So I'm doing a show after all.

The problem with me (and I might not be alone in this) is that I have a hard time imagining anything between close to perfect and nothing at all.

I'd been planning to do a first show featuring material from my columns, and it was overwhelming. A fully realized show involves a lot of preparation and getting every detail down all at once. A close-to-perfect show requires a ton of rehearsal and usually a lot of help from others to make it happen.

When I got a grasp of what "close to perfect" would involve, I realized I had set myself up for an almost impossible task. I do this with other things, large and small.

I want to stop eating sweets. But then I eat one small sweet and ruin my perfect record of no sweet eating, so I might as well have a piece of cake. What does it matter? Perfect isn't possible.

I was thinking the same way about this show. I knew I would be completely crazy if I tried to memorize 9,000 words and perform for the first time in almost five years in front of a full house with music and light cues and costume changes and a video crew catching every less-than-perfect moment. It was too much. I felt enormously relieved when it didn't come together.

But after I got to Mexico, a new idea started to emerge. What if I tried the less-than-perfect approach? What if I didn't memorize 9,000 words, but only a few hundred, and read the rest? What if I did an abbreviated sample of the show, stayed in one costume, skipped the music, and invited a few friends to come and see it for free? I would still get some video to use for promotion. It would be less than perfect, but it would happen, and I could make the next performance a bit better. And so on.

As soon as the less-than-perfect idea took hold, everything fell into place in a moment. Now I'm doing a show after all.

It's just a baby show. I'm advertising it as a "soft opening," as a "no bells or whistles" show. It will be only 30 minutes long, and I will have a videographer I just met in town, named Alejo, come to the theater to videotape. And I am very happy I am doing it.

The theater was delighted to host me. Alejo was eager and professional and affordable. Rehearsing the script was easy and stress-free because I knew I did not have to keep all those words in my head. If I needed them, they were right there in front of me.

And, best of all, it all started to sound like fun. What had seemed like a terribly scary and ambitious thing turned into a fun experiment.

"Perfection is the enemy of progress," Winston Churchill famously said. I would also add that nothing close to perfection is even possible unless I am first willing to be less than perfect.

So I am embracing less than perfect today.

And here's the funny thing: The people coming to see my less-than-perfect show seem excited. Getting in on something in the early stages, with a few bumps in the road, when everything is not all smooth and shiny, can be fun. It's new. It's fresh. It's a little scary. It's less than perfect.

I'm thinking there's a lot in my life that would be better less than perfect. I'm thinking a less-than-perfect life might be the best life of all.

Till next time,

Carrie

Photos and other things can be found on Facebook at CarrieClassonAuthor.

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I am quick to criticize other people's luxuries.

"Buying a latte every day?" I say. "What a waste!"

But, of course, I have Peter making me coffee, and I can have it exactly the way I like it. (Lots of milk, not too much coffee.)

I think sailboats and horses are crazy expensive, but campers and RVs make sense -- because that's what I grew up with.

"Economics don't count when you are talking about campers!" my father has repeatedly told me. My father is a frugal man. He lives simply and has no luxurious habits. But he has a very nice RV, and he has traded it in several times for slightly nicer models.

"This is the last one we will buy," he tells me, in a voice that makes it sound as if he means it. But then my parents see a new model that has some really nice features, and ...

My husband, Peter, started flying business class when he turned 70. He said it was his gift to himself when he went on Social Security. He claims that shopping around as he does, he pays only a little more for business than he would for coach.

I am not yet 70, so I don't know that I deserve this special treatment, but I confess I've gotten used to being able to go into the club between flights and getting a free cup of coffee exactly the way I like it. (Lots of milk, not too much coffee.) Peter stretches out his long legs and enjoys every minute of it.

I cannot believe how much people spend on new clothes, and I buy all my clothes used. But I don't want to tell you how many dresses I own -- and I can't, because I have no idea. I have far more dresses than any one person can reasonably wear.

But just when I say I need to stop buying dresses, I see a sleeveless burgundy dress with a swathe of velvet down the front and an asymmetrical hemline for less than $30 (used, of course!) and the next thing I know, I'm having it shipped to my sister's house while I am in Mexico because, well, I cannot let it go.

And every week, I buy flowers for my desk. I could buy quite a few lattes with what I spend on the fresh flowers that sit on my desk. I justify the expense by saying that, as I sit here all day writing, I need something pleasant to rest my eyes on between sentences. I say it's something I need -- and that is how all our luxuries are, I expect.

I know I am unfair to the people who need to go sailing and ride horses. I am unfair to the people whose day only starts out right when they have a pleasant professional prepare them a latte. (Although I still say Peter's is every bit as good, and just the way I like it -- lots of milk and not too much coffee.)

I know there are people who would say having a closet full of dresses (however beautiful and deeply discounted) is ridiculous and buying fresh flowers is wasteful. I would say they are being unreasonable. But I suspect we are all a little unsympathetic to what others perceive as a need.

We all need a few luxuries, big or small, to make us feel we are treating ourselves well. I am going to try to enjoy my little luxuries without too much guilt -- and allow everyone else to enjoy theirs.

Till next time,

Carrie

Photos and other things can be found on Facebook at CarrieClassonAuthor.

DISTRIBUTED BY ANDREWS MCMEEL SYNDICATION

Over the weekend, Felix met his three other mothers.

Felix is our cat, and we adopted him from Mexico. We are now back in Mexico for the first time since we adopted him and, of course, Felix is with us.

When my husband, Peter, and I first discussed adopting a cat, I had in mind some needy little creature who would cuddle on my lap when I read. Instead, we got Felix.

Felix was a street cat for two years before he was scooped up by his foster mothers. He was very skinny when they found him. He is black and white, with silky fur and a sly grin, and he is not at all interested in sitting on anyone's lap. Instead, he likes to tear around the house like a maniac and play games with Peter and nibble my toes to show he cares. He's a good traveler, and he did not seem to mind either moving to the U.S. or getting in his backpack carrier and coming back to Mexico.

I had half-hoped there might be a mariachi band playing when we landed, congratulating Felix on his triumphant return. Instead, we were met by a customs official who made a photocopy of Felix's health records, took his temperature, and wished us all a pleasant visit.

Once we got to our little apartment surrounded by painted suns and got all our stuff back into the usual cupboards and cabinets, we contacted Felix's foster mother, Marcela, and told her we were back, and said we would love to have her over for cake.

Felix's foster mother works at the environmental preserve where Peter takes his long daily walk. She lives with her sister and her sister's daughter, and they all live with whatever animals they have collected and are caring for on that particular day. At present, there are two cats, four birds and eleven dogs.

"I think she spends all of her salary on animal food!" Marcela's boss told Peter. Marcela has a big heart. She was delighted to come with her sister and niece to our apartment for cake and to see how Felix was doing.

"Do you think they'll be surprised how big he is?" Peter asked.

"They'll think he's fat!" I said.

I was a little nervous because I knew that having them over for cake would be a challenge. They speak almost no English, and Peter speaks no Spanish, so I am the one who is supposed to be translating for everyone, and I do not speak enough Spanish to be a translator.

But it really didn't matter because no one was there to listen to me. They were there to visit Felix.

"Oh! He's big." That's what they all said -- and even Peter understood that.

"He is!" I agreed. "Do you think he's fat?" The two women and the young girl all looked at Felix very seriously while eating their carrot cake.

"No," they all said, after a moment's consideration. They did not think he was too fat.

"But he is a little spoiled, don't you think?" I asked.

All three of them laughed and said, no, he couldn't be spoiled because he was a precious cat, and he deserved the best -- and even Felix understood that.

So we finished our carrot cake, and the young girl played with her bubble machine, which looked like a camera but shot out bubbles, which Felix thought was very exciting.

"He has found a good family," Marcela said.

"We are all Felix's family now," I told her. And everyone agreed -- especially Felix.

Till next time,

Carrie

Photos and other things can be found on Facebook at CarrieClassonAuthor.

DISTRIBUTED BY ANDREWS MCMEEL SYNDICATION