“In Life, have a friend that is like a mirror and a shadow; a mirror never lies and a shadow never leaves.”  What nice words to live by, right? Who wouldn’t want a friend like that? Perhaps the litmus test is caddying for that mirror/shadow friend during her qualifying round of golf for the U.S. Women’s Senior Amateurs.

” Hey!  I’ve just signed up to qualify for the Women’s Seniors again.  Wanna caddie for me?” Heidi asked at the beginning of one of our many telephone conversations.

” Uuuuuuuuummmmmmmmm . . . when is it?” I asked, not ready to commit with an immediate yes.

There are lots of things to consider before taking on a responsibility of that magnitude.  Firstly, I wanted to know WHERE the round would be played.  How far would I have to drive?  Would I need to spend the night somewhere? And because of Rusty, I had to make sure he wouldn’t be left alone too long in the house all by himself.  As the primary caregiver for the family pet, I have to attend to his needs before making any plans for myself.  If the venue was close enough to my house NOT to require an overnight stay, I next needed to know Heidi’s tee time so I could gauge the number of hours I’d be gone from home and the dog.  Traffic in Southern California is highly unpredictable and notoriously congested.  My uncanny ability to get lost as soon as I leave my driveway requires at least an extra forty-five minutes of travel time . . . just in case.  Thirdly, and most importantly, I know that caddying can be physically stressful but caddying for a friend could be catastrophic for the relationship.   I knew I could deal with the physical demands of pushing a golf trolley across the fairways for eighteen holes, but the filter between the thoughts that race through my head and the sentences that escape from my lips is dangerously thin.   Since “mirrors never lie” and “shadows never leave” are the ingredients upon which I base my friendships, I needed to decide if I were a mirror, a shadow or both.

“Well . . . .,” pressed Heidi, waiting for a response.  “C’mon!  You’ve done it before . . . we do well together!  It’s at Rancho Santa Fe.  Come down the day before, we’ll play nine holes in the afternoon, spend the night, then arrive early for my 8:10 a.m. tee time a.m. the next day.”

Ugh . . . Rusty.  I’ve got to get HIM all set.  Should I head down to Pauma Valley, spend the night down there, NOT play nine holes, get up REAL early and just meet Heidi for her qualifying round?  Since she plays early in the morning, we’d be done around noon and I could head back to Pauma and Rusty. 

“Let me see what I can do,” I said, still not giving a definite yes.

“GREAT!  I’ll make us a time for nine holes for Wednesday and Sioux already invited us to spend the night at her house,” Heidi said, obviously not having read my thoughts.  “Since my time is one of the earliest ones on Thursday, we’ll go down to La Jolla while we wait for the others to finish.”

“I think I’ll just leave after you’re done,” I said, thinking that I’d head out and get a jump on traffic.

“WHAT?!  You’re not going to leave me, not knowing if I’m going to be in a playoff, are you?” she exclaimed, panic evident in her rising tone.

“Good grief,” I said, “You’re NOT gonna be in a playoff! You’re gonna be well under the bubble!”

If friends are like mirrors and shadows, why can’t they also be clairvoyant?  Doesn’t she know that I have dog issues?  

All arrangements for Rusty’s care came together, freeing me up for the overnight at Rancho Santa Fe.

“O.K.  Change of plans,” I texted, “Will stay all the way through the final results and stay a second night! Can’t see myself leaving you before everyone’s scores are in and posted.”

My official pre-round caddie duties began on Wednesday afternoon.  While on each green, Sioux and I searched for markings that indicated the pin placements for the following day. Once identified, Heidi practiced putting to that spot from various distances and locations.  Sioux, the resident expert on “local knowledge,” advised Heidi as to which ways the greens ran, possible tricky spots and definite areas and situations to avoid.  The modified tutorial continued through dinner at the Club with the remainder of the evening planned to enjoy a glass or two of wine on Sioux’s back patio.

“O.K., Sioux, we’ll see you back at the ranch!” I said as I opened the car door and stepping inside the passenger side.

“No!  Sioux came with us in MY car!” Heidi reminded me.  “You rode in the back seat, remember?”

“Oh my gosh!” I said, slightly embarrassed. “I’m so sorry, Sioux!  I totally forgot!”

“Don’t worry about it!” replied Sioux, “I was just standing here thinking, ‘Now where did I park my car?’  I forgot I came with you too!”

The morning greeted us after a very fitful night of sleep.  I lay awake, thinking about an infinite number of faux pas I might commit during Heidi’s golf the next day.  Caddies must be silent, invisible and nonparticipating pieces of their golfers’ equipment.  Just another club in the bag, so to speak.  They must not contribute to the players’ conversations; they must not compliment good shots and they must NEVER, EVER, EVER gasp or make any utterances whatsoever at a missed putt, a chunked shot or any other unfortunate happening during that round.  I know that first hand from committing those very sins during my previous caddying experiences.  I laid in bed lecturing myself on “caddie etiquette,” and I was worried.  Like I said, the filter between what goes on inside my head and what escapes through my lips is seriously weak.  I had to be extremely cognizant of my primary role as Heidi’s caddie:  KEEP HER CALM; KEEP HER FOCUSED; KEEP HER CONFIDENT.  She was the only one with whom I could speak, and even at that, WHAT I spoke had to be ‘just what she needed to hear’ at that time.

We arrived a full hour and a half before Heidi’s 8:10 a.m. start time, and it’s a good thing we did.  The trolley that we’d used for previous qualifying rounds was unstable!  It could not be left unattended nor unsupported on the handle’s side lest it tip over!

“Did you get a lighter golf bag?” I asked.  “Maybe those new Sun Mountain bags are so light that there’s not enough weight on that end to keep the cart from tipping!”

“No,” answered Heidi. “And besides . . . even IF the bag were light, I’ve got so much stuff crammed into the pockets that would compensate for that! Here . . . want a banana, or half of yesterday’s sandwich?”

Oh well.  Whatever it was, I was going to have to be very, very careful not to stand too far away from it.  But . . . what about when I had to pull the flag stick or rake a bunker?  Was I going to have to prop the cart against a tree?  And what if there were no tree around?  I could foresee a horrific nightmare ahead.

As Heidi warmed up on the driving range, trolley leaned up against the club stand, I sat watching the other contestants do the same.  Boy, some of those women can hit the ball F-A-R!  It didn’t take long for me to notice that Heidi’s swing was the prettiest, smoothest and by far, the most fluid one of the bunch.  The two women at the stations on either side of Heidi betrayed their nervousness through their warm-up strokes.  The lady on the left was a definite “shank-o-pottomus” while the one on the right kept chilly-dipping.

“Well . . . there’s two right off the bat that we don’t have to worry about!” my thoughts temporarily distracted from the tippy golf trolley. 

I was positive that Heidi would be among the fifteen contestants earning a spot in the U.S. Women’s Senior Amateur Tournament.  I was NOT so positive that the trolley would make it to even the first tee.

“Let’s go see if we can find a cart boy,” suggested Heidi, “maybe he can figure out what’s wrong with the cart!”

“Good idea!  Let’s go!” I said.

Forgetting that Sioux rode in the car with us was the first dumb thing I did.  Setting up the golf trolley was the second.  The reason it was unstable and kept tipping over was because we hadn’t pulled the front wheel out from it’s contracted stowing position, and it didn’t take a cart boy to figure it out!  The young female employee from the pro shop knew immediately how to fix the problem!

“Just pull the wheel, like so,” she said, “and . . . there!  It stands all by itself! See?”

“Well butter my butt and call it a biscuit,” I thought.  

The elite golfers chatted among themselves while I organized the trolley and headed toward the first tee. They all know each other from years of similar competitions.

“Hi Heidi!  Good luck today!  Play like you did last week when you kicked my butt!” said one of them.

“Hey Heidi!  Nice to see you!  Play well!” said another and another and another.

The LED clock on the first tee displayed 8:10 a.m. on the screen, officially marking our starting time.  The U.S.G.A. official introduced each of the three players for the 8:10 a.m. time and dictated the order of play and went over a couple of the local rules, especially emphasizing the new pace of play rule.

“Announcing Heidi Person from Pauma Valley, California,” declared the official, and the round began.

Text messages buzzed into my phone.

“Keep us posted!”

“I want a hole-by-hole report!”

“Good luck to Heidi!  Let us know what happens!”

“Is she nervous?  Is she o.k.?”

Heidi noticed the phone in my hand and immediately ordered me to put it away! “NO TEXTING!” she hissed, sounding very much like Sister Mary John of the Cross barking out orders to my sixth grade class.  I tucked my phone into my back pocket, very much aware of the constant vibration signaling more incoming texts but also very much afraid to do anything about them!

All three drives hit the fairway with Heidi’s ball laying at least fifty yards ahead of the other two.  It should have been clear to me from the get-go that Heidi’s game was far superior to those of the other two in the group, but I attributed their errant shots to early round jitters.  I stopped feeling sorry for them by the third hole, however.  One qualifier in particular probably should have picked up her ball and withdrawn from the competition altogether after her drive on Hole #3.  She was hitting her fourth shot before Heidi hit her second one!

“What do I do here?” she asked, obviously not liking her lie and definitely not knowing basic Rules of Golf. “Is this area ‘ground under repair?’ Do I get a drop?  What do I doooooooo?” she whined.

“Shut up, stop whining and HIT YOUR  #@! BALL!” I thought to myself.  

The U.S.G.A official that had been following us for the first two holes had disappeared.  The Whiner’s caddie-husband tried to flag her down, but to no avail.  After several minutes of indecision, The Whiner finally played a second ball and continued down the fairway with two balls in play.  Due to the delay and an extra ball on the fairway through that hole, our group fell seriously behind the lead group.

“When you get a second,” said Heidi to me quietly, “read the new pace-of-play rule.  I’m screwed!”

Pace of Play:  All players in a threesome completing their qualifying round beyond the allotted time behind the lead group will be assessed a 2-stroke penalty.  

It didn’t matter WHO caused the delay in play!  ALL players in that threesome would be penalized!  The Whiner would be responsible for Heidi’s 2-stroke penalty!

It took ALL the strength I could muster to keep the thoughts inside my head from blasting through my lips!  I started running down the next fairway, pushing the now-stable cart in front of me.

“Stop running!” ordered Heidi.  “It’s not up to US to speed up the group; it’s up to the SLOW PLAYER to get HER act together!”

My need for speed was ill-spent anyway.  The Whiner hit her tee shot out of bounds!

And that’s pretty much how the entire round continued.  I was constantly aware of pace of play until an official appeared confirming that we had caught up.

Four hours later, Heidi signed and verified her scorecard with the tournament officials and the wait for everyone else to finish began.

“Do you want something to drink,” asked Heidi.

“A Diet Coke would be great,” I said, plopping down in the nearest chair, my feet throbbing.

She returned with a Diet Coke for me and a Bloody Mary for her.  Two U.S.G.A. officials joined us at our table and assured Heidi that with her score, she’d be one of the fifteen to qualify.

“See?!” I asked with as much sarcasm as I could, “. . . and to think you were worried!”

More texts buzzed through my shorts.

“Well?  How’d it go?”

“What did she shoot?”

“How many cigarettes did she smoke?”

My fingers typed responses as Heidi’s feet took her pacing back and forth to and from the scoreboard.

“I’m on the bubble!” she announced, “There’s going to be a playoff!”

“Would you just reLAX?” I said, “You are NOT going to be in a playoff!  Just stop being so weird and insecure, would you? You’re driving me nuts! I KNOW you’re not going to be in a playoff because #1, you’re just not and #2, my feet are so tired I couldn’t go one more hole with you!” <mirrors never lie!>

As more and more scores were turned in and posted, the bubble grew to include Heidi in a playoff!  <and shadows never leave!>

The looks on our faces and the glances between us confirmed our testament to friendship: Friends are mirrors that never lie and shadows that never leave.  Heidi reported to the putting green to warm up again.  I retied my shoes, re-wet my towel, texted everybody that there was a playoff, and got ready to make sure Heidi was the one to get the envelope with all the material for Boston.

“Do you know what time it is?” Heidi asked as we approached the first tee for the second time that day.

“Cocktail time!” I said resolutely, imagining the fresh lime taste of a cold vodka/tonic.

“Nope. Time for another one of these!” she said as she lit up her hundredth cigarette.

There is always something to be said for getting a second wind, but Heidi got a second hurricane!  She drove her tee shot so far it almost met the dawn of the next day, and her approach shot to the green?  RiDICulous!!!  Her ball laid about 140 yards from the green, in thick Bermuda rough behind a tree as tall as a skyscraper.  Her line to the pin required a shot up and over the skyscraper.  Cue the Konica-Minolta camera!  Heidi assessed her lie, touched several clubs in the bag, reassessed her lie, looked at me (with me only returning a panicked “deer in the headlights” response), selected a club and swung it.  The ball flew in high trajectory, OVER the tree, OVER the bunker and onto the green no further than eight feet from the hole!

A gallery of finishers had gathered to watch the playoff.  Everyone clapped, hooted and hollered.

“Way to go, Heidi!”

“GREAT hit, Heidi!”

. . . and another voice,

“Good caddying, Caddie!”

“Thanks!  It was all because of the club I selected for her!” I teased.

As we approached the green and I handed Heidi the putter, I also wanted to park the trolley close to the next tee in the event we were going to play another hole.

“Here’s your putter.  We’re going to play #1 again, right?” I asked.

“NO!  We’re NOT going to play any more holes!  I’m taking care of business NOW!”

And she did.

Mirrors Never Lie.

And Caddies Never Leave.