Mistakes-Retake-Delete-Discovery: Gifts in Unexpected Places
So, about my blog posting for today: I wrote it, pictures and all, then by mistake, I deleted it.
Or the Dog might have eaten it. I found this dog in Google. Maybe it spotted my blog post and ate it...could be why it looks like this?
But the idea for my blog post was still fresh and exciting, so I rewrote it, pushed save. Then decided to be clever and add another photo, but instead of clicking "save" I must have clicked "delete" somehow--although I can't think how I would have???? Anyway, it was gone again.
But this time, instead of trying to redo it, I tried to find it. One way the online advice said to recover a lost blog post is do do a Google Search. So I did. Following instructions, I typed in my name and what I could recall of the blog title: "Cinderella" something????
And made an amazing DISCOVERY:
The Google Search pulled up another Kelly Bennett's Blog--this one is a photographer. Curious: I began clicking through. And this Kelly Bennett, with her photos and her encouraging, inspiring words to a cheerleader girl in those photos, and a bandana pirate baby, and upbeat post about jello delighted me.
In hopes it will delight you, too. Because that's how these Gifts from Unexpected Places come, I've attached the link below:
Hope it inspires/feeds you what you need today. And, I hope you'll come back and view my blog again, soon. Who knows, by that time I may have found that missing slipper-er blog post. Or something better!
Here's the link if the hyperlink is on the blink: http://www.kellybennettphotography.com/blog/?cat=15
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Finding MY Way Back
Two things happened last week that smacked me down and left me wallowing in a murky pit of miserable. . .
Trinidad Mud Volcano kind of murky
- Flew back to Trinidad after a California Easter and a stop-over in New York with my family.
- Opened a letter from Candlewick Press saying my heart-project DAD AND POP was going out of print.
Then, email brought news of a third, tragic event that dwarfed any issues I might have: A friend’s husband died suddenly—no warning at all. One day he was here, all be it, feeling peckish; the next gone.
Knowledge of my friend’s loss made me recount my largess But, instead of snapping me out of it in that what-the-heck-are-you-moping-about-for-be-grateful-and-get-on-with-it way, the realization of how tenuous it was, how in an instant—any instant—I could lose all I hold dear, sank me.
A TED TALK saved me.
Completely unmotivated to even try to “Get over it, and get on with it,” as my friend Beverly always says, by doing something productive (say unpacking, cooking, or going for a walk), I’d pulled on my fuddiest wallowing clothes, plopped down in front of the computer, and gone Facebook surfing—which depressed me even more as every post seemed entirely too jolly, successful, oozing with cheer—so had moved onto email. As I subscribe to TED TALKS, new lecture notices are delivered to my email. I don’t always listen to each talk, but I think about it. Having reached the end of the new mail, I had a choice to make: sift through junk mail & spam or listen.
I've heard other TED TALKS by Elizabeth Gilbert and found them engaging
The TED TALK was by Elizabeth Gilbert, author of Eat, Pray, Love and recently The Signature of All Things. (As it happens, I’d recently finished the latter, which was pleasantly, surprisingly, nothing like the former—probably the reason I clicked “play” rather than “delete”.)
Gilbert’s talk was titled "Success, Failure, and the Drive to Keep Creating."
In the midst of her talk, Gilbert threw out the fully inflated life preserver I needed.
She described how extreme success and extreme failure feel the same to our sub-conscious. Although polar opposites, in terms of the havoc they wreck on us physiologically—both elicit extreme emotional responses—success and failure feel the same to our sub-conscious. They both have the ability to unbalance us, much the way one lemon too many on either side tips the scales.
Via my interpretation of Gilbert (Listen yourself for more) When we are dangling helplessly, from one end or the other of our balance poles there are two choices:
#1 Quit and just hang there until we fall
or
#2 Head down, eyes open, set a course for HOME and start walking/working our way back.
Simple really, right?
Sure. If you’ve got the ruby slippers, know how to use them, and where you want them to take you. . .
But, before we can fight our way back HOME, we must discover/uncover/recognize:
What is HOME?
For Dorothy, it took a tornado; for me a TED TALK.
“Your home is whatever in this world you love more than you love yourself.”
That’s why I was so miserable. My Home, that to which I as Gilbert defines it “Can dedicate [my] energies with such singular devotion that the ultimate results become inconsequential" is comprised of two things: my family and my work. In the past week, I’ve registered both success and failure. And my friend’s loss was a threat reminder of how easy it is to lose one’s HOME.
All I wanna do is find my way back. . . Way Back into Love from Music & Lyrics
One wrong wind is all it take. . .
For me finding my way back HOME, meant scheduling time with my family. And, even though I didn't have the energy for it--getting back to writing.
Dang in Elizabeth-baby wasn’t right! It didn’t take long before I began feeling more centered. I knew it for sure when, part way into this blog, a song popped into my head. I'm not in tune--yet--but at least I’m singing again.
Where’s your HOME? Could you find your way back?
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LESSONS from YOGA BABY ...CAN WE can CAN'T ?
Yoga Baby doesn't even have teeth yet.
No Teefers inside that happy grin. No swollen gums. No white ridges. Just buckets of drool
Danger Will Robinson! Ben's mobile . . .
Yoga Baby's father didn't try pulling himself up to standing until he was 11 months. It wasn't a matter of "can" or "can't" . . . He didn't even want to try.
He just recently--at 7 months-- learned to crawl.
Now, not 3 weeks later YOGA BABY pulled himself up to standing all by himself.
Look Ma!
At 8 months, Yoga Baby's Aunt Lexi could stand, holding on. But she needed help to get up there.
Then, why Yoga Baby? HOW?
One day last week, when no one was watching, so no one was there to tell him "be careful" "no no Baby" "You might fall, Yoga Baby grabbed hold of the laundry basket and pulled himself up to standing.
The Laundry Basket is there. I'm here. The folks aren't here to tell me "no", so I say 'YES!"
"Come on, Legs! Don't fail me now. Straighten up! Be strong! Give me some lift off!
Tah Dah! The View from Up Here is soooo much nicer!
Now--"No Prob, Bob!"--YOGA BABY pulls himself up all the time.
“But, how did you know you could do it, Yoga Baby?”
That's the thing. It's not about knowing you CAN. . . . It's about not thinking "I CAN'T"
It's about starting from a place of "CAN!" Then asking yourself "HOW?"
But . . . but: Are we born with that niggling voice that tells us "Can't." "No." "Don't Even Try?" "You're Gonna Fail"?
What do you think? Is that "Can't" there, talking to Yoga Baby even while he's pulling himself up? But because he can't talk yet, he doesn't understand what it's saying? Is that why Yoga Baby dares the impossible? Or does "can't" have to be taught?
Is "Can" in our nature and "Can't" from our nurture?
If "Can't" is learned, can it be unlearned?
“Can we fire Can’t? —Can we Can it? ”
We Can!
Start with Can! Then, take a lesson from Yoga Baby, and ask yourself: How?
HOW? STARTS NOW!
Potato Chips, Penicillin, Post-It Notes, W-D 40 . . . 2014?
Potato Chips . . .
Penicillin . . .
Post-it Notes . . .
The Slinky . . .
Goodreads kick-started my 2014 with this quotation from author Neil Gaiman:
“I hope that in this year to come, you make mistakes. Because if you are making mistakes...you're Doing Something.”
That quotation haunt-taunted me through these last days of holiday and first days of this new year.
We celebrated the start of 2014 at a New Year’s brunch at friends, Joy & Michael’s new Kentucky home. Curtis and I were newcomers to the group. Lots of “news” at the launch of this year promising much change and challenge. Finding myself alone with one of the guests, I resisted the urge to withdraw into a dice-and-slice frenzy and instead tried to strike up a conversation by asking her if she’d made a resolution. It’s usual to make resolutions on New Year’s, isn’t it?
Big mistake! She doesn’t make resolutions. Doesn’t believe in them. Think’s they are stupid. A waste of time. Did I want to know why? Because we always break them, of course. Resolutions are made-to-be-BROKEN Blah, blah, blah blah-baaaaa. . .
I was feeling sorry for having tried starting that conversation when she added something that made me think maybe my resolution conversation starter wasn’t a mistake.
Turns out that morning on one of the “Morning Shows” (she watches several) the featured guest was some author who’d written some book about this very topic and he said (or so I deduced):
Along with making resolutions we need to “sweep away crumbs in our way” by resolving to stop doing whatever it is that is taking up the time during which we will do what we resolve to do.
A crumb. A take-away that bonded with Gaiman’s salutation the way 2 Hs bond with an O. Refreshing!
Spray W-D 40 on any surface & wipe. It will clear away even rusty crumbs.
W-D 40 will clean mineral build-up off glass shower doors, too. And kill cockroaches, remove gum from hair, keep squirrels from raiding bird feeders (spray W-D 40 on the top of the feeder and “The pesky squirrels will slide right off.”
But, what do W-D 40, Potato Chips, Penicillin, Post-it Notes or The Slinky have to do with New Years? Resolutions? Or Neil Gaiman’s quote? Why should we even give a crumb?
All of these things along with The Pacemaker, Chocolate Chip Cookies, plastic and who know what other inventions were created by MISTAKE. Failed tries. Miss takes
Take One! Take Two!
"I'm Ready for my Close-up!" Take 40 . . .
In W-D 40’s case, 39 failed tries by chemist Norm Larsen to prevent corrosion by displacing water.
What sets W-D 40 apart from these others is that rather than the end invention being something different or unexpected or accidental, Norm Larsen did what he set out to do: prevent corrosion by displacing water. The name W-D 40 is a testament to his efforts; it stands for “Water-Displacement 40th Attempt.”
Maybe Norm and the folks at W-D 40 Company have mistake envy, because they can’t seem to stop trying to find more uses for their spray. Along the way they’ve made mistakes, and discoveries.
Some bad: W-D 40 is not edible.
Some questionable: Is a python coiled around the undercarriage of your bus?
SPRAY IT WITH W-D 40!
Is a naked burglar trapped in your air conditioning vent? Dislodge him with WD-40.
2000+ dang useful! W-D 40 Company maintains a list of remarkable things this “corrosion prevention” in a can can do.
I went back to see if the squirrel repellant tip included a video (call me “cruel”, but I kinda wanted to watch slip-sliding squirrels) and was sucked into the 2000+ vortex. It took some time but I finally pulled myself free—But not before finding a helpful hint I’m itching to try: Last Christmas Curtis was gifted with blue ice cubes to cool spirits without diluting them. Sometime, someone tried using one. I don’t know who. Or when. All I know of the experiment is that one of my adorable, favorite juice glasses now has a blue glass ice cube lodged inside it.
Glass ice cubes look like this, but they don't melt and this one is lodged in an adorable cherry juice glass--one of a matching set, now relegated to the back of the cupboard
I’ve tried to remove the cube. Yes, I've tried knives. Scotch. Running cold water on it, hoping to chill the cube enough to shrink it so it would slide free. No such luck.
According to a Reader’s Digest article, “Stuck glasses will separate with ease if you squirt some WD-40 on them, wait a few seconds for it to work its way between the glasses, and then gently pull the glasses apart.”
When next I’m in WHB, I could give it a try . . .
Uh oh. . . hang on. That’s how mistakes happen. Breakage. Damage. Possible injury.
Do I really want to try?
Try, doesn’t mean succeed. . .
Try could lead to fail. . . .
Try could turn out to be a MISTAKE. . .
Consider son Max, then college student’s, attempt to concoct a high-test frat bathroom cleaning product. He tried mixing bleach with ammonia. That experiment ended in a trip to the hospital emergency room and destruction of who knows how many brain cells. Max counts it as a “partial success” as his potentially fatal mistake did save him from more bathroom cleaning. . .
Mistakes. Misses. “F-2” “Missed my Battle Ship”
Frustrating, embarrassing, harmful, sometimes lethal “miss takes.”
Safer to stick with the known. If life is good, why rock the boat? Why tempt fate?
“ . . . if you’re making mistakes . . . you’re Doing Something.”
Gaiman went on to add a note to the quote:
"Happy New Year! What kind of mistakes are you looking forward to making in 2014?"
Gaiman’s writing is so varied: CORALINE, THE GRAVEYARD BOOK, CHU'S DAY, THE DANGEROUS ALPHABET, ANANSI WARS. . . It seems he’ll try anything.
Was Coraline a mistake? If it was a mistake, it’s one that went horribly right for readers and reviewers. Reading it certainly was one of mine. It creeped me right out, then held me spellbound until I finished…
Paul Fleischman is another writer who likes to try new literary forms. He's recently adapted SEEDFOLK for the stage.
SEEDFOLKS, a collection of linked short stories--one of my favorites for any age, read aloud to adults!
At an SCBWI conference Fleischman admitted to attendees how his “tries” don’t always work. Mistakes maybe, but never a waste of time. For him, trying new things is what keeps writing interesting.
. . . INTERESTING . . .
In words from one of my fav songwriters, Mary Chapin Carpenter, from I Take My Chances:
Now some people say that you shouldn't tempt fate/And for them I would not disagree/But I never learned nothing from playing it safe/I say fate should not tempt me.
Today, soon after I click “post”, I’ll play that song again, for inspiration. Make that my battle cry of 2014.
Then, I’ll get to work sweeping out some crumbs of my “play-safe days” to make room in this brand new shining year with New! New! New Attitude. (And give a shout to the Patti LaBelle while I'm at it.)
I take my chances, I don't mind working without a net/
I take my chances, I take my chances every chance I get . . .
Take one. Take Two. ACTION!
. . . YES, IT MIGHT BE A MISTAKE . . .
It's a New Year!
"What kind of mistakes are you looking forward to making in 2014?"
(I’ll let you know if the blue glass cube rescue operation works, AND MORE!)
You Procrastinate Your Way, I Procrastinate Mine
**Note: This entry was supposed to be posted Sunday, but I put it off until today. Sorry
Heck yeah, I've got loads to do! Tis the season, isn't it? Gifts to wrap. Suitcases to pack. Messages to return. Cards to send. Oh yeah, and writing . . .
In 2 days I'm leaving Trinidad for the month. First to California for the Big Sur Writing Workshop. Workshop means preparation. Make copies of projects to focus on. Decide which projects those are. Gather my tools. Instead . . .
The Big Sur Workshop is the delicious carrot I'd been dangling just beyond, ever since September, when I quit writing to focus on L&R's wedding. I'll refocus on my writing, then, I'd promised myself. I'll commit to finding a new agent. Polish my stories. Finish revisions on my chapter books.
After the workshop, I'll fly to Reno to visit my mom and brother's family. Reno means cold, not Trinidad tropical. After Reno, I'll fly to Westhampton Beach, more cold. I need to dig out my woolies. Instead . . .
We'll spend the holidays in Westhampton Beach with M&M, L&R and Baby B.
Latest Baby B news: he's flipping front to back and sometimes back to front. And surprise, surprise, like his father before him, loves to be held...all the time!
Holidays means sorting out gifts I've already bought. Wrapping for folks here. Thank you envelopes. Cards. Packing my suitcases. Instead . . .
Reno in Winter means dressing like this
Curtis loves his woolies!
Trinidad means dressing like this:
Me and John ready for the beach!
After packing and hauling this mound of baggage for L&R's wedding, I was not excited about packing all over again . . .
I could have, should have, tackled this To-do List last week--or at least made a stab at it. But last week was Thanksgiving. And cooking a Thanksgiving Feast seemed more pressing. And more in keeping with my 2013 resolution "Live in the Moment" which I haven't been especially good at keeping.
My post Thanksgiving Feast plans has been for us to continue eating our way through the leftovers while I sorted, wrapped, packed today & tomorrow. (No hardship; "leftovers" is our favorite part of Thanksgiving.) Post dinner, Tuesday, I'd sort the fridge, freeze, repackage whatever remained of the feast.
This morning, pouring rain stopped me from keeping my other 2013 resolution "Exercise Regularly," too.
Maybe if I had said "yes" when Curtis asked if I'd like some coffee, I would have stuck to my plan.
Maybe if freibor, Brian, hadn't sent those recipes on ways to use Thanksgiving leftovers, it wouldn't have been on my mind.
But somehow, when I opened the fridge to pour milk into my coffee, the bowls and platters of leftovers called to me.
"Take us out!"
"Don't leave us like this!"
"We want to be used!"
"Mixed!
Blended!
Baked!
Transform us . . . PLEASE!"
And so, leftover mashed potatoes, chopped onion & parsley, butter & fresh grated Parmesan became "Potato Puffs"
Leftover marinated mushrooms, picky-platter pickles & olives and a couple of cans of beans--kidney, garbanzo & pinto--became "Bean Salad".
Leftover turkey, green beans, broth, gravy and the rest of the mashed potatoes became "Turkey Shepherd's Pie"
Leftover cranberry sauce, chopped pecans, and milky whipped cream became batter for "Cranberry Pecan Oat & Buckwheat Muffins", some of which I dropped into mini-muffin tins for now, the rest of which--thanks to a quick Internet surfing and instructions from Heavenly Homemakers.com, I froze for later.
Potatoe Puffs, Turkey Shepherd's Pie, Cranberry Oat Pecan Muffins, Marinated Bean Salad (not shown)
The Tupperware saleslady from The Husband's Secret by Liane Moriarity would be so proud!
And everything else that remained of our Thanksgiving 2013 feast was sorted into tidy plastic containers.
Then, because all the freezing muffin batter postings--I did say Internet Surfing as in ongoing activity and instructions, plural--suggested freezing them as muffin blogs, either in cupcake papers or directly in the tin, and I got to thinking "wouldn't it work to freeze the batter en mass?" I decided an experiment was in order. I spooned half the leftover muffin batter into a greased tin, as directed, and poured the rest into a small contain and froze it that way. My thought is semi-thawed I should work just fine. Procrastination? Ney, I have another work for it: Experimentation.
Oh yeah! And then, because I was so excited to share this brilliant frozen muffin batter idea here, I left the heaps of crusty feast dishes, pans, bowls, mixing and measuring utensils--not soaking--and raced over to my computer to type up this blog entry. I'll wash the dishes later. Right now, I better get started on that to-do list . . .
You procrastinate your way; I'll procrastinate mine. . . .
Burning Man
What Inspires: BURNING MAN
Upon arrival at Reno Airport, last Monday, we were greeted by all manner of folks holding "I NEED A TICKET!" signs.
"Ticket to what?"
Near baggage claim, a row of tables crowded with "interesting" and "artsy" types with yarn woven into their hair and camping gear, busily passed around papers and scribbled on sign up sheets. The buzz was audible, their excitement, catching. What ever sort of camp or convention they were going to, I wanted to go to.
Then I spotted a poster of a metal sculpture mounted on a pyre and knew:
BURNING MAN is an 8 day-long event held in the Nevada desert, about 100 miles north of Reno.
I've never been to Burning Man. The first I heard of it was in a Reno bike shop a few years back when the salesperson suggested I could get the best deal on a used bike the weekend after Labor Day because thousands bring bikes to ride at Burning Man (as no cars are allowed inside) and then dump them rather than pay to have them shipped home.
The rest I had heard of Burning Man was it's a week-long camp out in the desert, with no amenities, lots of drugs, music, art and wild costumes.
The latest I'd seen of Burning Man is an exhibit in the Reno Airport (while waiting to leave Wednesday) of massive, detailed, awe-inspiring sculptures erected in the desert: :
metal ships cast adrift in the sand sea;
pyramids,
twisted semi-trailers squirming skyward.
spaceships,
sea creatures . . .
and of course, the human effigy from whence the gathering takes it's name. Burning Man is torched the last Saturday night of the gathering.
Afterwards, and through today, the 1st Monday in September, Labor Day, participants dismantle the community. . They pack out their trash and tents and disburse.
If you'd like to know more about Burning Man, you'll find oodles of photos, videos, blogs, etc. etc. and so forth . . .
But you might not find THIS. . .
And
THIS, coupled with the thought of 50 to 60,000 people from 22 countries
coming together to celebrate, create and support art
--and others just out to have a grand time--is what inspires me about a week-long camp- out with strangers in the middle of the arid, hot, dry, summer, hot, dry, dusty, hot, dry desert.
THIS:
