My sister has the post.

I’ll never forget sitting at the 14th Green with my dad and Grandma. Walking up and seeing the murderer Cullen Davis’s mansion on the hill, and seeing Priscilla Davis turn heads as she strolled around the course. Hearing a golfer call out during a Pro Am to to Seve Ballesteros, who responded in Spanish — prompting an amateur to declare, in a Texas accent: “Wouldn’t that be something, to be bilingual in six or seven different languages?” Following around Peter Jacobsen, who declared that he was going to win the tournament for his dad, who had just been diagosed with cancer. (He did.) Following Tiger Woods back in the good old days, when he was a hero and not a laughingstock, and seeing him outdrive anyone I’d ever seen hit a ball on the 11th hole by a good 50 yards. Sitting with Grandma and Dad and just soaking it all in.

Every year. Year after year.

Go to my sister’s site for more memories and a special picture of “the tree.” And then buy something through her Amazon search box. (She has one too.)

I wish I could be there this week. Wow. All those memories.