NAGS HEAD, NORTH CAROLINA | Shortly before my wife, Cynthia, and I exchanged wedding vows in the fall of 2006, we made an oath of nearly equal import. She agreed that she would never ask me to go antiquing, something she often did in her work as a gilder and a restorer of vintage furniture and décor. And I promised I would not ask her to play golf with me or even walk a course when I was doing so.
It seemed a sensible way to ensure a long-lasting marriage, and we were reassured of that belief by the reaction of our minister in a prenuptial meeting when we told him of the covenant. An avid golfer and the husband of a woman who was not, he smiled widely and nodded.
What followed was as enjoyable a time as we had ever spent together, walking and talking and taking in the views of the Irish Sea as the wind blew our hair across our faces.
But even the strongest pacts erode over time, and I was somewhat surprised during a trip to Ireland in the spring of 2022 when Cynthia asked if she could join me for one of my rounds. It was her first trip to the Eire, and she was so enthralled with the scenery that she loved the idea of ambling across the seaside links I was about to play.
What followed was as enjoyable a time as we had ever spent together, walking and talking and taking in the views of the Irish Sea as the wind blew our hair across our faces. We stopped only when it was time for me to hit a shot and then moved on.
That experience went so well that Cynthia accompanied me on every other round I played on that trip, even pulling my trolley on occasion. Later, she talked about how much she liked being on a golf course and spending that time together in the great out-of-doors.
Fast forward to our trip last fall to the Outer Banks. Once again, Cynthia joined me for my rounds. Different as the visuals on the North Carolina coast may have been, the natural beauty was just as strong, especially when we often found ourselves on the water.
To be sure, Cynthia had no interest in taking up the game. But she was still keen to walk a golf course with me. And I was only too happy to have her along. In fact, I relished the companionship.
But as Henry Wadsworth Longfellow once warned, into each life some rain must fall. And I felt the first drops when I walked into the 19th Hole at the Nags Head Golf Links after a morning round and contemplated how I might quench my thirst.
“You should try a Double Disco Transfusion,” said Lea the bartender, and I was about to do just that. But Cynthia opined that it might be a bit early for something that contained two shots of Tito’s.
That turndown notwithstanding, I still felt pretty good about things as we headed onto Highway 12 a few minutes later. But suddenly, Cynthia pointed to a ramshackle building on the side of the road and exclaimed, “Look, an antique store.”
I had no choice but to stop.
John Steinbreder
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