is or a bogie or an eagle…
I came on Saturday afternoon and stayed only for a few hours, but loved the experience. It was held about a 30 minute drive east of where we live, in Westchester County, New York, at the Quaker Ridge Golf Club.
The Americans won the tournament overall.
This week we’re out on Long Island while Jose photo edits the U.S. Open, being held out there this year.
It’s fun to see my husband in his element. He loves this work and it’s a joy to see him so happy.
13 thoughts on “A light-hearted post about golf!”
How fantastic! 🙂 Have fun with golf! 🙂
I’ve been on a driving range a couple of times. It was clear that golf isn’t my game.
For sure! I finally tried it a few years ago and hit well enough to keep going and not feel frustrated. It’s not easy!
this sounds like a fun, and pretty stress-free tournament. i like the lightheartedness of it all –
I suspect the losers weren’t thrilled — but I gather they all had a good time.
Love this, my husband loves golf so we watch a lot of TV Golf and I’m with you on the Birdie, Bogie, Eagle thing.
Hah! Jose is glued to the Golf Channel much of the time, too.
Do you play?
Not anymore, played because I could be outdoors, talk and not sweat, since retiring to Florida it is too hot and took up the practice of writing.
I could never live in a place that hot. I get it.
I worked at a golf course in Palm Beach Gardens for about a year in 1992 or so. The work was fun and I found hundreds of golf balls to sell to the pro shop. The extra cash really came in handy.
I didn’t play that much, but I had about two hours between my quitting time and Cathy’s, so I used to take a big bucket of balls up to the driving range (that sounds a little crude). After I got to the point where I could really smack one, even a floating range ball, which doesn’t go as far as a regulation ball (Obscure golfing fact, impress your friends).
Okay, well YAAAAAAY for a fun topic! I mean Holy mother of Pearl, practically everything I see on wordpress is filed with anger, naked bigotry or something else that makes my head want to explode. See?
OK I’ll stop. Thanks a lot, honest.
“After A WHILE I got to the point where I could really smack one.” I like to think I am a better writer than a typist. I would just about have to be.
More light fun ahead for the next 3 posts, too.
Twitter is making my head hurt these days.