Until I came to the United States, the only thing I knew about golf was what I saw on worn book covers. Old men wearing funny pants, chasing little balls on grassy knolls. I since found out that the pants are called knickerbockers, and they still look funny to me.
Fast forward…I arrive to Arizona and find more golf courses than soccer fields. And apparently buying homes on the golf course is a good investment. So we did. Twice. The second and last one was in Mission Viejo. Our back patio faced the golf course. Because the house was on a slanted lot with large trees and thick bushes creating a natural fence, our windows didn’t get hit by flying balls as often as the first house.
But we still were awaken at 4 am by the lawn mowers. And that’s not all. This location came with an added bonus…Late in the evening, after the industrial size sprinklers shut off, teen agers would show up, especially on nights of full moon. They came, carrying large cardboards to be used as body boards to slide down the wet grass. The partying would go on until the wee hours of the night. That’s when I promised myself; no more golf course homes, ever.
Time went by and no, I didn’t change my mind. But forgot about all the negatives of a golf course. Until last week that is. It was a late Wednesday morning and I was driving east on Camelback Road to my favorite yoga class when suddenly I side glanced a white, round object flying out of nowhere and before I could blink, it hit my car. Hard. I was stunned, didn’t know what to do. Where did the golf ball come from? When I arrived to my class and asked around I discovered that behind the tall wall surrounding the Phoenician Resort there is—you guessed it—a golf course.
Like I said, we need more soccer fields and less golf courses. Amen.