It was Labor Day and I had unsuccessfully tried to cut my finger off; I was happy I failed.
It was Labor Day and I had unsuccessfully tried to cut my finger off; I was happy I failed. My buddies called from the golf course and asked if I would like to meet them at the 10th hole. Knowing my bandaged finger would not hurt my already pitiful golf game, I agreed.
The only thing I could figure was that they were probably playing very badly and needed someone who would make them look and feel better about their game.
I have a way of doing that for others on the golf course; I do not mind. I find satisfaction in hitting golf balls into the woods if they are “straight and sound nice.”
Heading out immediately, I beat them to the 10th hole and had plenty of time to sit in the shade and ponder life, love and almost losing the middle finger of my right hand. Okay, it really wasn’t that bad, but it bled a lot and took four off-brand band aids to cover up.
As I sat in the shade of a tree near the place to tee off for the 10th hole, I studied a rack of those bottles you use to fill your divots. The bottles have sand and grass seeds in them and are usually on the golf cart so you can thoughtfully repair the damage you cause on the course. Perhaps the 10th hole is a good place to swap these out if you were digging a lot of holes on the first nine holes.
Not taking golf seriously at all, I started thinking about some of the divots I have either dug into others or had dug out of me. “Divot” is a word that generally applies to the holes or marks dug out by golf clubs or horse hooves (and the part that is dug out), but I think “life divots” could be pretty applicable to everyone.
A divot in golf is not a bad thing I have learned; in other words, there are good divots and bad divots and a good golfer learns to “read their divots.” I do not bother to get a dollar bill out and measure or attempt to “read” my divots on the golf course. If I keep the ball on the course and enjoy the scenery, it is a good day for me.
In pondering these life divots, I started thinking about what could be “poured” on them to speed the healing process of the hole in the ground or in you or me. Apologies sometimes make more divots, but they are something that I thought should be considered. Time is usually a good divot healer, but then I started thinking about the “good divots” and not wanting to repair them.
Honestly, I didn’t get very far with this line of thought. Like many of my tee shots, my shade tree psychology ended up in the woods – straight and true and sounding really nice, but in the woods.
The best comparison I could come up with was a stain on a clean shirt. You know the shirt is “clean,” but the stain is still there. Stains, like divots shouldn’t bother us. They may bother some folks, but they are the owner of the shirt’s to deal with.
Then I started thinking about the stains I caused and decided I better just quit thinking.
We ramble on, living with the joy and sorrow that we have experienced and caused.
When my buddies showed up, I did not tell them what I was thinking about sitting in the shade. I gave them their money’s worth, hitting two balls far into the woods.
I would like to note that the two drives were perfectly straight into the woods and they both sounded sweet when I hit them. Parring only one hole on this afternoon, I felt really good about my golf game.
I wore a clean white shirt with a noticeable stain on it the next day to work.
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