tee time, and I went in search of a tennis partner. W’s, where I was happy to find real oatmeal, not the instant stuff, on the menu. But I watched one silver-haired gent pull it off with aplomb - while waving an imaginary sword, no less. It can’t be easy belting out “I am I, Don Quixote,” to the sound of children’s cannonballs.
No doubt our presence made the setting less magical for the amateur crooners. We won’t soon forget the experience of splashing to show tunes and lounge ballads. W’s karaoke bar overlooked the pool, so we had a serenade for our after-dinner swim. The buffet included an attractive but ultimately bland array of salad, smoked mackerel, sea bass, salmon, pollock, au gratin potatoes, watery clam linguine, green beans and institutional chocolate cake. Thin, crispy rounds of garlic toast went perfectly with the hearty chowder, loaded with meaty clams. Keith and I started with bowls of chowder from the buffet. Adam ordered steak, and Ethan chose macaroni and cheese from the children’s menu. We unpacked in our motel-style room, which was a little faded and dated but had a great golf-course view from its balcony.Īdjacent to the hotel was Mr. When can we play golf?Īt check-in I expected a time-share pitch but was spared. “People always joked about Lawrence Welk’s being hokey, but he always said he was laughing too - all the way to the bank,” I explained to the boys.
#LAWRENCE WELK GOLF COURSE TV#
The slow escape from home on Orange County’s freeways one Friday gave us plenty of time to brief the boys on Welk history, the late bandleader’s waltzy-schmaltzy music, his long-running TV show and that whole “wunnerful” thing. Mediocre food, careless housekeeping and our second-class status, behind the resort’s time-share clientele, took some of the sparkle out of our champagne weekend. The rest of the resort’s offerings weren’t quite as impressive. Golf was the highlight of our visit last month to the resort, just off Interstate 15 in the foothills of north San Diego County. “It was like they designed a real course except that they took their shrink gun and zapped it,” said Adam, 13. The kids deemed the course “cool,” or as another generation might have said, “wunnerful.” Never mind that the Oaks course north of Escondido was at the Welk Resort, a proud haven of anti-hipness that celebrates the memory and “champagne music” of accordion-playing band leader Lawrence Welk. Specifically, they rehashed the round just played, the great shots, the bloopers and one dear family member’s habitual slice that sent a ball bouncing onto a nearby road and into the path of a California Highway Patrol car.Įrrant swings notwithstanding, the course was ideal for casual golfers like my husband, Keith, and beginners like my two sons, Adam and Ethan. Like old duffers stretching out after 18 holes, my boys sipped soft drinks and did that thing golfers love almost as much as the game itself: They talked about golf.
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