Follies of Fall's Foliage in Waukesha, Wis

 

A pretty tree, but not in my yard... ;) 



            I like to work outside in the yard, whenever I possibly can. I cut the grass, shovel the snow, pull the weeds – I hate to leave those types of projects to clutter Todd’s weekend, since after working 55+ hours every week, he has 1,001 other projects to complete. So imagine my delight with Waukesha, Wisconsin’s recent run of wonderful weather. Wow! How lucky I was to be able to cut the grass and pull the weeds when it was 70 degrees in the middle of October.

            So… one day last week, I emerged from my garage carrying my blue metal rake, a plastic trash can (in which I’d cart my leaves to the curb), and my 1980’s boom box – a girl’s gotta be able to listen to some good tunes while she works… As the garage door closed, I glanced up at the cloudless blue sky and breathed deep. “Good Morning!” I said to no one in particular, and headed up into the back yard.

            Only one of our five trees had lost its leaves, but that lone producer had yielded quite a healthy pile. I figured rather than leaving the job until all the leaves were grounded, I’d keep up with the workload this year, and rake little by little. However, there was nothing ‘little’ about this project.

            I don’t know how you are, but I usually start a project feeling energized. I clap my hands once, rub them together, and say, “Alright, let’s get ‘er done!” (or something along those lines…) I started that morning’s job the same way. With Madonna blasting through the airwaves encouraging me to, “Get into the groove…” I started raking one side of the yard. I carefully ran my rake along the back of our block wall, sure to snag each and every leaf from its early autumn hiding place. I filled the garbage can full to its brim, and made my first trek to the street. My goodness, it’s a beautiful day, hmmm… maybe even… warm? Is that perspiration on my forehead? No, not in October! I hiked back to the rear yard.

            I glanced around and realized it didn’t look like I’d even started yet. “Okay, let’s see what we can do here!” I said, giving myself a brief pep talk. I grabbed the rake and swiped around myself in a circle. Whew, this is quite a pile of leaves I’ve got here. I filled the garbage can a second time, packing the leaves down more firmly, trying to fit as many in as possible. Again I dragged the bin to the front yard’s curb, and dumped the load. Wow, it’s really warm for October, and yes, that’s definitely perspiration up there on my forehead!

            Just as the directions on a shampoo bottle read, “Lather, Rinse, Repeat,” I went about my task. “Rake, Load, Drag, Repeat.” I’d been at my project about 45 minutes, when I realized my left hand was already bleeding. I never knew I was so delicate! ;)  The skin between my left thumb and pointer finger had scraped off from rake pressure. Great – guess I should have worn my gardening gloves! However, if the truth be told, this slight distraction did provide me with the opportunity to take a break, get a drink of water, and get a lil Band-Aid for my ‘owie’… And H*ck! As long as I was inside, I took a second to jot down some ideas I’d had about this blog piece too. Finally, I felt cool again and went back outside, ready to finish my task.

            A few more trips to the curb, and I was almost finished. One more load of leaves till lunch… And then I noticed leaves swirling and twirling in the wind – falling from their now-bare branches onto my newly-raked green lawn. With my hands on my hips, I just had to ask the perpetrators, “Are you guys ever going to stop doing that?”  “No, silly, this is what we do this time of year,” one mocked at me before scuttling away. I knew that he? / she? was right. To provide Todd and me with cool shade during the hot summer months, the falling foliage needed to complete its yearly cycle.

            And then I knew that raking them up was the least I could do for all their dedicated summertime service…

Katie Kolberg Memmel is the author of “Five Fingers, Ten Toes – A Mother’s Story of Raising a Child Born with a Limb Difference.” For more information about the author or the book, visit her website at www.katiekolbergmemmel.com 



Golf or Gold?

My brother, Dan, and me at the GKO

 

Minus my mother, I was born into a family of avid golfers. Everyone else thoroughly enjoys a good round of ’18.’ Both of my brothers earned their early-life’s livings as caddies at a country club. As a child, I’d sit at the dinner table and listen to my father (who is usually a quiet man) talk at length about birdies, bogies, and pars, fairways, greens and tees. I heard jokes about golfers and their obsessions with the game, but never quite understood the punch lines. Since I was significantly younger than the rest of my siblings, the jury was out on whether or not I’d share their passion for ye old ‘balls and clubs’ routine, so I stored all of the information somewhere in the back of my mind, saving it for a rainy day. 

Let me say this… I wanted to like golf, I really did. After all, it seemed like the right thing to do. At first glance the game appeared amazing - played outside on immaculately-groomed lush green lawns, with sunny cloudless blue skies above… (sigh) When I’d drive by a course on the roadway, players appeared calm, relaxed, well-dressed (in a weird sort of way). No one seemed to be running, sweating or swearing. Since I’m not a big fan of any of those things, I was anxious to give it a go. I mean, who wouldn’t be, right?

The whole ritual appeared simple. I was told to approach the ball, address it. So when I walked up to the first tee of my life and said, “Well hello there, ball,” I don’t think my dad had quite gotten the golfing daughter of his dreams. I tried to choose the right club, but never quite understood the concept. My goal (should I choose to accept it) was to figure out which club would bring me ever-closer to that small hole, hundreds of yards off in the distance. Apparently that numbered flag out there wasn’t just for decoration – no siree! It was my mission – my end – the be all / end all. 
 
I can do this – nothin’ to it! Probably even a ‘hole in one.’

But do not be deceived - golf ain’t as easy as it looks! There is much to consider and much to remember, young Grasshopper. Directions flew fast and furious from more experienced players – even those whose scores weren’t much better than my own. “Let the club rest lightly in one hand; intertwine fingers ‘just so’ with the other hand. Choke up on the club, but not too much. Bend your knees, but just a little!” (A golf instructor once told me to squat as though going to the bathroom – oh yes, yes he did!)

“Keep your eye on the ball – do NOT take your eye off the ball. If you do take your eye off the ball, you’ll never hit the ball – you’ll just whiff at it. (I did and do this often.)  Oh, and keep your left arm straight – but relaxed.” Now, in my mind, ‘straight but relaxed’ is not possible – I feel I should pick one of the two. But no… that theory does not pay off for a good game of golf.

When all of the instructions were followed and aligned perfectly, I heard the club hit the ball with a crack. Thank God!  It flew in a beautiful arc, high and far, and I knew that I was well on my way to the hole. Wow, all of that and I’m still on the first tee. I knew it wasn’t my sport when I started counting down how many more times I’d have to do that before celebrating with a long, tall, cold one!  Hmmm, let’s see here – 9 holes, 10 strokes per hole – I’ll only have to swing 89 more times…

My dad and me on Father's Day, 2013

 

For me, my pre-conceived idea of golf had all been an illusion. I did run. I did sweat. And though I don’t swear often, golf made me feel like breaking my own rule. And from an up-front-and-personal view (no longer on the roadway, but now on the fairway) I witnessed these same unattractive traits in others too.  Note:  My dad, is one of the rare level-headed golfers that I never saw lose his cool or his temper – simply loves the game, come what may. He was a good teacher, despite my own lack of skill. Other family members also fall into this category - overall a family of 'good sports!'

My brother hosts a golf outing each fall which he affectionately nicknamed the Greater Kolberg Open (GKO). For the past 30 years, through windy and rainy (but mostly sunny) days, we have golfed. Not everybody every year – I hadn’t even been pregnant yet when this all started. But I figure once a year, whether I love it or not, I can honor my family’s favorite tradition and get my backside out on the course. With a big smile on my face, I’ve come in last place more times than I can count; but I’ve also made some wonderful high and arc-y shots, and improved from year to year. It feels good to get outside – and even to ‘talk shop’ with the rest of the clan, while we pop open beers and discuss our pars, birdies and bogies, (and for me, lack-of-pars and quadruple or quintuple bogies)  ;)

Some people were born to golf – others of us were born to other things. For me, I’d rather write about the game than play it. But then again, if I’d never played the game, how could I write about it?

And just look at how much fun I’d have missed…

Katie Kolberg Memmel is the author of "Five Fingers, Ten Toes - A Mother's Story of Raising a Child Born with a Limb Difference." For more information about purchasing the book, or about the author, go to her website at www.katiekolbergmemmel.com