Our Masters Experience

Let me begin this story by first saying that we really are responsible people. We can be trusted with your children, or your dog, or even your home. But we cannot be trusted with anyone's keys. Please, I beg of you, never let us use your car if it involves using a set of KEYS.

There was a semester in college when I had the locksmith on SPEED DIAL. His name is Fred. I called him while he was in Wednesday night prayer meeting one time. Thomas has a truck with keypad entry for this very reason. Locking the keys in the car isn't even an option, which has caused us great joy in our marriage. However, the Tahoe Thomas is currently borrowing does not have keypad entry.

You get the picture.

We locked the keys in my brother's vehichle last year at the Masters, and had to wait THREE HOURS for AAA to come get the keys out. We were determined NOT to lock our keys in the car this year. Folks, we were prepared for this. We are willing to admit we are irresponsible with keys.

So we woke up bright and early Sunday morning at my friend Caroline's lake house in Modoc, SC, which is about 30 minutes from the site of The Masters in Augusta, GA. As we prepared to walk out the door, I casually asked Thomas if he had the keys. He checked his pockets: no keys. I checked my purse: no keys. Caroline was beginning to get fidgety because being un-prepared and frantic is not her style. She is organized, timely, and put together. She began to lift pillows off the couch and dig around the counter tops. I told Caroline to sit back down and relax as I am accustomed to being frantic, un-prepared and generally unorganized. I began checking places Thomas had already checked: patting down his pockets, lifting pillows, looking under the bed, and turning over a chair TWICE etc. Thomas calmly asked me to stop looking in the places he'd already checked. "Ha," I thought to myself, "I can't even count the things I've found by looking in the places you've already looked!" But I kept my mouth shut for Caroline's sake as she also hates confrontation. We all went and peered into the windows of the car and determined that the keys must be under the napkin in the center console as it was the only logical place left.

Soon, Caroline and her put together self couldn't take it any longer: she had to DO something. "Why don't yall just take my car and I'll take care of the key situation while you're gone?" Which really meant "hint hint ya'll are stressing me out please just leave so I can organize this hunt to my liking!" I was quite willing to take the hint and high-tail it out of there, which we did. Thankfully I'd taken The Masters badges out of the car the night before. However, the chairs were locked in the Tahoe. The important thing about those chairs is that at The Masters, if you'd like to rest your rear end at any point in the 7 hour day, you must rest it upon chairs that meet strict regulations. I KNEW I was going to need to rest my rear end. I began to panic. We stopped at the first Walgreens we saw, which was of course out of canvas chairs with no arms.Thomas got a frantic look in his eye as he envisioned us walking into The Masters late due to our search for chairs. He said the one thing that he knew he could say that would make me forget the chairs and focus only on being competitive. He compared me to someone else's wife. Yes, he did.

 We were going to meet our friends Jordan and Sarah Kathryn for lunch at The Masters at 12:30. Thomas said, and I quote: "Jordan and Sarah Kathryn don't even bring chairs into The Masters. She doesn't CARE about chairs."

Oh no, he didn't.

Oh yes, he did. He compared me to another woman in a scenario where I (of course) took the bait and couldn't bear thinking that another woman was TOUGHER than me. Therefore, we went in chairless.

Things weren't so bad for the first hour or so. We walked the course and got some of the amazingly cheap chicken biscuits, sausage biscuits and coffee. Then, I started to get tired of walking around. And we still had another hour before the first round of golfers began. and 6 hours of golf to watch. We went to the great viewing spot between holes 3 and 4 and saw all the folks sitting in their comfy, armless canvas chairs. Thomas and I looked at each other and wordessly knew we were in agreement: we needed chairs, and we needed them ASAP. We agreed to bite the bullet and spend the astronomical price for 2 chairs and headed to the closest gift shop. They had no chairs left for sale but kindly told us to walk to the gift shop on the 16th hole where they MIGHT have chairs. By the time we got to the 16th hole and asked for chairs, they too were out.

We left, dejected.

Suddenly, a high schooler working at the gift shop ran up to Thomas: "Sir, did you just ask for two chairs?" "why yes, I did," Thomas replied. "Well, we happen to have just found these two that someone left here."

Relief, joy, gratitude, and bliss were some of the words that came to mind. My rear end thanked me the rest of the day.

And so did Sarah Kathryn when we propped our chairs in the shade on the 16th hole at 4pm in the 80 degree weather. (I love you Sarah Kathryn!)

Oh, and I can't forget about the lost keys.

Caroline and Katie (who are saints) called the locksmith, who unlocked the car. And the keys were nowhere to be found in the car.

They were eventually found in the chair that Thomas had literally turned over twice earlier that morning.

And the moral of the story is: don't trust us with your keys.

Guest Blogger

We have a guest blogger today folks....and it is my father, Dan Hall. Yes, all of us were surprised that he wrote anything that was more than 7 words total, but here it is: his account of The Masters with my mother. Absolutely hilarious. Worth your time.

Our account of The Masters will come sometime this week. It was also hilarious and will be worth your time to read. It will include the saga of locking our keys into our car at The Masters this year, AND last year. Oh, wait, neither car was actually OURS....


From Dan-the-Man Hall:
"The Wife and I had a great time at The Masters, yesterday. I was not quite sure how the wife would react to spending an entire day driving all the way to Augusta and back to watch golf. However, I was fairly confident that she would enjoy riding with me through the country side and seeing the beautiful azaleas on the golf course. Here is a recap:

                                We woke up at 5:00 am expecting to depart York at 5:30.  We left at 5:45 am because it took me longer than expected to get my horses and cows fed.  I  had previously informed The Wife that breakfast would be light fare somewhere about 2 hours down the road. She must be informed of food stops because  once she is up for the day, her body and mind demand breakfast within one hour of rising from her bed. Consequences for not following this demanding internal alarm can be severe. As we traveled down the ribbon on darkness (the highway) through the country side via: Chester, Carlisle, Whitmire, Newberry, Saluda, Johnston, Trenton and finally to Augusta. She reminded me several times that she was sure that on previous trips to Augusta with my friend Russell Booker, that he probably went on the Interstate and got to Augusta faster. In a futile attempt to  meet the one hour breakfast stop, I made a detour to find a McDonalds with “good coffee” in Newberry. Six and ½ minute detour was fruitless. The Wife assured me that at that point she could make it to Augusta for coffee and egg salad sandwiches on the beautiful golf course. Feeling the need to lay a solid foundation for a great day with great attitudes, I pulled into the Burger King in Saluda 1 and 1/2 hours from our departure time. This is the same Burger King where the young girl behind the counter asked me if I wanted the Senior Citizen’s coffee two years ago. (This is the regular breakfast stop for the group of men from Filbert  that go to the other great sporting event held in Augusta every year, the Augusta Cutting Horse Futurity). This was a BAD DECISION. The Wife had great difficulty deciding what to order. I was immediately drawn to the attractive, enticing ham, egg and cheese biscuit. This was the regular ham, not country ham. Regular ham is better for my stomach. As other customers waiting patiently behind us, The Wife finally blurted out “jelly biscuit”. Now you must all surely know that there is no such thing as a “jelly biscuit” on the menu at Burger King. It is simply a biscuit and if you want jelly you ask for it separately, grape or strawberry. I being the patient, understanding husband that I am muttered under my breath, “wife you really have a hard time making simple decisions”. UH OH!! I did not mutter those words low enough. The Wife’s radar ears picked up EVERY syllable. Silence reigned supreme as we gathered our take-out bag, coffee and orange juice and shuffled back to the car. Finally after a brief word of thanks to the Lord for the food and an sincere apology, The Wife and I were restored to our normal wonderful relationship. The mediocre food and pretty good coffee refreshed our spirits as we enjoyed the peach trees of Johnston and the expensive gypsy houses near Aiken. My normal short cut to my parking place at the Baptist Church on Washington Street near the entrance to Augusta National was blocked by Sheriff’s Deputies discouraging patrons from driving through the apartment complex that I usually cut through to get to the Baptist Church. I defty managed to evade the Sheriffs road block and found an alternative way to the hallowed grounds of the Baptist Church parking lot. The Wife, who is a graciously frugal person, was overjoyed that the Baptists let you park for free and you can write a prayer request on a yellow piece of paper provided by them, stick it under your windshield wiper and they would pray for the request. I gave them a $10 donation.  We asked that the Lord protect Rachel Walters and her soon to be new baby boy. He safely arrived yesterday afternoon. What a blessing!!! We had made it to Augusta.

                                Then, we got out of the  car. Augusta National has a LOT OF RULES. The Wife had a brief moment of panic. The rules say NO POCKETBOOK, NO CELL PHONE AND NO BROUGHT IN FOOD.

The Wife is a woman. How would she survive the day without the essentials for survival. I assured her that her children would not worry if they did not communicate with her for the next seven hours, she would never be more than 200 yards from a pimento cheese sandwich and bottle of water and all the other stuff in her bags would not be necessary for the day’s enjoyment. She sighed heavily as she stuffed a box of Kleenex and her WORLD magazine into our fold up chair bag. AH, the chair. Last year, Russell (my friend) and I took our faithful, very small  1999 Master’s chairs (cost $15 in 1999) and placed them on the 16^th green.  Most of the patrons (that’s what they call the fans at The Masters) appeared to be sitting in folding type, Master’ green,  camp chairs with arms. They looked so restful and content as I perched on my narrow green 1999 official Master’s chairs. I was envious. So this year, I found a $9.50 Master’s green folding chair, fits in a bag, with arms. The Wife would be able to read WORLD magazine in comfort surrounded by the majestic beauty of the Augusta National golf course. The nice security lady at the security checkpoint reminded me in her own words about the plans of man. NO CHAIRS WITH ARMS at the Masters this year. I parked The Wife on some beautiful grass (all of the grass there is beautiful) as I prepared to make the half-mile trek back to the Baptist parking lot to retrieve the other 1999 official Masters chair. I had brought one for me and The Wife would have the arm chair. Funny thing about The Masters, when you are in the main entrance area,  a man’s emotions get all excited, adrenaline starts rushing, you are far from home and your analytical mind begins to wander from its normal decision making process. As I turned in dejected obedience from the security checkpoint,  I saw a Master’s stuff store with 2010 official Master’s chairs for $30.  I quickly and mentally weighed my options: the trek to the car, The Wife sitting on a little 1999 official Masters chair vs. a comfortable, legal $30 chair. I grabbed the new chair, raced to the checkout, handed them my VISA and walked out with the new chair. New dilemma: what to do with the $9.50 camp chair that I had in my other hand. I tried to check it at the checked items booth, they do not check chairs. Instantly I discreetly checked it into a trash can. The Frugal Wife did not learn of this act until I carelessly and mindlessly responded to her statement, “we will enjoy the $9.50 camp chair in the backyard this summer”  with  “I checked it into the trashcan by the checkout booth” .  This verbal slip up  crossed my lips moments before Tom Watson sank a birdie putt on 16 at 3:37 pm. There was silence in the new chair as I,  Tom Watson and gallery celebrated his lead earning birdie. After another sincere apology to the Frugal Wife the normal, healty marital relationship was restored.

                                Back to the Security Checkpoint. We patiently waited in line for the second time as an elderly couple unloaded several legal, fanny packs and camera cases for inspection. I could feel The Wife’s envy. We made it in !!! Armed with the new chair, the old chair, two rain coats, a WORLD magazine, gum, chap stick, two hats (The Wife spent one hour Wednesday night deciding which hat would look better on her, the orange running hat or the white running hat. Orange was the choice) and $60 in cash money we quickly strode to the first tee to view the magnificent early morning beauty of The Augusta National Golf course. The greens and fair ways were immaculate, the trees were beautiful. I said “Wife isn’t this a gorgeous sight”, as I waited for her delighted response, I realized something was missing. She said “Dan, it is pretty”. Then the obvious hit me, the unusually long, cold winter had set the azalea bloom back about two weeks. The usual vibrant pink, white and red azalea blooms were just beginning to appear. As we strolled through the mass of patrons to our 16 hole chair placing, The Wife says ”where are the signs telling us the names of the trees, bushes and flowers”, I muttered under my breath “this is a golf course not a botanical garden”. The radar ears heard every syllable.  The deafening silence lasted  until another apology and the normal delightful marital relationship was restored.  I thought this is going to be a long day.

                                The turning point. As we spent the next hour strolling the somewhat color muted golf course breathing in the thick pollen filled air, I said “ Let’s get something to eat”. The Wife, who is one of the most disciplined eaters in the world as far as time to eat and amount consumed, agreed because she said she did feel the need for a “lift”.  We boldly decided that I would get a pimento cheese sandwich @ $1.50, she would get an egg salad sandwich  @$1.50 and two bottles of water $1.00 each. The Wife loves to share food with her husband because she is assured of getting the right thing with two options in hand.  She loved the reasonable prices and then she ate the egg salad. The new day began !!! Her countenance immediately changed for the good  as she ate her egg salad and half of my pimento cheese. And get this, the sandwiches are made on 1960’s type white bread. We returned to our chairs by the pond and green on 16 and The Wife began asking sincere questions like “what is a birdie?”, “what do the red and green numbers on the scoreboard mean?”, “why is everyone talking about Tiger Woods”, “you mean Tom Watson is older than me?”, “why is he so special?” In a thirty minute time span, The Wife, was totally relaxed, absorbed in her surroundings and the WORLD magazine had not appeared. The rest of the day was occupied with 5 more trips to the food buildings and consuming ham and cheese on rye, barbeque sandwiches, Snicker bar, more pimento cheese and a Dove bar apiece. And yes, Thomas, The Wife ate the whole Dove bar without stopping. We managed to get close to Tiger Woods for his second shot on number 3. He had a perfect tee shot.  The Wife was not impressed, character is very important to her. The Wife was gleeful at finding several water fountains in which to refill her water bottle without cost. Without her cell phone, no pocket book, no computer email , her husband at her side and good inexpensive food in her stomach, The Wife whipped out WORLD magazine at 3:43 pm and immediately fell asleep in the comfortable new chair, with no arm rests and awoke totally relaxed and refreshed as the patrons around her loudly moaned as Phil Mickelson missed a birdie opportunity on the 16^th green.

                                The weather began to change. Rumors spread through the patrons that “they said play would stop at 4:30”.  The Wife and I gathered up our stuff, put on our Wal-Mart blue and yellow rain coats and walked back to the 18^th green. Get this: The Wife wanted to stop and put our chairs down at the 18^th green and stay and watch more golf until “they” tell us to leave. The clouds and wind were ferocious. We stayed through two groups of players, and began to leave after I convinced The Wife that lightening is drawn to high, open, grassy areas with lots of people. She agree to leave. As I was searching for a bathroom (The Wife loved the extra clean bathrooms, I tend to need them more often since my prostate surgery) on the way out of the course, to my complete shock, she says “Dan, lets get one more pimento cheese sandwich”. I honored her request and got another sandwich and an “official”  Masters chocolate chip cookie. Near the exit, I checked for or my $9.50 chair in the trash can where I “checked” it. It was gone. The Wife gleefully said “too bad” and returned to her chattering about the fabulous, relaxing day she had and her deep desire to return next year. (Russell, she may change her mind).

                                The ride home. There was no silence for the 2 ½ hour ride home. The Wife armed with her well rested cell phone called every family member that she could think of to tell them about her wonderful trip and Rachel an Michael Walters new healthy, Baptist prayed for baby boy. We stopped in Chester for a romantic dinner of Super Supreme Pizza on pan crust at the Pizza Hut. The friendly waitress stated that “y’all look so fresh and relaxed”. The Wife was beaming. Fresh and relaxed are important to her. We spent the last $12.00 of cash money that I had at the Pizza Hut. $10 for the pizza, with two glasses of water with lemon and $2 tip to the friendly waitress. However, it did take about 45 minutes to bring us our food. They are real busy with takeouts on Thursday nights per the friendly waitress.

                                Refreshing rain followed us from Chester to York and The Wife was overjoyed with the rain on the garden and flowers. She went to sleep by 10:00 with a smile on her face."

Cycling

In case you haven't noticed, we are in a weird transition time in our life right now. Thomas has NO obligations to Clemson Football for the first time in our relationship, nor does he technically have any obligations to well, anything really. He just has to work out in case a team calls and asks him for a work out and in hopeful preparation for a rookie camp in May. Therefore much of Thomas' day consists of working out, eating, reading, working out again, eating again, reading again. He's gone to a couple of my workout classes with me and needless to say, it has been hilarious. He went to yoga with me before Pro Day and he's suprisingly good at yoga since he took it as a class at Clemson last summer. Yes, he got an hour of college credit for the class. No, he didn't make an A because he "forgot" to trace his body on butcher paper for his "body chart." Anyway, half way through our yoga class he looked at me and whispered "this is really hurting my toe." (He's had turf toe ever since he messed his ankle up in November. Sorry, the newspaper doesn't seem to care about O-linemen's turf toe like they care about CJ Spiller's turf toe.) Of course I nearly lost it laughing in yoga at the thought of his TOE huring of all things, but I quickly realized that if he wasn't able to perform at Pro Day, it would be MY fault for begging him to come to yoga. And hurting his TOE.  He made it through the rest of class, but I won't allow him to come with me again.

He's also gone to cycling with me a couple of times. The last class he went to was epic. He broke TWO bikes. Create a mental image ____here____ of Thomas sweating profusely and breaking the pedal off of bike #1 during a standing sprint. It made a really loud noise. The wheel spun out of control. The teacher is one of my good friends, so of course she starts laughing up front. Thomas stomps to bike #2. I could tell he was struggling with bike #2 but I figured he was still seething from bike #1. Then I realized bike #2 was already broken BEFORE Thomas got on it. Suddlenly, bike #2's seat went crashing to the floor. Thomas was left pedaling on a bike with no seat and pedals that wouldn't work right in the first place. By this time, all of my friends are laughing hysterically, Thomas is sweating profusely and mouthing things I can't repeat. I motion for him to come get on my bike, and I move to a free bike I see in the back. Oh whatdya know, bike #3 is broken too! (Please, if you'd like to give a monetary gift to Fike Recreation Center, we'd appreciate it as the bikes are obviously in need of repair!) So I moved to seatless bike #2 and finished the class with no seat.

And Thomas will never go to cycling or yoga again.