Tag Archives: imperfection

Let’s mess up a little today, shall we?

Oh oh.  I shouldn't have done That.

Oh oh. I shouldn’t have done That.

This morning I woke up and the inner voice was already involved in a complicated debate.  Should I have coffee or not?  Go to work before the funeral or not?  Do yoga or skip it?

As if that wasn’t enough, the inner voice started critiquing yesterday’s actions.  Should I have written a funny blog about dentists during this sad time of Barry’s co-worker’s death? Should I be writing so many blogs again?  Shouldn’t I be calm & cool & collected and write blogs only once or twice a week like mature people?  Should I have said such-and-such at the budget meeting?  Should I have…well, you know the spiel.  The inner voice is such a harp at times, isn’t it?

Then I decided to turn on Facebook.  The inner voice questioned that, too.

“Do you really want to start your day with Facebook?”

I told the inner voice to shut up, poured a cup of coffee and opened Facebook.

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Pillowcase in the breeze; light in the forest

Sheet drying in the breeze among geraniums

I wish you all many peaceful sun-dappled days in your future.  May you enjoy days of sweetness, in which the world appears peaceful and lazy, filled with just-enough.  Just enough to do.  Just enough to be. 

Just enough to lazily read a book, lazily vacuum the house, pick a few weeds from your garden.  Chop potatoes and boil eggs for potato salad.  Thaw a whitefish–delivered unexpectedly to your home by a Native American fish salesman a couple of weeks ago.  You ate half of the whitefish already; froze the remainder.  Now you’re making an experimental dijon-mustard-roasted-garlic sauce for the fish.  The house smells like garlic.

Pillowcase in the breeze

Sheets drying on the deck; pillowcase blowing in the slight breeze.  Birds chirping everywhere. 

The world is hushed.  War somewhere overseas?  People fighting?  Riots in Greece?  I feel so protected from this, almost as if it’s not happening, almost as if it’s a far-away dream.  I don’t know if this is good or bad.  But it’s far away from the peace in my heart, like shadows as the sun plays among the dark forest leaves.

The way light illuminates the woods in early evening

The sky is blue, blue, blue.

The daisies dance, the buttercup yearns toward the sun, the lupines exhale with perfumed breath. 

The Garden of Eden is here, now, although tomorrow we may cover it up with our daily cares and worries, forgetting that it is always present, just beneath our latest challenge or fear or despair.

Dappling of forest sunshine

Last night we tried Deb’s Grilled Corn-Avocado-Cilantro recipe (OK, if you have no idea what I’m talkin’ about, go searchin’ for the Cilantro blog I wrote last week.  Click on “comments”.  Scroll down to the cilantro recipe that Deb shared.  PJ Grath shared a good one, too, although we haven’t tried it yet.)  Except we experienced one small snafu.  The grocery store had no cilantro.  Can you imagine such a fiasco?  Here you are, ready to make a cilantro dish, and the IGA refuses to comply. 

“Out of cilantro?” I gasp, astounded, to the poor clerk stocking cans of chili beans.  “Can you go look in the back?”

“I don’t know what cilantro is,” she mumbled, but complied to the poor shopper’s fervent request.

“No,” she reported to the poor shopper’s husband.  “Every other kind of vegetable imaginable back there–but no cilantro.”

Toothy yellow orbs of corn kernels dreaming of olive oil and avocado and cilantro...


Lemon pepper marinated shrimp over brown rice with grilled corn, avocado and BASIL.

“Barry, what do you think about BASIL in the dish?” I ask.

“Hey, it should be good,” he replied.

“But it’s not CILANTRO,” I lament.

We decide to give it a try. 

Now we’re excited.  We’re trying something new, something different, something the recipe-writer never dreamed!  We’re substituting BASIL! 

And we do.  And it’s good.

(OK, maybe not as good as cilantro. But good, nonetheless.)

Life is almost perfect.

Almost, I say.

Except for the ant invasion.  When you live in the woods, species tend to invade the house at different times of year.  Now it’s giant ants.  Giant mouse, too.  OK, one giant mouse.

Guess Perfection includes Imperfection.

Now, back to today’s potato salad chilling in the sink, dreaming of salad dressing.  Back to roasted garlic dreaming of whitefish.  Back to garden brocoli producing at monumental speed, more brocoli than you can imagine eating in six settings.

And a bed which needs to be fitted with soft woods-smelling sheets.

**Peace be with you, readers.**


No perfect moons allowed!

People, people!  All of us with our cameras trekking out into the night attempting to photograph the PERFECT super-moon.  All of us trying to find the right f-stops and apertures and ISO’s and support for our shaky cameras.

So many of us coming home in dismay and upset, peering at our imperfect photos of the super-moon, cursing the photographic equipment, slaying our lack of technique (or for some of us–never even reading the manual–bad, bad…) 

Some of us peering at the perfect super-moons on other Internet sites and blogs and despairing, yay–despairing–that we shall never, ever, ever be able to photograph outside in the dark.  Never, ever be able to feature the perfect orange moon portrayed against the sea, the rocks, an old barn.

If this is your scenario, do not turn away from your photos.  Do not hide them in shame and guilt and disgrace.  Do not press “delete” in indignant pain and annoyance. Nay! 

There is nothing more beautiful in the world that an imperfect moon.  (All those perfect moons–they’ll have their moment to shine, for sure.  But the imperfect ones shall remain in our hearts and memories forever.)

Here’s what you must do.  Tonight, vow that you will only take pictures of imperfect moons.  Forget your tripod.  That would be too perfect.  Instead, use the roof of your car.  Run, exhilarated, into the night–chasing the elusive moon as it arises in the sky!

If your mind disagrees–but, no, I must get a perfect shot that will show the incredible orange beauty of the super orb in the sky–say:  NO.  No perfection.  We are out to celebrate imperfection!  No perfect moons allowed! 

Let’s go.  You first.

OK, I will go first, to show you the imperfect exquisite gorgeous fabulous lovely wonderful squiggly impressionable foggy misty unclear unfocused moons which shall reveal their imperfect secrets to us now:

Oh look at how the moon squiggles, how it winks, how it splays itself across our hearts!


Oh look at how it diffuses, how it attempts to embrace the entire night sky! No sharp clear concise moon here. None needed.


(This one is almost too perfect for our liking--we probably should refuse to show it. But you can see some imperfections if you peer closely enough.)


Sometimes, some people like to wear make-up to hide imperfections.  Photographers like to play in software programs like Picasa and Photoshop to enhance photographic strengths and minimize weaknesses.  Some folks approve of this and some folks don’t.  Some people call it “lying” (C’mon, just show us the imperfections!) and other folks call it art.

Let’s go dabble in our Picasa software and paint up the moon a little.  Not because our imperfect moons need it, mind you!  Because we want to play with color and hues and sharpening and all the other neat little tools.  Because art and imperfection like to dance under the full moon.

How about a really imperfect moon masquerading as the sun? What do you think? Can it get away with it?


This one put on its Native American regalia and is dancing around the midnight fires. I'm sure.

Ooo la la! Show me some more imperfection, baby!

Finally, here’s a trick question.  Let’s see how much you know about moons.  Question:  is the following photo a moon or a sun?  And how do you know?

When we can't even decide if it's a sun or a moon...

Please, let’s not forget to celebrate imperfection when it comes our way.  Sure, OK, if perfection comes visiting, let it in and admire it.  But let’s dance outside in the driveway with our imperfect suns and moons, our imperfect eyes and faces, our imperfect photography and words.  Let’s howl like coyotes beneath the imperfect moon.  Let’s not complain if our fellow coyote is yipping imperfectly.  Let’s not complain when clouds obscure the sun or moon.  Clouds further enhance imperfection, you know.

Hurray for the perfection of imperfection!