The prompt
refers to the golf term. Mulligan: a shot not counted against a score,
permitted in unofficial play to a player whose previous shot was poor. This
week, photographers are invited to redo a photo of their choice.
I never knew that mulligan was a golf term. Heavens knows I
had several mulligans years ago when I hacked away at the fairway and in the
rough with my clubs. Blessedly – for me and for those I played with and who
played behind me – I only bumbled at golf for a very short time.
Mulligan first reminded me of the beloved children’s classic
by Virginia Lee Burton: Mike Mulligan and
his Steam Shovel. My children loved this tale of perseverance ending in a
creative solution to stuck-ness and obsolescence.
And then I thought of Mulligan Stew and looked up its
origin. I never knew that it was a dish said to have been prepared by American
hobos in the early 1900’s by combining whatever food they had or could collect.
That reminded me of another beloved children’s classic: Stone Soup in which an impoverished lady begins a soup with a stone
and entices the villagers to add all kinds of vegetables and meats. The
resulting hearty soup feeds the whole village – and the poor lady.
Back to Mulligan as a redo. What would I like to redo? I’m
flummoxed with this one. I don’t think I’d want to redo much in my life. Sure,
I’ve made mistakes but most all of them have been grist for the mill of my
individuation. I mostly subscribe to the adage, corny though it may be: it was meant to be.
Maybe I would redo all the time I spent out in the sun as a
kid on the Sydney beaches – my wrinkles are the payment for that indulgence.
But in the fifties, who knew about sun damage, and I relished my beach time.
For now, maybe I’ll just redo Mike Mulligan and His Steam Shovel and read it to the next
generation: my granddaughter.
"I don’t think I’d want to redo much in my life." Surely there is much. Inside our selves we complain about the past, opportunities missed in childhood, relationships taken for granted, and time wasted. I wish that each time Anyu lit that ferocious gas stove in Milner Crescent, I had said, "thank you"; that I'd tried out for drama in high school; that I'd learned to compliment at a much younger age. Big stuff we can't readily change, but every day there is small stuff that merits a Mulligan.
ReplyDeleteThanks for your comment, Tom, and from several perspectives, I agree with you. There is a fine line, through. I've thought about redos many, many times, but then I see how the events, omissions and co-missions in my life have served me. They have pointed out where my learnings and growth paths were, and for these insights, tough though some of them may have been, I am grateful.
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