Last night, during dinner, I kicked over a long-stemmed candle holder sitting on the floor. It was, agreed, a daft place to leave it, down there on the ground, but the red candle sent pretty colours onto the white wall and, besides, nobody was expecting an idiot to walk into it. I must have been in purposeful forward motion, for the whole thing flew into the air and slammed against the wall.
White wall, red candle, you can imagine the mess.
Apart from feeling awful at the breakage of the glass holder (one of a set of 3), I was horrified at the red dots that seemed to cover most of the room. Perhaps I should take up football.
This morning I set too with a plastic spatula on my hands and knees, lifting each dot, some the size of a fifty pence, some pinheads and they were not just on the floor. The wall, the music speaker, the wooden chest; nothing escaped my powerful right kick. Now all is as it was, amazingly, apart from the speaker which, hopefully, doesn’t affect its performance…..and me. I still feel awful about it.
Why is that? You may ask.
I think it’s that I don’t like to make such mistakes, to break or damage someone else’s something-or-other. I think I should have learned by now to move slowly, be careful, THINK before I act or speak. Rooted deep in childhood are our responses to life as an adult. I know this, because I know this. The process of self-forgiveness, at any level, is one big task, at least, it is for me.
So I want to be what……perfect? As if all those years behind me make a solid and permanent change?
It’s not possible. But what is possible, is my response to making mistakes, and that, my friends, is one of my biggest challenges. Knowing that theory is one thing. Living it out, quite another.
This morning, coming in from the showy garden, having put red meat scraps out for the kites, (I missed the photo opportunity again!), I saw the white water stains on the wooden floor boards where I leave my boots. I know it’s me, for nobody else does this food-putting-out thing. My heart sank and I rushed to Google a cure. Mayonnaise, it seems is the answer. I am on it, or will be after I finish writing this.
Please don’t tell me that everything comes in threes…………