DO OVERS

So I just spent 3 hours on a Friday night writing a blog post--Hours I could have been liming (which in Trinidad speak means socializing with friends aka "partying");

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hours I could have spent packing my suitcases for my upcoming trip; doing the ironing--which is piling up; eating; sipping; whining (Trini speak for dancing, what Miley calls "twerking"):

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or languidly lounging on the balcony watching pelicans swoop into the glistening Gulf of Paria.

The view from the comfy chair on my patio calls "lounge, lizard! Watch for flying fish! Feel the breeze!

The view from the comfy chair on my patio calls "lounge, lizard! Watch for flying fish! Feel the breeze!

Even with all those things, and more, I could have been doing, I don't begrudge spending one moment writing that post. Because it was brilliant.

It was a post on Do OVERS and how, in the course of doing over our house, I've come to realize the clarity and freedom that comes from throwing in the town and starting over can bring. "I call Do Overs!" The post took me especially long to write because I included lots of photos illustrating problems my contractor George uncovered which led to us having to gut the whole first floor of our house, including maybe rat gnawed wires, leaks, shoddy workmanship, and hidden surprises. (Be glad, maybe, that you don't have to see that...)

The post began like this (I know because I save this bit earlier.):

Hopscotch players have to be able to jump far and accurately--sometimes 4 or 5 squares at a time. But the real secret is in the hopscotch charm. It has to be heavy enough to stick in a square and not roll. Mine was a key chain with a key.

Hopscotch players have to be able to jump far and accurately--sometimes 4 or 5 squares at a time. But the real secret is in the hopscotch charm. It has to be heavy enough to stick in a square and not roll. Mine was a key chain with a key.

When I was a kid, playing a game with friends--hopscotch, marbles, putt-putt golf and the like. Whenever one of us made a really lousy play—marble shot, we called “do overs.”

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Do Overs is an opportunity to try or perform something a second time.
— Wikipedia says

So what the heck? Now that we’re adults…..professionals…DO OVERS aren’t permitted?

Is it because we are scared to chuck it all and go back to the beginning? Take another shot at it? Try another approach?

Or is it because we are too lazy, broke, cocky, afraid of what we'll be left with, of losing what we've got--regardless how flawed that might be?

A fresh coat of paint, new throw pillows, the right lighting mask a multitude of mistakes

A fresh coat of paint, new throw pillows, the right lighting mask a multitude of mistakes

I concluded with the realization that with houses, as with our lives, and our stories, often we allow, knowingly and not, frippery--paint and frills, holidays and laughs, flowery passages and pithy prose--to mask fundamental flaws. And how, if instead of messing around trying to make it look all right,  we should call out "DO OVER," strip it down to the bare bones. Clear the Slate. Wind up and give it another go. 

                             How calling "Do Over" is like a Get Out Of Jail Card. 

                             How calling "Do Over" is like a Get Out Of Jail Card. 

So, this amazing, brilliant, and I am sooooooo convinced, inspiring blog post was finished. I'd clicked to tags, add categories. I'd uploaded a cover picture and even pushed "publish."

I was half out of my seat, ready to get up, walk away, be done. But no, Ms. Clever-McSmarty Pants wouldn't let me quit there, so I decided the post would be even more brilliant if I added a photo of the Do Over game (Because it made me laugh and I was having such fun being clever.)

Do over!.jpg

Oh, yeah, and a pithy little quote about "Rites and Rituals", too.

The do-over was one of childhood’s most powerful rites, for it exerted our dominion over the laws of space and time. The clock was rolled back, the game was restored to its exact status as before before the contested event and play was resumed.
— http://www.streetplay.com/stories/hangingout/doover.shtml

But then, the picture wasn't positioned quite right, so I decided to delete it and try again. Instead, I deleted the entire blog post.

And even after searching all over my blog site and the Internet for ways to recover it, I can't. So now as brilliant as it was, you will never ever get to read that post on the deepest truth of DO OVERS. Unless, of course, I get up the energy to redo it. And despite the convictions of my lost post, I'm not sure I can. 

Not even Marilyn could convince me. (And I listened several times.) So, in closing, I'll let Marilyn speak for herself on the subject. Since you can't read it from me, LISTEN TO MARILYN.

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