Everyone likely has an opportunity of a lifetime. The challenge is recognizing it as such and capitalizing on it.

For example, my sister got into a kerfuffle with an airline over the cost of her ticket. The details are unimportant. What IS important is that she was able to recognize and seize on an important opportunity, in fact, in all likelihood, the opportunity of a lifetime.

You see, once she was irritated, she demanded to talk to a customer service representative. And she was connected with one named Buster. Perfect. Excellent. Once he regurgitated the company spiel re cost of one-way v. round-trip flights, she was able to say, “Listen Buster . . . ”

Like I said, what an opportunity.

I know, I know. I’ve neglected you. It is not that I haven’t thought of “putting pen to paper,” rather every time I’ve considered it, I have filtered myself. (“I can’t write THAT! What if X reads it . . . “) You see? These are the problems of having a readership of a half dozen people.

So, this evening I decided I must write something. Let’s dispense with writing about the weather because it sucks. That is not a word I use often, rather it has crept into my vernacular having spent several years with younger people. But really, it is the word of the hour. It is April 22 and we are undergoing yet another major snowstorm. Really I don’t care about the snow or even the temperature, but the gray will do me in. Please Lord, a little sun is all I ask.

I have been thinking a lot about grammar lately. (Am now probably down to three readers.) In my freelance editing life, I am editing test questions for 6th, 7th, and 8th graders. Hope they know what an adverbial phrase is because I am not so sure. At the same time I am tutoring foreign speakers. In fact, I went hog wild and said I would help a Spanish speaker prepare for the GED. I taught her to write a 5-paragraph essay. She did a bang-up job, but now I need to tackle grammar. The organization is there, the content, but damn gerunds to hell.

My mother could wring her hands like the best of the Irish, and she wrung them plenty over the fact that I was never taught to diagram sentences. A horrible shortcoming. I distinctly remember weeping in grade school about my inability to identify adverbs. My mother assured me that knowledge would come with time.

Well, Mom, I am 54, it is snowing like crazy, and I don’t know how to diagram sentences. Life sucks.

It is quite clear to me, that in a former life, Hunter, my dog, was a horse.

The evidence is as follows:

1. He rears up on his hind legs to greet people. I do not mean he jumps on them. Yes, this happens but he also just rears up, like an over-zealous uncle who screams, “WELCOME.”
2. He rears up and uses his front paws to knock the leash from my hands when he is unhappy about my directional decisions. “NO, NO, NOT THAT WAY. I DO NOT WANT TO GO THAT WAY.”

Every time he executes his horse-move, I am reminded of one of the illustrations in my childhood copy of Black Beauty. (I believe it was when she (he?) had to be blindfolded because of a fire in the stable, but this image will do.)

black beauty (futurely known as Hunter)

I liked BB (Black Beauty), Flicka was my friend, and I didn’t think Mr. Ed was a stupid show. In fact, I “rode” a chair in our living room, as well as some old tires in the backyard. These horses had various names, but all were loyal to a fault, initially wild beyond compare, but tamed by moi.

I was always torn between owning Flicka v. Lassie so I am grateful that in my old age, I have a dog who thinks he is a horse.

I need to go to the DMV to get a replacement drivers license. The last meeting I had with my drivers license was last week when I removed it from my wallet along with my cash card so I wouldn’t be troubled dragging my purse around. Great idea. Instead I troubled myself by searching the house, all the stores I visited and their respective parking lots for my lost drivers license and cash card. Where the hell did I put it? Don’t know.

I know if I go to the DMV, I will find the old one. On the other hand, the DMV will surely provide some material from which to write. There’s that.

Have you ever noticed that sometimes you find things, not where you least expect, but where you should expect to find them? Really, I am amazed when I am amazed to find my shoes in the closet.

Whenever I misplace things I think about the grandmother of a childhood friend. “Gran” was getting on in years, but lived with her daughter and grandchildren. Her exploits were constant fodder for the high school lunch table. One of Gran’s famous moves was when she insisted on cleaning up after dinner. The next day they found the leftover pot roast in a cabinet. Gran was also given to platitudes. She overheard my friend complaining about her mother and Gran reminded her, “Your mother is going to heaven in a basket.”  It’s had a Moses-in-the-bullrushes ring to it. The alternative, of course, was a fast train to hell. Wonder where I will end up and how I will travel.

What does decorating sugar cookies and formatting Word docs have in common? A little goes a long way.

I loved decorating Christmas cookies when I was a child. Sprinkles, chocolate chips, silver balls, dried fruit — the more the merrier. I didn’t like to eat them, but I had a fine time making them. Apparently no one else in the family liked eating them either. I recently asked my older sister to send me her recipe for sugar cookies. Older siblings have a penchant for comment and this occasion was no exception:

“Please do not allow yourself to do any decorating. This is NOT an opportunity to express yourself. I still gag at the thought of all the crap you layered on — dried fruits, sprinkles, candy pearls, cinnamon toppers, more frosting… Remember: Less is more in the world of sugar cookies.”

But like many of the words of wisdom imparted by my siblings, I ignored the advice when I set out to format a company newsletter. I didn’t stop with bold and italics. I mixed typefaces and fonts. Of course, color — of text, of “fill”, or lines. Wow! I discovered I could make text curve up and down, make letters shadowed. And bullets — who knew I didn’t have to settle for the round dot? Yes indeed I found other bullet types and used a different one in each section of my newsletter. I turned text sideways and tilted images. When I was done, reading my newsletter was akin to a ride on rough seas. My spouse suggested my efforts might be more suited to a ransom note.

So I toned it down. Damn near killed me. Then I went to bad and DeAnn (one of my inner voices which will be the subject of another post) reminded me until I fell asleep that I was no graphic designer. Once she got tired of that, she told me I was no writer and had no business doing anything I’ve done of late.