(It should be noted that I had this dream on a Sunday morning. The next day, a small group of us from Meeting are to visit John Rudibaugh's house to see work performed by one of the two contractors left in the running for work on the Meetinghouse.)
In my dream, I am scheduled to play golf with John Rudibaugh at his club. When I get to the club, I find I need to park my car on the grass on the wrong side of the road at a spot a considerable distance from the clubhouse. It's not that the normal parking lot is crammed with cars, it's just that their parking lot is pretty small. I find all of this a bit puzzling. I don't mind the walk, but I would have thought that John's club would be a great deal more "pinkies up" than this.
The scene changes to being out on the course. It's my turn to hit, and I'm only a couple of feet away from the hole and just off the putting surface. There's a rather gaping hole in the turf between my ball and the "safe" putting surface. The ground is depressed, hardened clay, marked by holes, and there's a large rock directly in my "line of fire."
I can see my ball easily enough, but I can't see the hole. Someone (possibly John) pulls back some grass and shows me a brown/purplish cover on top of what I imagine is the hole. I'm not at all clear how I'm supposed to hit my ball so that it falls into this covered hole, but at the moment, that's a secondary issue. The primary issue is that I need to loft the ball enough to carry it over this gaping hole -- which is maybe 18 to 24 inches across -- and then have the ball stop close to the hole. Lots of backspin needed to get this done.
By this time, the ball is no longer beside this gaping hole, it's in it. And not too far from the large rock. So the shot will require even more loft and spin. I place the face of my wedge close to the ball and start to figure out how I need to hit the ball to accomplish this really tricky shot. As the clubface touches the hardened clay, the clay collapses, causing my ball to roll away a bit and then fall down into one of the several deep holes. It rolls out of sight. Clearly, there's no way in the world I can find the ball much less hit it with a golf club.
I reach into my pocket to retrieve another golf ball and discover that neither of the two remaining balls I have is playable. One is round, but less than half the size of a regulation golf ball. The other is roughly the right size but seriously oblong.
I know that I brought a bunch of golf balls with me, but the rest of them are all back in my car. I apologize to John and whomever else is nearby and go running back to my car.
I am now returning to the golf course, and am surprised that the course seems to be closed. No one is out there playing golf. I walk into the clubhouse and over to the dining room area. There are tables, but most of them are unoccupied. But there's a crowd back by what looks like a lunch counter: all the front stools are occupied and there are many folks (all men) fanned out behind them. At the center of all this activity is John Rudibaugh. Food is being brought out from the kitchen and dispensed to several folks.
I know it would be a mistake to try to get John's attention. He seems to be enjoying being the center of attention, and I would be an unwelcome distraction. And I can't think of any reason why I should bother trying to get his attention.
I wake up.
No comments:
Post a Comment