OOPS!

         Oh, it tasted terrible alright and I just about gagged. I had put a squeeze of Voltaren Arthritis Pain Gel on my toothbrush without realizing it and began my morning grooming routine of teeth brushing. Well...You can only imagine! I was in a rush, as usual, to make the 6:20 for my regular commute to Manhattan.


         Obviously, I didn't catch the 6:20 on that morning. It took a good fifteen minutes or so to get rid of the horrific taste of pain-gel stuck on my teeth and replace it with that tingly taste of toothpaste mint.

         Luckily, I did resolve the pain-gel issue. In my exhausted state the night before, I had put my toothpaste tube on the same shelf as the Voltaren Arthritis Pain Gel.

         But it could have been worse. I could have put my toothpaste next to the tube of Neutrogena Ultra Sheer Sunscreen, Broad Spectrum, Waterproof, Non-greasy SPF 55 UVA Protection.

         The simple solution was that I made a mistake. I put the toothpaste on the wrong shelf.

         Yes, when it comes to making things, mistakes might just be one of my strengths.

         Like that time in fifth grade when I didn't tell my mom I got in trouble at school, which was a rarity, I assure you. However, this one time trouble found me. Although I had been instructed to report the incident to my mom, I did not. Instead, I skipped off to a friend's house.

         Indeed, that was a major mistake I had made.

         "What?" gasped my gal pal Marguerite, or Margy for short. "You didn't tell your Mutha what happened in school?" she added in her best Long Island inflection of the word mother.

         Well, shortly after I arrived at Margy's, her mutha informed me that my mom had called and wanted me home forthwith. Margy walked me back to my house.

         We held hands the whole four blocks and she hugged me before I entered my home, where all hell broke loose. My mom was holding the dreaded wooden spoon and waving it around in the air as if it were a cleave and she was Vlad the Impaler.

                   
         Lucky for me, corporal punishment was outlawed in our home. But, oh, just seeing that wooden spoon was enough to scare the green off leaves in June.

         Nevertheless, there was plenty of crying and gnashing of teeth that day, along with a wealth of non-corporal imaginative and embarrassing punishments in store for me. Mom's wrath lasted about a month.

         Then there was that time - as a fully grown world-traveling savvy adult - I opted to leave behind my passport holder. You know the kind. It's a plastic thingy on a cord that hangs around the neck making one appear as if they just got off steerage at Ellis Island.

         I would instead wear my denim jacket that had four pockets both inside and out with plenty of room for passport and phone.

         This time I made a massive mistake.

         Somehow on the flight between Lisbon, Portugal and Marrakesh, my passport disappeared.

         Don't even ask.

         "This is a police matter," said the customs agent. I showed an officer pictures of my passport stored on my phone, to no avail. The police demanded all of both my husband's and my identification and we were placed in detention.

         Two days later, we were permitted to fly back to Lisbon, where we were greeted by a Portuguese security officer who returned our identification. It had been held by the pilot during the flight; as if husband and I were going to make a run for it at 30,000 miles in the air.

         I made a plea to the officer. "We are not criminals," I asserted. "Somehow my passport was lost or stolen between here and Marrakesh," I added.

         Long story, short, my passport was turned in to the airport police after being found somewhere on the streets of Lisbon.

         As we flew back to The States, I wondered what I'd do with the kaftans and scarves I had bought to properly cover my body in Morocco. It took a few days to get back our luggage and weeks to recover from the whole fiasco.

         But I had learned a hard lesson about arrogance and keeping vital documents secure. Also that pockets are only meant to keep hands warm, hold tissues, and carry treats for puppies...or grandkids.

         And after that incident with my mother, I learned a more important lesson that has served me well my entire life so far. Never blindside anyone. This was an excellent learning experience, especially when I entered the professional world. If a mistake was made...own it. And own it as soon as possible.

         In fact, I've learned quite a bit from mistakes I have made over the years; perhaps even more than I have learned from books. My mistakes always result in life lessons. They have made me wise, in fact.

         Yes, making or creating a physical thing can be quite satisfying. But making a mistake can afford a person some wisdom and hopefully a large dose of compassion as we watch others on the bumpy road of life become wizened too.

         I figure that one day when I've gone a long stretch of time - maybe even years - without making a mistake or two, the Maker-in-Chief will welcome me home.