I remember
…winter froze the paper caps atop the cream in milk bottles delivered to the metal stand. The green radiator hissed and dripped snow from boots until spring came, and pussy willows cut from a roadside swamp lay on the floor beside it, while a big, curved glass pitcher was being filled with tepid water. Boston cream pie and upside-down chocolate pudding cake, cooling on the cutting board, barely escaped the tip of my sniffing nose. My mouth watered in the warm aroma.*
Boston cream pie is sliced on plates for dessert. My milk glass is empty, and I want more. Dropping the glass returning to the table—I feel bad. My dad wipes the linoleum, and my mother’s “Oh, Barbara” says that I’ve done something wrong—or inconvenient.
When one of my daughters spilled milk, I told them to get paper towels with a supporting tone and a surprised, but understanding, expression. Sixty years later, I’ve learned a phrase for this— “There is no such thing as failure, only feedback.”*
When my family of marriage lived in Montclair, near our home was a large, lovely house with a family of four boys and a pregnant mom. In their front hall, one day (for a neighborhood reason), I saw a jam jar on its side on the rug—red (probably raspberry) on pale green. Noticing my gaze, the mom said that it had been there for four days. The jam could wait until someone had time to clean it up. I admired the mom’s composure.
My realization is, “When mistakes are made, we can choose words in a situation to build or reduce self-confidence and prime the ones for improved behavior if there’s a next opportunity.
*A Flower for God
*Neuro Linguistic Programming