Golf can be incredibly boring to watch for some. Even I find it to be monotonous watching the Greater Milwaukee Tool Belts Open in July. But the Masters is special. It is spring. It is the long-awaited melt of our winter icing over. I love all of the majors in golf, but the Masters is a rebirth.
And, for some reason, it is extra special this time around. Sure, the fact that DirecTV has 7 channels of Masters coverage is awesome. And yes, setting up the MacBook Pro on Amen Corner, the iPad on the featured group and having the 60 inch TV able to cycle through every shot is wonderful. I won't even pretend that Phil Mickelson being a shot back after a miraculous second nine doesn't get my blood flowing. But it is so much more than that. The sun is out. In Seattle. We had our 3rd rainiest March in history. The winter has been long and dark. We had snow. We've had rain that would have made Noah nervous. But for the Masters, we have sun.
And I was reborn. Ironic, perhaps given the religious weekend it falls upon. Yesterday was Good Friday. I had to work, so I called it Friday Friday. Tomorrow is Easter Sunday. A day of rebirth. A day you sinners will head to church because the Easter bunny might have left a rotting egg under a pew. At least I assume that's what the Bible says about it. I am unclear. But for me, this weekend is the awakening after months of slumber. I am opening my eyelids. I am stretching and checking for missing body parts. I am scratching myself. I am still scratching myself. I am once again alive.
After spending 8 hours today watching every shot I could possibly see from Augusta, Georgia, I left the cave. Hibernation ended. I walked down to the water. I went through the sculpture park and the oversized colorful pieces of metal, up and over the Amtrak rails. I headed to Puget Sound, and I kept walking. Rainier was out in all of her glory. The pleasure boats and ferries, cargo ships and sail boats all danced on the water under the rays of yellow sun. I kept walking. I went until the trail ended, about a 5 mile trek. It was wonderful. I stopped at the end and snapped some photos. I took off my sunglasses (the story of finding them is one all to itself!) and just took it all in. The snow covering the Olympics. Rainier standing guard over Seattle. All of the other people who, like me, had seen the end to another winter of discontent. And then I walked back home. The perfect walk. A light breeze at my back, sun washing over me. Once again, I am alive. Risen. And while I love the Masters and all it means to me, I remembered something I forgot during the months of drizzle and dark. I love this city. I love when it comes alive. I love when it is reborn.
