Tuesdays and Thursdays- Part 2

...con't from 5/7/22

I woke up Thursday feeling like it was the morning after finishing last place in the Iditarod dog sled race. Total exhaustion and relief. It looked beautiful outside, so I rolled out of my own bed, no hangover, and grateful that the purge from the night before had gone so deep. I could definitely sense that my soul received a scrubbing, so there was a slight residue that had settled near the surface. Morning coffee and shower sounded like amazing company to refresh the glow. 

I got dressed, then loaded the truck for work. I had a normal schedule planned for the day, which meant that Viv Maul was lined up for Spring pruning and cleanup. She has been on the list since the beginning of my small business in the early days of 2014. Her son, Gregg, was already a friend of mine when he had asked if I would help her with that landscape project back then. He passed away suddenly last year in the Spring of 2021.

At the time, he was the Superintendent at Sunset Golf Course. It is my favorite place in Longmont. His love for that course and its people earned my admiration immediately when I met him 18 years ago. Gregg took me in as a pupil and made me feel welcome. He taught me a lot about turf management, and was an example to stand by my work and my word. He always took the time to help when I needed some guidance and holy shit was he funny! I love Gregg. I will always be connected to his soul. 

When I finished that first job at his mom's a few years ago, Viv gave me a check and cookies. She earned her lifetime customer certificate pretty early on. 

This particular morning, I showed up just as the sun was getting above the rooftops. As I clipped my pruners to my belt, I reached up to power on my earbuds but then I paused. Just as I was about to pop one in my right ear, I heard a bird sing out. It filled the air in the entire neighborhood. Then, a moment later, a different kind of bird sang out, and its song had the same acoustic effect. Then another from a different perch. I was being asked to tune into the symphony. I calmly removed my headphones from around my neck, and set them on my dashboard. I was going "without" for today, it seemed.

I started pruning Viv's roses listening to the 'Sounds of Sherman Street' that were all around her house on a normally very quiet residential block. It only took a couple minutes before I heard the old aluminum screen door open, and clang shut the way they do. Out shuffled Viv onto the deck. She sat down on the steps that lead to the lawn. 

"Hey, Viv!" I called out.

"Hi, Pete," she replied, kind of sullen from her normal pep and spunk. 

"Are you doing ok?" 

"Oh, I don't know. Ever since Gregg's been gone, I realize that I just can't do what I used to be able to do." 

"Ahh, Viv. I know how hard this is for you. You raised such a special man in Gregg. It's a testimony to you and your family that his memorial at the golf course will be there forever!"

"It's pretty cool how they did that, huh?"

"So cool. Just perfect."

"At least I have Pete."

"At least I have you, Viv." 

As I gave her a big hug, I truly felt how important it is to me that I grow up, show up, and own up in this life. For so long, I thought I was going to miss out on the fun if I changed or lost my lifestyle, but the whole time I was missing out on living my truth. For me today, the power in that cannot be replaced by any drug, drink, skydive, or you name it. If I hadn't tried "It" by this point in my life, I probably didn't have enough money at the time to get "It". The fear of missing out on that "epic thing" was a mentality that only postponed the freedom to access everything else!! It came down to this; I could have the specific treasures I selected and stored in the eye of the needle, or, I could open my mind to everything the Universe provides outside of the needle, and accept what fits in my life at the moment. It may not work for everybody, but nothing has worked better for me. It does not come naturally. I have fought it every step of the way. This was my surrender. 

I handed over alcohol, my self-serving agendas, and expectations. I continue to surrender everyday. It takes practice!

It was later that evening that had I coincidentally met Doug at the golf course on a day he felt a relapse could happen. We played and enjoyed that nine-hole round casually sharing our experience and strength as two men hoping that sobriety wasn't just another failed attempt at happiness. If this day, Thursday, was any indication, happiness comes because you work for it, not because you are entitled to it, or thought you paid for it already. The same goes for love and health as well.

At this point, I had to golf on Friday too. I felt compelled to squeeze the course of all of its wisdom in one week. Again, I got paired up with a threesome. It was an older couple and their niece. It happened to be her first round of golf ever, and she was a couple years older than me. We watched her whiff on the first tee 13 swings in a row. It was a good thing I was there, because that shit wasn't going to continue much longer. Her aunt was just letting it happen. I couldn't believe it. She finally caught the top of the ball and it went forward. I rolled over to her as we approached the fairway. "Carla, you have a very powerful swing. It sounds like a light saber. The thing is, nobody cares how well we do out here, just that whatever we do, it needs to take 2 hours or less per nine holes. Make sense?" I said as diplomatically as possible. 

"Got it," she replied in the affirmative. 

Eventually, we made it to hole number eight. 

The eighth is a straight away par 4, uphill, 370 yards. I walked up to the tee with a 5-iron. I still have no idea why. In one thousand rounds at Sunset Golf Course, I have never hit 5-iron off of that tee. If I had to guess, it was because I was swinging freely and well that day, so I had zero expectations of anything but enjoying the vibe. 

I proceeded to shank that 5-iron at an angle headed straight for the memorial the course had just installed for my friend Gregg. 

They put a beautiful stone in the ground halfway between the tee and the maintenance shed that was his office at the golf course. A Garth Brooks lyric was selected and etched into the rock to speak Gregg's truth, “Life is short, but he did not miss the dance.” Now he gets to witness every shank his friends make on that hole forever. Sounds about right. 

I made it over to my golf ball. It was laying in-bounds on broken asphalt, dirt, and dead weeds. Beautiful. I quickly grabbed my hybrid-iron, some call it a rescue club, and was just going to slap one back in play. When I got over my ball, just as I was taking my stance, I heard Gregg's voice, "Nice drive Pete the Pro! Was that a….shank?" It was undeniably him and hilarious. 

He gave me the nickname, Pete the Pro, when I joined the men's league about eight years ago. It's not my favorite nickname, to say the least, but I have come to endear it. That's when my eyes went blurry. I decided to swing and just hope for connection, because I was trembling inside under my containment. When I made contact, I knew it was in the center of the club face and at the green. I found the ball in the air and it was launched with purity. My first thought was, I can't believe I hit the ball. My second thought was, could it go in? No, that is impossible. 

The ball landed on the green 240 yards away, right on line, and took two hops. The hops were big ones because the ball went over the green, over the cable guard wire fence, across the road, and came to rest next to the bench on the winter tee for number nine. 

As I stood there in complete shock of everything, Gregg didn't hesitate, "You hit the shit out of that one, Pete the Pro. Too bad it's OB, dumbass! Reload!"

I didn't reload. I didn't do anything but thank my friend for everything he had shared with me in love and guidance. And then I heard him say as sincerely as he would, "Thanks for taking care of my mom, Pete. I really appreciate it."  

I like helping other alcoholics and sharing my story, but I love helping others in life that don't know it's coming, or know about the expectations of "The Program" even more. There is a different energy when effort is unexpected, yet reciprocal. This is how recovery drives me to a fun Friday. If my actions are ‘not helpful’ in some way to another, then I am on the wrong path for the week ahead. If I don't know what to do, I can pull weeds, practice putting, or take a walk. The minute I conjure expectations or manipulations of what I want from someone else, I am headed for long Tuesdays and Thursdays.

As my friend Gregg Maul would say, "That's some good shit!"

Shanks for letting me share.