It’s halfway through the year, but more than a year since I butchered my left pointer finger. I caught it in a  spinning knife—an immersion blender is what they are called.

I was so horrified, I wrapped it in a bandadge as quickly as I could. It bled a LOT. Since I could move it, I chose to let that be enough.

it hurt a lot too.  Four deep scars are now part of my fingerprint. It was numb, and then it would hurt sometimes. I massaged it to try to get it to come back to life and spend hours worrying that I had done serious damage.

Being the stubborn woman I am, I learned to do what I needed or wanted to do by using other fingers. That finger was clumsy, so I started making new habits to accommodate how things seemed to work.

I got used to doing things in a different way. I found new ways of fastening necklaces.

I found other ways to play the piano. 

I wanted to sing and play. I had my goal to record 100 new songs.  And I found a way to make it happen. I am now at 112.

I cut the finger in June of 2025. And I found a way around it.

That was a year ago, and I’m pleased with what I did. I didn’t let a setback stop me.

And my finger has gotten a lot better, It’s not as clumsy or  painful.

I am seeing that my workarounds are now looking like bad habits. It that finger clumsy from the injury?

or am I clumsy because I stopped using it and now my finger is weak and stiff?

I had a good reason for changing how I used my hand. It seems like that reason remains in my habits but not in its essence.

I created a no-go zone that has lasted longer than the fence did.

What could I do now that I thought I couldn’t?

I’m going to go find out.

I am recording the audio files for the handbook I just published. This is the fifth book I’ve published, but the first one I’ve made into an audiobook.
When I published my first book 15 years ago, the new format choice was making sure it was an ebook. I got that published almost at the same time.
The current way to consume books is by listening. I understand. I have the habit of listening to books as I move around. I want to give my readers an audiobook in my own voice.
I have the equipment, and most of the skills to do that. To get the sound right, I drape a blanket over my head and microphone, reading in a level tone to get the audio quality just right.

I have worked hard on each of my books. This last one took a lot longer than I meant it to. With all the cancer and surgeries in the middle, I paused on getting it published. Then I through all caution out the window and passed go without collecting 200 dollars.
What that means is I didn’t do the quality check of hiring an editor to verify that the text was right. I have always been so careful of that, but not this time.

And unlike the other books, no one had come back to me to point out mistakes. I felt safe and shrugged that the first pass was good enough.
I am reading the chapters out loud. Those good enough chapters are showing my failings in naked embarrassing contrast.
Did I forget a period? AGAIN?
Mortified, I make corrections in my manuscript to read aloud. What is my error tolerance?

I have lowered my standards. Yet, this book is my most popular. But I rushed it to press without my usual attention to detail.
And now I see what I missed. That my readers have been forgiving.
I’m trying to forgive myself.
What is the balance between perfecting and presenting?
I’m happy with how my book has been received. And I’m not happy with its obvious and basic flaws.
And yet the book was so well received even with its flaws, I have to consider that good enough can be welcome when there is nothing else fill that need.
That’s what I’m telling myself. Done is better than perfect. That’s good because I can get it done and I’m not sure I’ll ever get it perfect.
Still I feel like I have my shoes untied. I’m going to update the book with my corrections after I finish the recordings.

Immersive language learning is the best way to learn. I was in Russia as a nineteen year old, desperate to make friends and get away from the tiny apartment where my family lived. I had to learn the language so I could have converations which meant friends.

I practiced the alphabet on the plane over, I was nowhere near skilled enough to have a conversation. But that immersion thing helped. I spoke to strangers and studied every day and night and got closer eery day.

I did make some friends—at first people who knew English. As I tried to practice speaking Russian, that translation dictionary came out to help me find the right word. And conversation stopped as I flipped pages to find the meaning.

After time I got just enough vocabulary to string together a basic conversation.

Barely.

with my goal of leaving my home and making friends, I could visit other people’s houses and have a chat. But if I wanted the conversation to flow, I had to be the one talking.

If I let the other people  speak, I could never be sure of what would come out of their mouths. I could be sure that I would understand the words I was speaking.

It was risky to let new words in, otherwise, we’d be back to that vibe-killind dictionary.

I’m not proud of my choice. It was intentional to limit the language learning in order to get a chance to use the language.

We had a lot of enjoyable conversations, my new Russian friends. I was very fluent in the words surrounding preparing tea. A lot of companionable things can be said without using complicated words.

It would take me quite a while to get that fluent in Russian again, but I have learned to invert that strategy in my conversations.

I know my life, I lived it. BUt when I start conversations with new friends, I avoid talking about my life. I choose carefully which pieces to introduce into the conversation, because I want the keep the conversation going.  I don’t’ want to get stuck on old news, flipping the pages of the unchanging dictionary of my life.

What is in your story? Do you know something I could use? Something I could chew on and ponder?

I’ll tell my stories—I’ve published books about them. More important to me is knowing something new. I want to keep the flow rolling.

The alarm wakes me before the sun rises. Working east coast hours I get ready to meet my day. I gather my bible and journal to sit on my patio. I would be cold if I didn’t have slippers and my warm robe.

I flip on the lights so I can see to read, and I also light the candle that is next to my chair. The aroma and flickering flame adds to my pleasure.

The dark sky hovers over the mostly imperceptible hum of the suburbs. I am still groggy so my mind is awkward with the sentences and phrases of the chapter of the morning. I rub my eyes, shake my head and scan the words again.

Ancient words familiar to me, still gleaming with immediate relevance. I look over at my candle to marvel and ponder.

My eyes look up at the sky. Darkness is slowly fading. Where I sit, dawn is not cracking. It spreads like incense.

I turn back to the verse. My communion with scripture in the air of the dawn is not solitary. Fine-tuned to light, birds begin to fly and extemporize. Power poles hold the wires and the wires hold the bird. At least the birds that want to held there, for however long it pleases them.

Chirps
Whistles
Trills
Croaks

The morning birds have things to say to each other. They look far and are not concerned with me.

We early birds are not showy. Colors are not needed before the sun gets involved.

Light gets thicker and the excitement grows. Birds flit and talk speak.

I furrow my soul with the chapters, looking to bring order to my chaos.

I can only imagine what those birds are organizing with each other. My hopes and intentions join the birds as we greet the sun with plans.

I blow out my candle with regret every time.

That light switch I gratefully flipped in the dark fades in the light of day. Get started on the everything—clothes, coffee, and meetings for work. I owe it the gratitude of remembrance.

March 5th I published The AV Project Manager handbook. It is my 5th published book

I have published books on Amazon, so I know how. Writing a book is a lot of work. I’ve done it enough times to respect what it takes. My ability to write a book and put it up for sale is the part I am most confident about.


I am very intimidated about selling it. Almost all my books have been very personal, while I attempted to write something beautiful and wise.

This handbook though, I knew was very specific. It is the book I wished I had when I started being an AV project manager. I feel confident in its value.

I tried a lot of different things to let people know about it. I also made a point of attending America’s largest Pro AV tradeshow in Vegas last week. Last year, Pro AV made $332 billion dollars. This show is the place where my handbook would have an audience.

However, it costs thousand of dollars to have a presesence—a booth—in that show. How was I supposed to get anyone’s attention? I’m not important.

I had plans, and concocted complicated strategies to promote my book and my expertise.

Which fell through the morning before.

That left me with my unadorned self. I laminated a 11×14 in printout of my book cover, punched two holes in it and wore it around my neck. It was light enough, I barely noticed it.

But others did. As I was in line to get my badge, I introduced myself to the woman behind me. “I’m Murphy! I wrote this book.”

She Bought it right away.

And I walked the floor, I met more and more people Some of them were not interested in the book. Others came from across the path to say hello and pose for a selfie.

Three days of introductions and sharing stories. I even met other people who had written books, and they share their expertise too.

of the 25 thousand people there, most were strangers. But I also met old friends that I worked with and have known for years.

I chose to go to the booths of companies where friends worked to give hugs and catch up.

Many of them said they already had the book. Many of them bought the book from me then and there.

I came away with a lot of perspective and joy. I did not and do not have a plan for what to do next.

I do know that whatever I do next will have to stay in the theme of being myself unadorned.

I have plans. I want to reach for all that is possible. Big goals and big plans. I could plan out what needs to happen to get to where I wanted to be. First I would have to organize this, then this next thing was the key to unlocking the rest.

I do love my goals. I always have several going on. I push them forward, aware of where they sit, what I am waiting on and when I should put to get an update because things have slowed down.

This instinct helps me in my profession as a project manager. I love to track the movement toward the goal and remove all the obstacles, no matter how small. I will make three paths to to goal, just to make it as easy as possible for my teams to get there.

I’ll write out possibilities, seeing if a tweak could make it ever better. If we did it this way, would it be faster?

And if tried that, maybe we could capture another prize. Let’s see if that can happen!

And these plans are all in motion. Push push push push

The flow of motion is a joy.

Until

STOP

Blocked

But I had a plan! I was going to to this one thing, and then it would lead to the next thing

Why no!?

I want to execute my plan. It’s a beautiful plan.
All my energy was channeled into making it happen.

I can’t handle a NO.

I try again. And again.

NO

I throw myself against the blocked door. Give me an answer!

No.
I might not like it, but no is an answer.

Beating myself against a locked door is a waste of time.

The sooner I accept the answer the sooner I can get my energy back.

That beautiful plan needs a re-mapping. The no is not about me.

It is a “try again.”

I can still find a way to that prize. I’m still looking.

This is my backyard. Our dog runs around out there.

We had a drought, and we were riding the fine line. How do we water the grass while still conserving water?

We tried a lot of things, including planting a low water seed.

Then.

Things happened. We got caught up in other things.

IMPORTANT things!!

We let the grass fend for itself.  

There were rainy seasons when the plant life in that area burst forth exuberantly. I liked the luxurious growth, relishing the soft carpet of wild clover leaves

This was unearned luxury.

A broken clock is correct twice a day.

The growth dried in the sun. We discovered the pretty plants dried into sticky burrs that stuck to our socks and in between the poor doggie’s toes.

It’s time we did right by our backyard.

I am tired of seeing suffering on my doggie’s face. I want to have grass between my toes. We’ve waited too long.

Enough with the procrastination! I am ready to put the work in and fix it.

I began to collect the information to start the project. And I realize I am too late.

Like I said before, there are times when plants thrive and there are times when they suffer. Right now is a tough time for plants.

As weary as I am of these ugly prickly weeds, the new grass won’t survive well right now.

There is a window of opportunity, and I missed it.  I’ll just have to grind my teeth and fish the burrs out of my dog’s fur until it is cooler weather.

I have to pay attention to the seasons. There was a dry season, and we responded. There was a busy season and we responded to that.

Now I’m living with the consequences. I wish I had that pretty lawn, but I put my attention elsewhere.

I made a choice. I am living with the consequences.

I am reaping the harvest I have sown.

And I wish I could go back in time and have grass again. I can’t. Those prickly burrs are a reminder to pay attention to my life while I’m living it.  

Monday was Memorial Day, and in my home—the house of history—we remember war time stories. The TV channels find all the war movies to show, and D-Day and Normandy beach flash before our eyes. Those heroes, so many that didn’t come back

That’s the point of Memorial day. Rememer, Honor and be inspired to be worthy of that sacrifice.

Those soldiers train hard. They learned and struggled and practiced. This process allows heroic efforts. It is vanishingly rare for great deeds to come without preparation

I remember the heroes across time. More than one movie told of battle of Thermopylae, between the Spartans and Xerxes king of Persia

300 Spartand fought off the persians—a hundred thousand they say—and won the day. Before that battle, Spartans were legendary for their battle training. All of them learned from young days to fight.

That’s one massive confrontation.

Then I think of the story of David. He took on one man.

Goliath was massive, and David wasn’t even a man yet. Little brother went to the battle field with a picnic basket and told his brothers they were chicken.

Easy for him to say, he was visiting.

And he knew something they didn’t know. He knew what he’d been doing with his time. He’d mastered the sling, and could sling a rock exactly where he wanted it to go.

That was a big advantage over Goliath’s size. And from a distance, without ever touching him, David took down the giant.

Normandy Beach, the 300 at Thermopylae, David and Goliath—I am sobered and serious about being the best I can be.

All these heroes had sytems. They did repetitive action until they knew without thinking what movement to make and what action to take.

I am loath to put these heroes to shame. I have systems, I know what I could be doing.

They have come to the end of their days. I have not.

This is my day. I’m going to make something of it.

I’ve talked about time before. In the 24 years of the WonderBlog, with three thousand posts, a search reveals I’ve mentioned time in half of them.

That sounds right.

And I think of this line:

I have measured out my life with coffee spoons

T. S. Eliot’s Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock. But let me read the poem to find the line. I dissect out this cross section:

In a minute there is time

For decisions and revisions which a minute will reverse.

For I have known them all already, known them all:

Have known the evenings, mornings, afternoons,

Yes, Prufrock. Time, like the green then yellow lemons on the tree. Hanging with promise for so long, ready for harvesting anytime. I could pluck it. Or cherish the unspent future.

Lemons look great on a tree. I’ve found the bright yellow promise can deceive. They age well on the branch, looking bright and cheery. I finally pick it to find a dry husk.

I hate to waste time. I feel it move over me. My habits—to see the morning, greet my day and make something of it—are part of redeeming the time.

But I don’t always get what I want. I didn’t expect to be out of work since September.

The sun rises without my help.

My best quote for the feeling is my own from The Russian American School of Tomorrow:

“We had crossed the International Date Line, so it was..yesterday? Tomorrow? Time hung spinning in the now with nowhere to land”

Time vertigo.

On May first I signed a contract. The wheels touched down on the track again.

I am moving forward.Fast.

Oh yeah. I missed this. I’m good at this. It’s high time I found my way back to it.

Inertia can mean being stuck in one place.

It can also mean gaining momentum on a path. I’ll do that now. Holding my hands up on the plunge of the roller coaster..heeeere I go!

Reading Deuteronomy as an adult, I was impressed with chapter 28

And it shall come to pass, if thou shalt hearken diligently unto the voice of the Lord thy God, to observe and to do all his commandments which I command thee this day, that the Lord thy God will set thee on high above all nations of the earth: And all these blessings shall come on thee, and overtake thee, if thou shalt hearken unto the voice of the Lord thy God

The blessings go from verse 2-14. Very nice things will happen.

Then come the curses. Those last from verse 16-68. Some horrifying curses pour out from this book of Moses. I will not soon forget.

Blessings are clearly not enough motivation, there are four and a half times as many bad things pending on my choices than the rewards.

This is ancient horror. It’s been popular since the dawn of history.

Greek curses are truly memorable. Narcissus fell in love with his reflection and couldn’t bear to leave it. He wasted away into a pretty flower (I know it as the daffodil).

But Prometheus is chained on a mountaintop and every day an eagle eats his liver out. While he’s alive. But he grows one back every day in order for it to be eaten again. A violent painful life, but with a lovely view.

Sisiphus has to roll a rock up a hill perpetually, and every time he crests the rock falls down. He’s a hardworking curse victim.

Dante’s Inferno draws inspiration from these Greek curse examples, showing the perpetual tortures of hell.

Demons in The Journey to the West aka Monkey King(a 15^th century Chinese classic, featuring Buddha) operate under a different system. The Emperor of heaven will dispense curses on humans for their wrong that makes them demons. Two of the main sidekicks (a pig and a dragon) are working out their curses in the hopes of being restored. Other demons are firmly evil and may or not be under a curse. They were defensively killed before we learned their history.

WARNING! DANGER! STAY AWAY!

Curses are meant to remind people to stay on the right path. For my here and now, I have a concept of what the right path is. I’m less sure about what the Greeks or Romans considered the right path. The ancient Chinese right and wrong is further removed.

These curses are a strong reminder to keep to the straight path.