The Meltdown

I have been interested in fusing glass for several years and had acquired everything necessary to try it -- except the courage to face my ultimate enemy -- fear of failure.

The logical part of my mind understands that it is normal to start at zero and gradually amass the skills required for any undertaking, but the more primitive part of my brain wants to be perfect from the beginning -- failure is not an option.

The day before Thanksgiving, I finally gathered up enough courage to fuse together a few bits of glass. As often happens, things went smoothly and the pieces looked nicer than I expected.

Thus lulled into a greater sense of confidence, I fused a batch of glass every other day or so, each time, without incident. The results were satisfactory, but not outstanding.

Then I tried to fuse on Saturday.

The glass and I had a meltdown.

For some reason -- I think it was because it was a windy day -- the kiln took longer than usual to reach the first benchmark temperature.

What I now know is that the glass was thoroughly warm at that point and I should have very carefully monitored the rest of the process. Instead, I kept an eye on the pyrometer at the intervals I had found worked before.

The result? The glass -- and I -- had a total meltdown.

There's something very disheartening about opening up a kiln and seeing puddles of glass on the shelf. It's even more discouraging to see molten glass hanging from the side of the kiln lid. If you've ever seen cheese dangling from a slice of pizza, you get the idea.

After the glass and I cooled off, I discovered the results weren't as catastrophic as I thought. The kiln is still usable and I have since fused glass without incident.

So, what did I learn from this?

In most cases, it's ok to make mistakes. Don't be surprised when you do, and keep track of what you've done so you can avoid making the same mistake over again. It was easier to figure out what happened because I had started a firing log.

Don't ignore your instincts. I had a feeling that I should check the kiln sooner, but didn't. Next time, I will be more aware of all aspects of my endeavors. The past can serve as a guide, but each situation is unique and must be treated as such.

Accept and appreciate the support of your family and friends. When you are no longer rational or able to objectively look at a situation, their input is invaluable.

Don't be afraid to fail. If I succeed at everything, I have only verfied what I can do. When the outcome is less than stellar, I have the opportunity to find a way to make it better and to increase my knowledge.

I can see life as a series of adventures and seek new experiences, recognizing that I will stumble on occasion, or I can seek out the familiar and continue doing what I know without any risk of failure -- or growth.

I choose adventure!

A close encounter of the frog kind

You've probably heard: "You have to kiss a lot of frogs before you find a prince." That may be true, but I've already met my prince, so I'm not interested in kissing frogs. That's why it came as quite a shock the other night when I walked out of my front door and a frog landed on my face.

After performing several notes of operatic quality and volume, I realized that the cold, slithery, and yet sticky thing on my face was one of our resident Cuban treefrogs. Since I had been carrying newspaper to the recycling bin, the frog ended up on the newspaper.

We looked at each other, said a fond farewell, and I deposited the frog in the ferns by the door. The frog and I were none the worse for the encounter, but I'm not sure if my husband and the cats have yet recovered . . .

Chili Cookoff

This weekend we went to a "Hoedown and Chili Cookoff" because I had volunteered to judge the chili entered in the Chili Cookoff.

After I agreed to serve as a judge, I had to find out how to judge chili. . .

It should come as no surprise that there are numerous sites with chili recipes, but there are also sites that provide basic guidelines for judging chili. The International Chili Society has specific guidelines in its Membership by-laws. (see Article VIII, Section 2)

W. Bruce Cameron tells a very funny tale of his experience as a chili judge. I am very grateful that my first time was nothing like his.

There is a very good explanation of what to consider when judging chili on the Metamora, Indiana site. They are still looking for judges for their November 8, 2008 Chili Cook-off. . . Here's your chance!

Selecting a President

The current US political campaign ads are almost inescapable. While I want to be informed, I do my best to shut out the cacophony of politics that's swirling around. In spite of that, thoughts of the upcoming election do creep into my head.

This morning I thought of the perfect way for the candidates to prove their competence: have each potential pesidential team compete via simulation. Each team is given an identical program simulating world conditions for the next 4 years -- SimWorld instead of SimCity. The team with the best results at the end of the 4 simulated years wins.

Simulation is used for everything from outer space (think NASA) to inner space (think surgery). Doesn't it make sense to have some idea of what could happen when we select people to serve on the presidential team?

You've got mail!

There was a watercolor bunny in my mailbox the other day. He'd hopped over from my friend Monette's house. You can see him at her blog. Isn't he cute?

It almost inspires me to dig out all of the stuff I've acquired to make a postcard quilt. Go here if you're curious about fabric post cards.

Speaking of mail, I watched "You've Got Mail" yet another time on Sunday afternoon. I'm not sure why I enjoy the movie so much. I think it may be the way it deals with relationships and the way we handle the inevitable changes in our lives.

If you haven't watched "The Shop Around the Corner", the 1940 predecessor of "You've Got Mail", you've missed a treat. This film, based on a Hungarian play, inspired both "You've Got Mail" and the MGM musical, "In the Good Old Summertime".

Watching all three would make an interesting mini film festival. Maybe I should send out postcards. . .

Junk food fling

When it comes my relationship with foods, I've finally realized that I should live with healthy foods and reserve junk food for the occasional fling away from home.

Even though it doesn't take any more time to reach for a bag of baby carrots and a container of dip, I'm much more inclined to reach for a bag of potato chips to go with the dip. So, fling acquires a double meaning - I'll fling the junk food from my house and choose to engage in a rare fling or two with junk food when I'm not at home.

Salsa and baked tortillas cut into pieces make a delicious snack. Here are a few tips to help substitute healthier foods for junk foods.

Happy snacking!

. . . and then there were eight

Two of our cats, Cleo and Obie, had been staying at the vet's off and on for the past month. Yesterday we brought them home.

Obie was doing much better and ready to come home and keep her brothers in line. The first thing she did when she got home was to run to the back porch for "lizard patrol". The lizards have their own version of "X Games" - they scoot under the screen porch door and see if they can survive being on the porch with the cats before scooting out again.

Cleo had been frail and failing. The vet called us on Saturday afternoon and said she was gone. She is now buried in our back yard.

Cleo found us in Orlando in 1987 when we were staying with my parents and waiting for our house in Virginia to sell. When we moved to Brevard County, she moved with us. The vet estimated her age between 3 and 5 when we took her for her first visit. Since we had been married for 4 years by then, we decided to go with 4.

Our first major adventure with Cleo came one Saturday morning, shortly after we moved into the house. We are far enough off the road that I felt she'd be safe from traffic, so I let her outside. (I know better now!)

After a while I heard her calling for us and I went to the back porch to see what she was doing. I could still hear her, but I couldn't see her - until I looked up. She was clinging to the top of a sapling as it waved with the breeze.

Of course, we had to rescue her. And "we" meant my husband dragging out a ladder and climbing through blackberry brambles while I offered helpful suggestions. After that, we decided it would be best if she stayed in the house.

Over the years we got used to being bossed around by a 5 pound tyrant. She had no problem telling us exactly what she wanted and when. She was a dictator, but a benevolent, furry one. She fussed so much we'd call her a "grouchy old pooh". Pooh became her nickname. We knew she was nearing the end when she stopped fussing at us and spent most of her time asleep on her favorite beach towel.

Even though we knew it was time, it was still hard to say, "Goodbye."

'bye Pooh, we'll miss you.