Ashe County Court House

Yesterday my son and  I went to the Ashe County Court House so he could renew his car registration.  Walking in the front door, we had to pass through a metal detector.  The 300 pound security guard was yapping on a cell phone and he motioned for us to walk by.  I sailed through without a beep, but my son didn't.  He mumbled something about having keys and started to take them out of his pocket.   The guard just asked him if he had a knife on him and when he said no, he waved him by.  While we were reading the directory to see where the registration room was, another man came to the door.  When he beeped, the security guard asked him if he was carrying a gun.  When he got the negative reply, he waved him on by.

It got me to thinking.  Why are they paying this fellow to watch the door if he is only going to let people by without checking their pockets or purses?  They could just hire a monkey.

Oakwood Country Club

For our final golf class, we headed over to the Oakwood Country Club.

The Oakwood Country Club was established in 1954.  It's located in an area of large homes with lush landscaping.  There is an olympic size swimming pool and a fancy club house.

We were the only people on the putting green, which was lucky for us.  We practiced our chip shot using a pitching wedge.  The objective is to get your ball, from the area around the green, onto the green and as close to the hole as you can.  The ball is supposed to fly up in the air and land on the green.  Our balls flew around all right.  And some even went in the direction they were supposed to.

Next we got out our putters and attempted to putt the ball into the hole.  Billy, our teacher, said I was doing a good job.  I told him I've played a lot of miniature golf.

The golf course was so pretty.  I could bring a lawn chair and a book and spend the day there.

The putting green with the club house in the background

Billy, our teacher, picking up balls

The golf course

Riverview Driving Range

Last week our golf class met at the Riverview Driving Range.  I got there about 15 minutes late as I took a wrong turn and got lost.   The week before,  I drove to the driving range from the school to be sure I knew where it was.  But this week I came from the other direction and turned onto a wrong street.  I asked directions from two people and learned it's a good idea to write directions down the first time.

The name, Riverview Driving Range, sounds like it would be a picturesque setting with trees and flowing water.  Names can be deceiving.  The only shade was in the parking lot, and I never did find the river.  There was an old building, some chairs, and a place to rest your golf clubs.  There wasn't a soul in the office or on the driving range.  You put $5.00 in a machine and it spit out balls and you were on your own after that.

As soon as I realized no one was there and the building was locked up I thought "What if I have to go to the bathroom".  After all, I had been driving for over an hour and would be drinking water as it was about 85 degrees out.

The front of the building

For the first time we got to use real golf balls, no more wiffles for us!  The driver is the big clunky club and you hit the ball while it sits on the tee.  You still have to make a divot (where you create a hole in the grass as you hit the ball) and you get to break the tee in half at the same time.

The back of the building

We stayed and hit those balls into the field as hard as we could.  I even did a fancy shot where the ball went behind me into the woods, never to be seen again.

The field with flags marking distances

Why did they cover up the rules?

Next week we head over to the Oakwoods Country Club to work on the putting greens. Watch out.

What could it be??

Yesterday, on our way back from visiting hubby's cousin and his wife in South Carolina, we encountered a strange event.  We were on the highway and had just driven through Charlotte when we noticed lines of cars and people stopped along both sides of the highway.  They were standing in the grass or on the edge of the road, some with umbrellas to ward off the sun. There were people lined up along the overpasses as well.  Maybe it was an accident? or a police chase?  No.

This went on for miles and miles.  Perhaps a circus? A parade on the interstate?  Nope.

At least twenty miles later people were still lining up.  This must be something BIG.  Was the president in town? Negative. Aliens from outer space? Nope.  Were they waiting for the infamous North Carolina native, John Edwards, so they could stone him?  No, wasn't him.

When I noticed there was no longer any traffic coming from the opposite direction and that the cars in front of me were pulling to the side of the road, I knew I would soon find out.  I stopped the car, hubby mumbling that we were going to get plowed from behind, or we would never be able to pull back onto the highway.  I got out my trusty camera and waited. It went by so fast, I thought I missed it.

It was the Miracle on the Hudson plane.  The battered, wingless fuselage of US Airways Flight 1549 was on its way to the Carolinas Aviation Museum in Charlotte.  Mystery solved.

Wiffle golf

Living in a golf club community, everything revolves around that little white ball.  This season I decided to find out what all the hoopla was about.  Having hubby teach me the fine art of golfing was not an option.  He corrects my driving, cooking, cleaning and social skills already, so I don't want him to overextend himself.

When I saw they were offering a golf class at the local community college, I was the first student to sign up.  Not knowing what to expect, I loaded up my son's old golf clubs, put on my collared shirt and went to class.  Only 3 other students were there, 2 ladies and a man.  Our teacher took us out to the field next to the school and got out a bag of small wiffle balls.

The field by the school

For the past 5 lessons we have been practicing our grip, stance and swing using the #7 club.  The man is long gone and one of the ladies had to have her pace maker replaced so she is reduced to spectator.  Our teacher is one of the most patient men I have ever met.  He doesn't get tired of repeating the same instructions to us and remarks how well we are improving.

Hubby has mown the field across the street from the house and I have my own collection of wiffle balls that I take out every few days and whack around.

Wiffle ball

Next week we are meeting at the driving range where we are going to practice with real golf balls and a variety of clubs.  On Friday there is a ladies beginner golf class down at the club house that I plan to attend.  Good-bye wiffle ball, hello trouble!

Fore!