Rained out of our usual Friday golf match for the past few weeks, my two friends and I were desperate for some stress relief. Kids, grand-kids, job issues, health issues - the tension had pooled up inside us like the puddles in the streets. We were saturated to our very bones with everyday anxieties. After the horrendous weather of the last few weeks, a few sprinkles couldn’t deter us from our intended tee time.

The clubhouse was jammed with bodies after a men’s tournament held that morning. Already primed with a few pops, the peanut gallery was in rare form as the three of us checked in at the desk. The heckling was loud and unforgiving. “Go on; get out there! Afraid of a little rain?” We were not just the only women in sight, we were the only golfers - period - that were foolish enough to head out into the rain, trusting that the skies would clear in the short term.

It’s one thing to play golf in the rain for a scheduled tournament and quite another to head out in a downpour just for fun. There was no turning back now; our pride was at stake.

I have always prided myself on being prepared to play a golf tournament in any weather. Never once had I showed up for a rainy day match without full rain gear, wet grips, a towel, extra socks - you name it. I even learned to pack a baggie for the scorecard from a well versed octogenarian competitor.

Not so this day. Somewhat naively, I had left the house under partly sunny skies and gave no thought to rain gear. In all truthfulness, the folks on the Weather Channel had said it wasn’t going to be raining - and I believed them. Silly me.

By the time I drove the half mile to the golf course, the sun had come and gone three or four times. Cruising through the parking lot, the drizzle started up again in earnest. Somehow, operating on blind faith that the Weather Channel would actually be accurate, it never occurred to me to return home for my gear. It wasn’t like the tee was crowded, believe me. The course was wide open, awaiting any golfer crazy enough to step to the first tee.

My tee shot sailed out into the fairway, aided by the gale force wind behind it. I lofted a shot to the green - it stopped about four feet from the pin. Water already dripped off the brim of my hat as I kept my head down and stroked it in for birdie. Real life and all its troubles were already far, far behind me.

What a sight we must have been. The difference between a rain resistant windbreaker and an actual rain jacket quickly became evident. Two of us had no rain gear what so ever save for wet grips. By the time we made it half way down the second fairway we were soaked to the skin. Our third was draped head to toe in over sized Gore-Tex including a not-quite-styling bucket hat. If it hadn’t been for the pair of ever-so-fashionable Jackie-O style sunglasses she sported, she would have looked homeless. Onward we played. A fashion show, it was not.

My friend, the Jackie-O lookalike, was wielding a love-hate relationship with her pink and white striped umbrella. Every few strokes it would blow off her cart;while she chased it into a sand trap her push cart would roll off in another direction. It was like watching a crazed version of a very manic Mary Poppins. Our laughter warmed our otherwise drenched and wind whipped bodies.

The rain kept coming but it no longer mattered to us. We couldn’t get any wetter. The ranger showed up on six and just shook his head; it was nice to know someone cared about our whereabouts. We slogged on, questioning our own sanity.

As we teed off on nine the rain dialed down to a heavy mist. The ranger peered over at us from beyond the green. “Calling it quits?” he reasoned. Heck, no, we declared; we’re making the turn!

Inside, the guys were warm and dry at the bar, recovering from the soaking they’d taken in the morning’s tournament. The nice thing about playing in the rain is that the memories it makes last way longer than it takes to dry out your clothes and your clubs.

There’s something about going to war against the wind and the rain and surviving to tell the tell that offers up the very basis of gratification. It’s all about persistence - not how you look, what you shoot, how you’re dressed - and personal satisfaction. In times like these, the best of life is found in the most unexpected moments.

I do not mean to subvert the importance of this day by tying it together with a silly blog post about golf. I need to make it clear that I feel it is because of this day that I have the opportunity to play golf. As much as we’d like it to be, golf is not one of our basic freedoms as set forth within the constitution of the US of A (but don’t you think it might be?). Golf is a privilege, and without the continual sacrifices made by the men and women of our armed forces, our lives - yours and mine - would certainly be much different.

This particular Memorial Day I will miss attending the parade in my hometown. But yet, on this quiet morning in the still air of a beautiful late spring day, I can almost feel the distant drum beats - the thump, thump, thump that, as children, we would strain to be the first to hear, as the parade wove through downtown and marched closer to our house were we stood at attention, waiting for our flag to pass by.

It is because of all this day stands for that I enjoy all the benefits of a free country, a democratic government and the liberties that we exercise on a daily basis – the game of golf among them.

Throughout the day, I hope everyone in these United States will pause and give thanks – not just for one’s own personal well being, but in memory of those who have given their best to maintain the independence of this wonderful nation. As a country, we may be going through a rough patch, but buck up - play on - swing away – enjoy the freedom of the game.

These are but a few of the privileges we have been granted through the efforts of our servicemen and women:

I appreciate the free, wide open spaces of this gorgeous land – rich with golf courses.

I am grateful for the democratic governing of our states and individual municipalities that allow me an affordable municipal golf membership.

Be thankful for our economic freedoms, entrepreneurial spirit and business opportunities that have allowed the creation of the many fine private golf clubs we might enjoy.

I just can’t resist this one: As set forth and protected by our constitution, you are guaranteed the right to peaceful assembly – so grab your clubs and a foursome, and be grateful for the opportunity to play!

Whether it is just me against the golf course, or me and my playing partner vs. our opponents, I have a hard time not letting the numbers get in my head. Stroke play events terrify me. I have a fear of many things, but posting a 13 on any given hole (yup, I’ve actually been there) is something that lingers in the back of my mind like a horror movie watched late at night and alone.

Match play, on the other hand, offers a golfer a chance to play his or her game, one hole at a time – the way we always should play, in any format. The best golfers already know this, and know that staying strong mentally, even in the face of poor play, is the only way to regain some composure and to pull a bad round out of the crapper.

In match play, even a numbers obsessed golfer has the opportunity to leave the bad shots behind, scattered through the green and gone. Sure, eventually the strokes have to be tallied and the score entered in order to maintain an equitable handicap, but amazing things can happen in a match play event. Tripled a hole? For-getta-bout-it! That triple represents only one hole, and there are seventeen others to win.

Of course, the math crazed golfer can still become fixated on numbers, counting down the remaining holes in a match, watching the sand run through the hour glass, wondering if he or she can keep a lead or make up enough holes before the match ends. Somehow, match play can make you believe in your game. If you choose to let go of desperation, it can take but a single shot to bring back hope to your round. Pull out a win on a hole that you surely thought was lost, and you really can begin to believe, in a warm and wonderful way - as in Santa Claus or the Easter Bunny or the Great Pumpkin - an anything can happen kind of way.

The USGA Handicap System is based upon the potential ability of a player rather than the average of every score. According to the USGA’s Handicap Research Team, the average player is expected to play to or better than his or her Course Handicap only about 25 percent of the time and will actually average three strokes higher than his Course Handicap.

Match play is the great equalizer among golfers. Match play with strokes should be every true handicappers dream. Can’t please ‘em all, though. There will always be golfers who say they can’t possibly win because they’re playing against better golfers with lower handicaps. Low handicappers whine because they have to give too many strokes to the high handicappers.

Fooey on all that, I say, having just given away as much as five and six shots per side in a team match play event – and managing, by some miracle, to come out on top despite the bevy of dots that populated our opponents’ card. It isn’t the dots – it is the dottee. It’s about who comes with what game to each match.

Stop and think that a golfer is destined to play to his or her handicap only twenty five percent of the time. OK, I admit: destined by the USGA and the GHIN system - not exactly God, but pretty close. That means seventy five percent of the time you can stomp around the course and be miserable, or you can choose to enjoy the opportunity to play this most enjoyable, fascinating, frustrating game. We’re far from perfect players. Heck, even the pros have bad days. What’s so amazing about a round of golf is that you never know, if you hang in there, just when you’re going to hit the shot of your life.

On any given day, with fair and honest handicaps in place, anyone - high handicapper or low - can enjoy a round of competitive golf. Isn’t that what it’s all really supposed to add up to?

My friend was on the driving range not long ago, banging away at a bucket of balls. She was hours away from the unveiling of a major project, an undertaking in which she had been heavily involved for a long period of time. She is fabulous at her job, having won many major awards and been honored for numerous career achievements. None of that stops her from being a nervous wreck when showtime rolls around. How good it felt, she said, to swing away and free up her mind from all that was about to unfold.

You really can’t think about much else while you’re on the golf course, or even while just nailing a bucket of balls. With a gazillion things to concern yourself - setup, grip, stance, alignment, tempo, timing and swing plane, among other sundries–who could possible find time to worry about something that doesn’t pertain to one’s golf game?

Just yesterday, I was having a mentally overwhelming day of my own, until I hit the links. For three hours and forty five minutes, my mind cleared of all things unrelated to golf - at least for the most part. My game wasn’t stellar, but the time spent on the course was invaluable. Even the bad shots -maybe especially the bad shots - represented an attempt to move forward, a logical progression, a willful act.

Golf will never bore me. In it, I find a challenge, a good fight, a worthy opponent. Even at my worst, perhaps absolutely and totally stymied and in a most dire position, I am forced to consider the facts, to decide and to take action. The game is mentally absorbing – to soak up the game is to expunge all else.

Golf is fair. Unlike life, the kicks you get are usually deserved. Just like life, cranking about a bad one won’t help. Swearing a little might take the edge off, but you have no one to blame but yourself, so buck up and move on. A great golfer I know over simplifies it a bit, as it’s easier said than done, but he insists, “if you make a bad shot, just make sure the next one is a good one.” Take control of your game.

When life has you a little down or confused, head for the golf course. Smack a few balls around. Take a long walk through the green. Spend time with friends. The real world will still be there when you’re through with your round. In the meantime, you just might discover what’s actually important in life.

The two-person scramble my friend and I play each April is hardly a serious format. Still, we plan ahead from year to year and look forward to the day. We enjoy the tournament to such a degree that when I received an invitation to a friend’s wedding for the same date, I had conflicting emotions. Well, not really. I pretty much knew from the time I ripped open the envelope that golf would win out.

An emergency call to the groom was in order. “That’s a tournament date. What are you thinking? You can’t be serious?” I berated him. After all, does it really matter if you get married on a Tuesday, a Thursday or a Sunday? In the grand scheme of a successful marriage, surely it doesn’t matter where or when the ceremony takes place. Apparently, my friend’s wedding date was sited around family commitments. It’s one of those picayune details some people insist on, having family in attendance at a wedding. Any argument I made towards changing the date fell flat.

I’ve been to plenty of weddings - a good many of them were my own. The Spring Scramble comes just once a year. Tournament dates are set well in advance. I already had a commitment. What’s a girl to do?

The situation got a little trickier when I found out my husband was to be the best man at the wedding. Wouldn’t it be nice if I was in attendance, not just to share in the joy of the happy couple but to see my husband – just once – all dressed up instead of in a golf jersey and wind shirt? I might enjoy hearing him offer the toast to the bride and groom, well thought out and consisting of mature and respectful thoughts, instead of clinking a glass at the bar and muttering curse words about his golf game. As a side note, the bride didn’t trust him in the curse word department; she prepared a list of words that he must not include in the toast.

On the other side of the coin, would it actually change anything if I didn’t hear their vows exchanged? Would my friends be any less married if, while they were pledging their love to each other, I was wedging one up close to the pin on the fourth hole for birdie? If, while they were reciting their love and good fortune to have found each other, I was otherwise engaged with my own partner reading the line of a double breaking putt, how would that change their world?

It turned out to be a picture perfect day for a wedding. Darn good golf weather, too. I was only three hours late to the wedding – time enough to catch the bride and groom and offer my best wishes. I hope they laugh together, trust each other, and work as well together in life as my partner and I do on the golf course. If their union is half as successful as my alliance with my golf buddy, they’ve got a heck of a future ahead of them.