My philosophy, when it comes to technology, is if the cord will jam into the orifice, it'll work.
No need to bother with keeping the matching cord with the device. Try several. Huff and puff and sweat and try to cram it in. Eventually I find one that fits.
Last night, as I was packing for a work trip in my normal procrastinating style with plenty of lead-time, I was unplugging my work ipad. The cord would not come out. It had gone in with ease. What was the problem?
I had used this cord before, and had trouble getting it out before as well. I spent enough time on it that I started to worry. What would my boss say when I turned in the damaged ipad with the Nintendo cord dangling from it?
Yes, that's correct. This was a cord abandoned by our son years ago, and had gotten into the cord rotation... and apparently it was one of my favorite go-to's, because this was the second time I had gotten into a jam (literally and figuratively).
Thankfully, I eventually was able to yank it out.
It made me wonder what kind of openings we pay attention to as people, as writers, as artists. Are we stuck plugging away at the stuff that's "safe" for us and while doing so, do we miss out on some avenues, some opportunities?
Jennifer Brown Banks--on her blog Pen and Prosper--is sharing a link for an anthology on music. Chicken Soup for the Soul has several call-outs. I'm stalking an editor for a children's book that I have unwavering faith in. (It's a slow stalk... imagine a slug leaving a trail behind it as it stalks someone.) My NaNoGoneWrongo is stagnant, but I hope to get some work done on it this weekend.
(And I don't need large spans of time to move it forward a little. Even a half hour, if I take advantage of it, will add to the story.)
What are some openings/opportunities you've taken advantage of? Exhausted minds want to know...
Well, I'm more than old enough to remember the movie "Born Free" when it debuted, but that movie is not what this post is about. (However, I can even sing part of the song, but since I'm fond of anyone who takes the time to read my meanderings, I'll refrain.)
Yesterday a friend and I drove to Wheaton--a rural town that's in the middle of puppymill country. Four and a half hours each way. (Missouri is the overachiever of states. We're the top meth state and the top puppymill state. At least I think we still can claim those trophies.) We were headed to pick up two puppymill golden retrievers whose "birthday" was 4/12/15--they day they were reborn as family pets.
On Saturday, the day before, I watched Radar gallop around like a crazy boy--more like a colt than a canine. At least once a day I say, "Up," and he jumps up a little to help me lift him into my lap so we can snuggle. (I know, I know. A dog who weighs almost 80 pounds is not a lap puppy. I just can't help myself.) He has such fun running with the dogs in the house behind us. He so enjoys playing with his squeak ball. And I wondered...
What if the Amish or other heartless puppymill people got a hold of Radar's mom? If they had, once Radar was born, he might be lived out his life in a run or a cage, with very little human contact. He would not have ever known the thrill of running with Teddy, the shih tzu behind us. He wouldn't get to go for long walks in the park. He wouldn't be invited onto the bed to cuddle. (Actually, most of the time we don't invite him--he just jumps up and makes himself at home.)
Radar, Ruthie and the no-name-yet puppy (rescued yesterday) are lucky dogs indeed.
