My favorite newly discovered word is “foozle”, used mostly now by golfers to indicate a bungled or really bad shot. But foozle might also be nicely used to describe a life seemingly moving from one foozled step to the next but continuing toward some goal–playing a round of golf with a lower score than last time, or moving toward happy times. Sometimes, I think that is what I am doing, and I think that is OK, since I am stumbling toward the better rather than the worse, in golf and in life.
Speaking of golf, though, those who have played the game know that it only takes one good shot to bring you back for another round. For example, I am playing now in a ladies golf league that plays different local courses each month. Now, playing a known course is difficult enough for me, and playing a new course makes it that much harder. We are required to keep scores and count every stroke (even when we miss the ball entirely!) and every possible penalty, and they have allowed me in on probation (my handicap is actually above the limit and getting worse). When I played before this whole handicap thing, I simply counted the times I actually hit the ball and who knew about penalties? So anyway, a couple of weeks ago, we played a course that I had last played about 15 years ago and remembered as a nice flat walk. So it turns out that I may have Alzheimer’s, because that course was definitely not flat, and as it was a shotgun start (everyone started at the same time, at different holes), things got worse because my starting hole was the worst of the uphills and long besides, so I had to walk that mountain twice. Anyway. On the next to last hole, I spent 6 strokes trying to get my poor little golf ball out of a very deep hole, so that my score on the hole was a 12 (par was 4)–very, very bad foozling there. But, the last hole was a sweet little three par over water (mentally speaking, there was no water anywhere, because if there is water, I will hit into it every time). And, guess what? Rather than a foozle, I aced the drive and walked way with an actual par. Rare, in my golf history. So, naturally, I will be back to try again. Although it turns out that my physical therapist has decided that I ought not to play golf again until my back will support my head (must have been that second walk up that mountain).
Which leads me back foozling through life. As in golf, there are moments (recall my last Haiku) that are ugly (think that second to last hole), bad (most of my golf game) and good (think glorious) in life. Foozle right through those first two and wowzer for the last. Makes for interesting times. Love it.