Yesterday was unusual.  I had put the black car in the shop because it kept disengaging the steering wheel when I turned a corner.  Come to find out, I needed new bearings in the "drive something or other," so the black car was in the shop.  I was driving the white car.

I had an appointment to play my marimba at a retirement community, and was on my way, when I realized that my marimba was in pieces in the trunk of the black car--in the shop.  So I hurried to the Lincoln Service Center, and by the grace of God they had finished replacing the drive shaft.  So I traded cars and hurried to the appointment.  But I got lost on the other side of town--where I had never been.  Thank God for Seri--is that how you spell it?   Barely got set up in time to play.

And did a very poor job of it.  I was totally flustered. (I hate it when it's not perfect.) I told the director, "Thats it. I'm done with this. I can't even remember which car my marimba is in."  He cooled me down, told me I did fine.  And that he really, really, really didn't want me to quit.   And he sincerely meant it.  So I took a breath.  Or two.

It's been 24 hours and I am calm again.  I did therapy.  I went to Lowe's and bought some Peonies, and Gardenia bushes.  I'll get my shovel, dig some holes in the ground and all will be well.

Buying Gardenias is taking a big risk.  I've killed a zillion of them.  They rank #2 in my "Plant Murder Annals" to Pink Dogwoods--which I have planted many, many times and have never successfully been able to grow.  You would think that eventually one of them would make it.  But no.  They don't.  And no.  I don't give up.

So with a heart full of faith, I am going to plant all my Therapy bushes--and leave it up to God to do the rest.  Maybe He will take pity on me.

And maybe I need to take more time practicing my marimba.  They say practice makes perfect.  And my goal is to be perfect--at least at playing the marimba.  Everything else is in doubt.