Engaging Each Day with Action Words

Learn. — The Lesson Already

on February 27, 2013

As she stumbled out the front door, failing miserably to pull the winter coat, a size too big, closed around her, she realized that the rain falling was actually turning to ice.  She reached back with one hand, trying to pull the hood up and over the hot roller curlers, that were still in her hair, all the while knowing that the rain was sure to ruin any chance of looking at all put together.  She looked around, pleading with the universe that no one would drive by and see her like this–traipsing through the field so early in the pouring rain.

She reached into her pocket to retrieve the cheese stick stowed away there and began to whistle and yell. Her boot hit the wooden bridge on the path and immediately lost any hopes of traction and down she went with a thud on her side. “Great. Just Great,” she muttered under her breath. She got to her feet and inspected the damage to her pants.

And for those of you who are waiting for this to turn out to be the trailer to  some Johnny Depp or Robert Downey, Jr. movie…you will be waiting until their next work of fiction comes out in theaters.

Because this, my MommyVerbs friends, this is a very real, pretty comical, description of …. How. I. Started. My. Day.

Yes. 🙂 It’s ok. Go back and read it again and picture it. I gift you this laugh…I’m sure that there were some who saw, I’m sure that they enjoyed a giggle, too. 

The backstory is this: I had asked the girl-child to take ‘the dog’ outside this morning to put him in the yard.  A few minutes later, she came up to tell me that he had gotten away from her and that it … yes. You know the line: “It wasn’t her fault.” At first, I thought she was trying to trick me since that is her new trick and she’s pretty good at it. When I examined the look on her face, I realized that this was true and then snapped that it was indeed her fault.

Ugh. So, Me. In my curlers. In Felix’s coat. Outside in the pouring freezing rain. Whistling and Yelling for a dog that runs into the one neighbor’s yard who hates dogs and is most likely to call the Animal Control (which at that point I probably would have welcomed!) And yes, the falling down part is absolutely true. So, is the cheese stick in my pocket. That was to lure ‘the dog’ back to me. Which took about 10 minutes. For the record, as I walked I did take the curlers out and put them in my pocket. Needless to say I had a bad hair day.

I did finally catch ‘the dog’ and walked him back to the house and put him in his version of time-out: the garage.

I went back upstairs and commented to Felix, “I do not understand what I have done to deserve this. I don’t understand what lesson I am supposed to be learning from this dog?!”

And this is why I love my Fix It Felix. He hugged me because I was still huggable at that time. And then he said, “Not everything is a lesson. Everything does not need to be analyzed and learned from. Some things are random. There is no reason. There is no lesson to be learned. It just is. He’s a dumb dog and he lives with us.  For now.”

I love that about him. I do.

But being me, I struggle. I want things to mean more. I want things to be meaningful.

Which is why I wonder, what this means or what do I need to learn or how do I need to grow from this?

I have told you about my uncle, Chris, who I think is pretty ah.may.zing. The last time we were on the left coast, he shared his good friend and writing partner with me, ‘Geo’. I loved ‘Geo’ from the first moment he welcomed us into his adorable apartment with his vintage red velvet couch. ‘Geo’ had some amazing energy–the kind of energy that draws you in, makes you want to pitch a tent, stay a while. I had the opportunity to connect with ‘Geo’ briefly, some from Chris, a little from ‘Geo’ himself.

He’s a writer, an artist, a performer. He believes in things I find interesting, but don’t wholly subscribe to.  He believes we write our own stories. We write these stories before we live, before our next lives. And we write with intention to make sure that we learn the lessons we need to learn in order to move on. To move on beyond ourselves.  He believes we know what we need to learn. We are given guides. We see our weaknesses, know our goals and therefore can write a story that will lead us to certain conclusions.

There’s a part of that I really like. It doesn’t match with what I believe in my religious/spiritual self. But I like that. Maybe because that version implies some control. We are not the feather floating in the wind. We have some choice and we have some influence on what comes from the choice. That seems almost comfortable. As a teacher, I also like the learning from mistakes and the planning what needs to be learned. That’s kind of what I do. Learn. Plan. Teach.

So, I find myself feeling a little like Forest Gump, wondering: “I don’t know if we each have a destiny, or if we’re all just floating around accidental-like on a breeze, but I, I think maybe it’s both. Maybe both is happening at the same time.”


Maybe there are lessons to be learned from dogs that run away in the morning while I chase him offering cheese sticks in my curlers. Or maybe not. Maybe it is just random. Or maybe it is a story I wrote in another life, knowing that I needed to learn humility or patience.

Or maybe I just needed to learn to have a good freakin’ laugh at my own expense. 🙂



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