MISTAKES WERE MADE . . .

Back in the day of teaching composition to college freshmen, I was obliged to acquaint the students with certain rules that would keep them from falling a letter grade or two or three below what their ideas merited. One of those rules was "Passive voice should not be used."

I loved that way of expressing it--using the very mistake that students should avoid.

Why not just say, "Avoid passive voice"?

Ah, well, another example of Nobody's Perfect, and Mistakes Will Be Made.

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Another rule--this time from my family's collective wisdom--was "Experience is the best teacher."

That seemed to be a nice corollary to "Mistakes will be made." The obvious connection is that we benefit from the experience (of making a mistake) by learning from the mistake.

However! One of my favorite professors said, "People don't learn from their mistakes." He was serious. But, was he correct in his thinking? Sad to say, my experience of teaching freshman composition showed he was indeed on the right track. Very few students learned from their mistakes by changing their writing habits. They wrote because that was the assignment; they did the least they could do for a passing grade (C-, which was the lowest acceptable grade to pass the course); and they avoided their prior transgressions, often while committing new ones.

I hasten to add that I have, from time to time, learned something from my mistakes. The stumbling block is to remember what the prior mistake was, how it occurred, and what I can do to avoid that particular pitfall this time. (The operative word here is remember.)

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Enough ancient history.

Let's get back to Mistakes, Making Of..

From what I can glean in reading and listening, many people seem to think that life is about damage control. After a mistake is made, the thinking goes like this:

   - What can we do now?
   - How can we cover this up?
   - Who can we blame?
   - How can this be turned to our advantage?

Does anybody ever ask: What can we learn?

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I'm inclined to think there are very few true "mistakes" in life. What looks like a wrong turn in thinking or in the execution of an idea may be a "happy accident."

Consider composers, painters, poets, novelists; scientists; business people; quilters, photographers . . . . (You can come up with your own list; mine would take up the space of two or three of these posts.)

As far back as you can go, there was some practitioner of an art or craft, some scientist or entrepreneur, who is remembered for her/his "new" way of doing things.

The hide-bound traditionalist says, these are mistakes. Pure and simple. Not the way we do things, old chap.

The unconventional thinker says, the new ways of doing things could be called "happy accidents," or even "inspired accidents." Did the new practice come out of making a mistake that could be seen by the mistake-maker as simply another way of looking at a problem? (Radical thought there.)

Perhaps the mistake-maker, so-called, had a moment of insight into the everyday, the ordinary, that made it at once new, extraordinary.

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Dante's Inferno detailed "nine concentric circles of torment," otherwise known as Hell. I suspect one of those levels includes people who like to point out other people's mistakes and who, themselves, are convinced they never make mistakes. Perhaps in the same level we can include all the people who try to cover up what has happened or to blame others for one's own sins. (The question is: Can anyone escape this punishment?)

I'd like to close with another cliche--also learned from my extended family's collective wisdom: "Live and let live." 

Yes, mistakes will be made . . . by me, by you, by people we (erroneously) think are perfect.

Do we need to point them out? Only if they impact the life and liberty of someone who can't speak up about it.

Do we actually need to do anything at all about other people's mistakes? Maybe observe and then try to avoid that particular misstep. Not dwell on what happened to someone else. And if we're the one who got the brunt of the mistake, try to forgive.

If it's my own mistake, try to forgive myself and move on. Learn something from what I did wrong. And seek forgiveness if I've wronged another person.

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Maybe I should've warned you that this was going to be a difficult topic. If my thinking was wrong, please forgive me. (Thank you.)

====================================================

SYNONYMS FOR MISTAKES:

     BLOOPERS - ERRORS - FLUBS - GAFFES - OUTTAKES - GOOFUPS

====================================================

SPRING - DAY 2

March here in the Northeast Corner didn't come in like a lion, nor did it seem especially lamb-like. It just sort of crept in and stayed.

Spring, in similar fashion, didn't make a big whoop-de-doo about her arrival--daytime temps ranged in the 40s, and nighttime temps in the 30s didn't make any difference to the roads. We've had a couple of light rains, but not enough to call it a rainy day. Grass isn't any greener--only that left-over green of winter.

Maybe I'm impatient--after all, this is only Day 2 of the new season. I didn't expect instant warm breezes, flowers popping up in full bloom, grass ready to mow.

Redbud - one of the earliest
to bloom in my corner

But I have seen some lovely encouraging seasonal changes.

Sunday on the way home from church two robins raced across the bows of my SUV and behind them a red-winged blackbird came close enough to wink at me. (Well, a little exaggeration there. It was pretty close, though.)

My resurrection lilies are up. Stems are about five inches high and the bed spreads every year. Should be dozens of flowers this year.

A friend who lives outside of town told me her crocuses are up. But I haven't seen my neighbor's daffodils that always burst into golden glory early in the season. I check on them every day.

Friends in Fort Wayne report their neighbors are cleaning and putting away the snow blowers. Getting out lawn mowing equipment. Hmm. Wonder if they know something the rest of us don't?

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I still love Mark Twain's tongue-in-cheek comment on Spring weather. He's probably right!

Enjoy your segue into Spring!

ANTICIPATION . . .

. . . it's makin' me late,
      and keepin' me waitin'

Carly Simon wrote the song and sang, played, and recorded it in the '70s.

We're always anticipating something. I know, I know, I'm sticking my neck out here and that's a dangerous position to be in, but I do think I can say "we," meaning the vast majority of us, are always anticipating. 

Right now, for those of us who live in the cold, cold northlands, it's Spring we anticipate. I should've counted the number of people who said, "I'm SO over this winter." But it was a goodly number, and even if you didn't say it, you may have thought it. 

So, we anticipate a change in seasons. The warmth and increased sunshine will be most welcome. Then the bushes and trees start to get into the act and we have pollen. Pollen I don't love so much. In fact, not at all. I walk around with a box of tissues under my arm (the big box) and my inhaler is ever by my side.

That's when I anticipate a change in the spring season--get to the later part, I want to say. Let's have some flowers and real leaves and less pollen. How about a little rain to wash the air clean? Then we get rain, sometimes day after day after day of rain, making big puddles at the bottom of my driveway and filling all the shallow spots on the roads.

But I'm getting ahead of myself. Anticipating Spring--yes!

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If it isn't a new/different season, then it could be a new baby, or a wedding, or a new friendship. People are important to us, whether near or far away; they may be what brings a smile to our lips when the incessant rain gets us down. (Sorry, I didn't mean to mention that again.) We anticipate hearing their voices, reading their letters and cards, celebrating their birthdays and other special events (even if we can't attend in person). 

Maybe it's a trip--vacation, cruise, going a place we've never been before. 

I suspect your calendar--like mine--is dotted with names of those celebrating something big--birthday, wedding, graduation, due date for the latest baby. Every time I look at those little boxes of info, I think of that person and that event. Often I think back to a birth--two of my children have birthdays in March, so there's a bunch of thinking-back going on here.
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My church celebrates the season of Lent--a time of reflection on the life of Christ and on our own lives. Lent is a penitential season, when we dedicate ourselves to prayer and make an effort to forgive and ask to be forgiven. It may also include fasting and self-denial, depending on the church. (This is a permanent part of our tradition, but underscored during Lent.) And throughout the season of Lent, we anticipate the joy of Easter at the end of this time.

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There's always something coming along. When I go to bed at night, I anticipate getting up in the morning to a pot of coffee, a gluten-free cookie, and an hour spent writing in my journal. This is a time of communing with myself--reflecting on days past, planning the day I'm in, and looking at what's possibly on the calendar for the next few days.

Anticipation is almost but not quite the direct opposite of living in the moment. So long as I don't always live in the future, instead of steeping myself in this moment's gift, I'm fine. The future, like the past, isn't available. 

If we keep perspective about what's to come--or what we hope is to come--we free ourselves up for enjoyment of this moment in time. 

Carly Simon ends her song this way:

     "These are the good old days...."

Why not?

TAKING A DAY OFF


[Life being what it is, and Winter being its usual self up here in the north country of Indiana, I've come to an impasse--the effort to stay warm, be healthy, and keep up with what Winter demands have taken over all the brain cells that usually come up with something to celebrate, or develop into a mild rant, or give you something to think about, maybe even inspire you.

The only cure I've ever come up with for this situation is to let it be. Let the demands of Winter occupy brain room. For the body, keep warm, eat lots, drink plenty of fluids, rest when needed. When I remember to do so, I remind myself that "this, too, shall pass."]


Thursday's Child is taking a day off--which means a week off--to catch up with herself.

Hope you're either enjoying the winter weather, or taking care of yourself if you've succumbed to cold/flu/the blahs.

Here's an inspirational thought for us in the Season-Before-Spring:

ON TRANSITIONS

[I'm repeating this post because it is once again timely . . . our church is in a state of transition, clergy leaving, new clergy arriving; perhaps our congregation joining with another church with struggles we have as well. The real lesson here is simply this: Life is about change, and change is another word that indicates we're making a transition from one whatever to a different whatever. I've made peace, more or less, with the transitions in my life--those already happened, those to come. It's a never-ending process, which is another way to say, that's the way life is.]

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Transition, noun: the process or a period of changing from one state or condition to another.

Synonyms: change, passage, move, transformation, conversion, metamorphosis, alteration, handover, changeover; segue, shift, switch, jump, leap, progression; progress, development, evolution, flux

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Lately I am thinking about transitions (see above). I even perused two dictionaries, both of which did not entirely agree with the above definitions that I culled from the Internet. (There's a lesson in there somewhere.)

About all I came up with is that a transition is a noun: the process or period during which something goes from one state or condition to another.

Change, on the other hand, is mostly used as a verb: to vary, alter, or otherwise modify, transform, etc. something or someone.

We've come to regard transition as a verb (sorry, I didn't mean this to become an English class)--we talk about transitioning from one state to another. The quotation I used at the beginning of this post shows the proper use--making the transition--of the noun.

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Whew! Now that we've got that settled, let's go on with transition as a noun and what it means in Real Life.

In the past I’ve recognized I was going through a transition only after I passed through it. Does that make sense? I think so.

Now, at an advanced age, I am aware of transition as I make it . . . for example, what I’m doing differently now that I have some limitations. Such as:

Tendinitis – I knit or sew for shorter periods of time, in order to keep my

arm from going into spasms.

     Lower energy levels – My days are planned around the must-dos so that
     I don’t overdo; three events in one day are the absolute limit. Sometimes
     it’s just one, such as a big family holiday dinner with lots of folks around.

     Memory and Follow-through – I don’t do long-term projects. Small ones
     suit me now because I’ll get them finished. My life is strewn with WIPs
     (Works in Progress) that may never get to the finish line: quilts cut out
     but not sewn, half-knitted items, manuscripts of  the beginnings of stories;
     not to mention boxes of stored items in the garage that may (but probably
     don’t) contain items of value, but should be sorted.

Some days I’m not happy with myself. My Today List is longer than the hours it takes to accomplish them, now that I’m a tortoise and not a hare. (Did I used to get all that stuff done in one day?) I go to bed vaguely dissatisfied with unfinished projects, items on my list that didn’t get checked off.

Then I remember all the things that I did do—perhaps small things that never made it to The List: an email to a friend I don’t see very often; a phone call from one of the kids; bills paid so I don’t get penalties; bird feeders filled and suet put out. If I can recall these things, then I realize I’m not totally inert. I may not move as fast as I used to (Tortoise Syndrome), but I do move. And I remember that there’s always another day (probably) in which to do some more.

I suspect the real point of transitions has to do with perspective--how does a person react to the change from one state or condition to another? Here's a glimpse at my perspectives:

I'm not crazy about having tendinitis, which can be treated, but after a while its effects are definitely limiting to some of my activities. Should I give up knitting? Quit sitting at a sewing machine to make quilts for charitable giving?
     No, but I don't have to give myself impossible deadlines.

A super-busy day on the calendar has me almost dreading it. If I don't have enough energy to get through an extra activity, what's the worst thing that will happen?
     I'll take a nap when I get home--or go to bed earlier--or give myself a
     "day off" the next day to rest up.

Some of my half-baked projects can be finished--by someone else, perhaps; or by me, if they morph into something besides what they first were intended to be.
     Nothing is cast in stone; I can change my mind without penalty--after all,
     it's my project.

Transitions aren't good--or bad. They simply are. They signal the change from one state or condition to the next. (See definitions at the beginning of this post.)

Sometimes they're happy changes--from being a single gal to being a married one. Or from Mom to Grandma. Sometimes they're less desirable--aging with some of the health problems (and wrinkles and grey hair and gravity problems) that may accrue as we mature.

But if we're still alive, we're always in transition. Think about it.

LIFE-CHANGING EVENTS

[This post appeared three years ago--and after I read through it, I recognized it was as meaningful to me now as it was then. I edited a couple of things to get the sense straight. Hope you think through your life-changing events--you may have weathered more storms than you think, and learned a lot in the process.]

I owe a debt of gratitude to Liz Flaherty for a recent blog post on WordWranglers [sometime in 2016]. She shared life-changing moments or events with readers and invited them to share their own.

Since I seldom jump right into anything without mulling it over, wrassling it around, and pummeling it into shape, I didn’t come up with my own list until several days later. Since then I’ve pared the list to three:

·         October 1955 when I found out my mother was dying

·         February 1960 when I gave birth to my first child

·         March 2006 when I retired from 29 consecutive years in a law office

Each of these marked the beginning of a new life for me.

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One October evening in 1955, I was riding with my Aunt Virginia and her husband to a city an hour from our home—we were on our way to visit my mom who had just had surgery and was recuperating enough to be able to return to Charleston where I lived with my dad.

As we traveled through the dark night, Aunt Virginia told me that my mother would not live much longer. The cancer had progressed too far. The reason she was telling me, she said, was so I’d be prepared and not break down when I went into the room to see my mom.

I’ve always been glad it was Aunt Virginia who told me; she was my favorite aunt, my mother’s youngest sister, and had been with Mom when I was born. In the nearly fifteen years I’d known her, she had always showed me love and acceptance. The news I’d just heard wasn’t good, but it was compassionately shared.

Though we didn’t know it then, I would have six months to make the transition from teenager to fledgling adult. In some ways, a too-soon adult in a teenage body. The mental shift took a long time: No mom to share my school day news with—no siblings also grieving—a silent father who, I suspected, was also grieving, even though he had remarried after the divorce.

Eventually I turned to writing because it was a place where I could commune with myself about what I felt and experienced. During the next couple of years I wrote a lot of poetry and a few short stories. This period of my life marked the beginning of a life in the written word—and writing as a way of healing.

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In February 1960 I was given another opportunity to grow—my first child was born. I named her for my mother.

In a very short time—hours, maybe a couple of days—I learned that I didn’t know the first thing about being a mom. I had no friends having babies, no sisters or sisters-in-law, no cousins my age with kids (or if I did, they lived too far away and I seldom saw them).

No mommy blogs—though the few I’ve read make motherhood sound like a romp in the park. For example: baby with earache screaming in the night? Piece o’ cake! Refusal to drink milk or eat cereal? Par for the course. Diarrhea? So what! (I‘m glad there were no such blogs when I was a young mom—I’d’ve felt even more inadequate than I actually did.)

In time I learned to go with the flow (along about Child No. 3, I think). Not every aberration was life-threatening; the doctor’s phone number was right by the phone; and eventually I found another mom (also with a first child) who had nieces and nephews to learn on, so she helped me weather First Baby Syndrome.

I’m pleased to report that my firstborn is alive and well in Arizona, teaching sociology; she finished her Ph.D. (Sometimes I call her Dr. Palmer.)

Her three siblings all grew up, developed their own personalities and interests, and—this may be a shock to some readers—the four of them get along well, visit by phone and email, and actually enjoy getting together when they can. (They live in Arizona, Ohio, Indiana, and Minnesota.)

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My most recent life shift came in March 2006 when I retired from 29 years in a law office as a paralegal. I worked one more year as a contract worker to assist the woman, already a seasoned employee at the office, to settle into the kind of work I had done. My assistance was scarcely necessary after the first couple of months, but I continue to visit Emily and eat lunch with her a couple times a week while we knit our various projects.

The biggest adjustment to retirement was how to handle my time—I had so much time! After I went to the Y, had breakfast, and swallowed a handful of pills/vitamins/supplements, I was free to—well, do whatever. There was a pretty strenuous learning curve to this process. If I had no plan, not much got done; if I had a too-firm plan, a lot got done but I wasn’t pleased at the end of my day--and I was too tired to eat (that's tired!).

What I learned: Have a plan (you remember my Today List?)—modify, if necessary—let go of disappointments—put the unfinished things on the next day’s List. And don't forget to rest. Might not work for everyone, but it did for me.

My life is as full as I want—I have freedom to say "no, thanks" if I don’t want to do something—and I have time to explore new ideas and adventures. I take naps when I need to and rest every afternoon. 

The best thing of all—I can go on learning: how to manage my days, how to make the best of this time in my life (which is quite different from other eras), how to enjoy what I do, how to keep growing.

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Thanks, Liz Flaherty, for stirring up memories. Life changers can work for good, if we let them.

[And they never stop coming . . . thanks be.]

VALENTINE'S DAY - 2019 

[This post appeared five years ago--I can't think of one thing to add.]

VALENTINE’S DAY AND THOUGHTS ON LOVE

W

hether it was a little candy heart that said “I LUV U” or a big box of chocolates, Valentine’s Day comes with memories and smiles.

Here are some quotations I came across. Hope you find something to touch your heart on this day we celebrate Love.

Love is a friendship set to music.

Joseph Campbell

The most precious gift we can offer anyone is our attention.

When mindfulness embraces those we love,

they will bloom like flowers.

Thich Nhat Hanh

Love takes off masks that we fear we cannot live without

and know we cannot live within.

James Baldwin

I love you without knowing how, or when, or from where. I love you simply,

without problems or pride: I love you in this way because I do not know

any other way of loving but this,

in which there is no I or you, so intimate that

your hand upon my chest is my hand,

so intimate that when I fall asleep your eyes close.

Pablo Neruda

love is the voice under all silences,

the hope which has no opposite in fear,

the strength so strong mere force is feebleness:

the truth more first than sun,

more last than star . . .

e e cummings

You know you're in love when you don't want to fall asleep

because reality is finally better than

your dreams.

Dr. Seuss

Love is patient, love is kind. It does not envy, it does not boast,

it is not proud.

It does not dishonor others, it is not self-seeking,

it is not easily angered, it keeps no record of wrongs.

Love does not delight in evil but rejoices with the truth.

It always protects, always trusts,

always hopes, always perseveres.

Love never fails.

..............

And now these three remain: faith, hope, and love.

But the greatest of these is love.

I Corinthians 13:4-13

Happy Valentine's Day!