Breaking News: Adaptation May Be Key to Survival and Sanity!

I met someone yesterday who had very high, very specific expectations. He wanted personal assistance with details related to an application on the library system's website. NOW. And he was not at all pleased that I could not deliver what he saw as his distinct need, in the manner that perfectly suited his expectation.

We all build ideas of desired outcomes. Sometimes this is completely necessary (isn't this chicken supposed to be fully cooked?) and other times it's best to adapt and adjust based on a new reality (the brownies collapsed, but they taste still taste great!)

What does it take to recognize that a change is required? How much reality must be experienced in order to be willing to shift one's vision? There are many, many stories in the Bible that illustrate this point. Times when things appeared to be headed in one direction, but then God communicated an entirely different plan leading to an unanticipated outcome.

Being a people-pleaser at heart, I am pretty quick to change direction based on what I perceive to be the needs of others. That's nice, except when I really was on the right track and let myself get derailed by popular opinion. Some of the people whom I most admire are strong, firm in their convictions, rarely swayed by mood or whim. That's good, too. There are times to change, and situations in which it's best to stand firm. Reminds me of that text adapted by Pete Seeger...

     There is an appointed time for everything. And there is a time for every event under heaven -- 
     A time to throw stones, and a time to gather stones;
     A time to embrace, and a time to shun embracing.
     A time to search, and a time to give up as lost;
     A time to keep, and a time to throw away.
     A time to tear apart, and a time to sew together; 
     A time to be silent, and a time to speak.

So, some planned outcomes must be pursued to full completion, and some must be altered. My job is to listen to the One who advises, encourages, directs, and occasionally gives me a shove in the right direction.

Oh, and about that person with whom I had the unfortunate interaction... Well, I'm sorry I couldn't meet his perceived need in the manner to which he'd like to become accustomed. Maybe another time?

My Front Deck Friends

Just playing around with my camera. I talked a few of my young friends into posing for me...

Ahhh... Just the therapy I needed after shopping online for a new garage door. Pretty flowers are nice, happy friends. Oh -- why, you ask, are these my "front deck" friends? Because Polo owns the back yard. Every cubic inch of dirt, it's all his. And he knows it.

What I Heard

I was half awake, but here's what I caught on the morning news from a local radio station:

"Thanks for the memories -- there's lots of ones of 'em!"

On the plus side, this comment was made to a friend, and it was only a poor grammatic construct. On the minus side, it was recorded and broadcast because the speaker is the outgoing president of a major university. He's leaving his post here to become head of a national collegiate athletic association. (I won't name him here because I may have mis-heard his statement. Just covering my bases, so to speak.)

Golly gee whiz, we all say things that come out wrong. My mom used to say that she had foot-in-mouth disease. As a kid, I thought she should be able to guard her tongue better than that. It wasn't that she said anything foul -- in fact, she made a point of never swearing -- but either her timing or her content were sometimes very unfortunate. One time, visiting with folks after church, I heard her ask an older man, "Where's your big old fat wife?" His reply? "Right behind you."

Oh, mymymymymy. Unfortunate timing and content, indeed. Mom was always able to laugh at herself, but this was a biggie. She hadn't intended to say anything derogatory; she was just being silly, and out it came.

I did much the same thing recently. In a lighthearted moment, I said something that ended up sounding very racist. Me?! Racist? I'm too embarrassed to recount the details here, but it was one of those foot-in-mouth moments. I didn't realize the potential for harm in my comment until someone else reacted uncomfortably. Oh. (Unlike my mom, this is where I might have said, "Damn.") Well, the words were out, and I couldn't erase them.

The letter of James brings both a little reminder and a bit of comfort.

Let not many of you become teachers, knowing that as such we shall incur a stricter judgment. For we all stumble in many ways. If anyone does not stumble in what he says, he is a perfect person, able to bridle the whole body as well.

Teachers, public speakers, politicians, and people like me who know better. We all make slips of the tongue, and sometimes these errors are aired for many to hear. No one is perfect, but I'd better pay attention to the silly things I might say... before they escape my lips.

Sigh.

Ups and Downs of Anosmia

I've been smelling for about a week.

(I'll wait while you think of all the one-liners this statement attracts.)

Several years ago, I noticed that I was detecting phantom odors. Sometimes wood smoke, usually chemicals or vinyl. Nothing was ever really there -- no one else smelled these things. It was all in my head, so to speak.

Then I got a sinus infection. A killer sinus infection. When I finally recovered from it, I couldn't smell anything. Not a bar of soap shoved up my nostrils, not a clove of garlic, not my stinky dog, nothing.

I remember crying in the shower one morning, sobbing over my inability to smell shampoo. I kept trying to smell, and I prayed hard that this sense would be returned to me. Nothing happened. I was crushed. Even though it was only my nose that didn't work, scent is perhaps the most memory-evoking sensory experience. No more fresh Crayolas. No more onions and pot roast in the slow cooker. No more babies' sweet scalps.

Over the weeks and months and then years, I adjusted to not being able to smell. When we got a puppy, I didn't have to be the one to track down the location of his accidents. Driving past the dairy farm, it doesn't matter to me if the windows are open. Unwashed, halitosis-laden library patrons get unbiased treatment from me.

But for the past week or so, at random times, I've smelled a sweet detergent odor. I think it's like the windshield-washer in my car. (Have you ever sprayed your windshield and had the scent come through the vent?) It's pleasant. It's nice to be smelling something once in a while. It brings back some of the longing I used to feel, to be able to smell everything again.

But it's all in my head.

About that Dryer

I am NOT a trained, licensed, bonded, professional dryer repairwoman. This was made abundantly clear this weekend when I discovered that the part I ordered... waited for... received with relief and joy... is the wrong one.

I didn't take the dryer completely apart last weekend. I investigated just enough to discover a broken nylon bit, which looked a LOT like the part I found online and ordered. But it turns out that the piece I found was once a member of a larger thing -- metal and felt and nylon, all assembled together.

My excuses for not blogging last week included my work schedule, the heat, and having to take my wet clothes to the laundromat.

My excuses for not blogging this week will include my work schedule, overcast skies, and having to take my wet clothes to the laundromat. And I'd like to get back to work on my novel, too.

There is good news in all this. The parts I need should arrive by the end of the week, and the laundromat has beautiful new machines and is only a couple of blocks from my house. Sigh.

Family Trapped at Home in Snowstorm, Eats Books to Survive!

Okay, so we weren't actually snowed in. Life would have been easier if we had been stuck, though. This was the most snow we've had in a few years, and it was WAY above our normal accumulation. There was snow, and some ice, and then a lot more snow, and it didn't go away in two days.

It was beautiful. Really beautiful. Except if you had to drive or walk anywhere. (Two of these photos were taken at the library, the other from the safety of my living room.) Then, it could be downright scary. The last couple of days, the snow was turning into slush. Twelve inches of mucky slush. Try to drive your compact car through that!

The worst time I had was when my car's anti-skid feature was activated. I had shoveled down to bare dirt, and all I had to do was move my tires about six inches to grab it. No. No. No. The moment the wheels began to slip, power was shut off and they wouldn't turn. Remember back in the old days when you could spin your wheels and dig down to solid ground? Sure, it made a huge mess, but it worked.

Yes, there is a button next to my gearshift that would have disabled the anti-skid device. No, I didn't think about it in time to use it. I just kept playing around, driving sideways on the packed snow, digging around the tires some more, until I finally got the car moving.

I felt like such a girl. But I'll do better next time. Just enjoy the pictures and forget these words, okay? Thanks.