When the Good Lord was creating mothers, He was into His sixth day of “overtime” when the angel appeared and said. “You’re doing a lot of fiddling around on this one.” 

And God said, “Have you read the specs on this order?” She has to be completely washable, but not plastic. Have 180 moveable parts…all replaceable. Run on black coffee and leftovers. Have a lap that disappears when she stands up. A kiss that can cure anything from a broken leg to a disappointed love affair. And six pairs of hands.” 

The angel shook her head slowly and said. “Six pairs of hands…. no way.” 

It’s not the hands that are causing me problems,” God remarked, “it’s the three pairs of eyes that mothers have to have.” 

That’s on the standard model?” asked the angel. God nodded. 

One pair that sees through closed doors when she asks, ‘What are you kids doing in there?’ when she already knows. Another here in the back of her head that sees what she shouldn’t but what she has to know, and of course the ones here in front that can look at a child when he goofs up and say. ‘I understand and I love you’ without so much as uttering a word.” 

God,” said the angel touching his sleeve gently, “Get some rest tomorrow….” 

I can’t,” said God, “I’m so close to creating something so close to myself. Already I have one who heals herself when she is sick…can feed a family of six on one pound of hamburger…and can get a nine year old to stand under a shower.” 

The angel circled the model of a mother very slowly. “It’s too soft,” she sighed. 

But tough!” said God excitedly. “You can imagine what this mother can do or endure.” 

Can it think?” 

Not only can it think, but it can reason and compromise,” said the Creator. 

Finally, the angel bent over and ran her finger across the cheek. 

There’s a leak,” she pronounced. “I told You that You were trying to put too much into this model.” 

It’s not a leak,” said the Lord, “It’s a tear.” 

What’s it for?” 

It’s for joy, sadness, disappointment, pain, loneliness, and pride.” 

You are a genius, ” said the angel. 

Somberly, God said, “I didn’t put it there.

Erma Bombeck, When God Created Mothers

“As a human being I have faults, you have faults, we all have faults. Even a great movie has faults. I think a great movie should have personality. And personality means that there are flaws, and you don’t have to correct the flaws. When you correct the flaws you’re eliminating personality. The Greek word for tragic flaw actually means, in Greek, defining characteristic. So the thing which makes the character is the thing which makes the flaw.  Charlie Kaufman’s movies are highly admired and yet if you analyze them almost all of them have some problem in the third act, things that don’t really work—but they’re part of the fabric. And if you were to clean it up entirely maybe the whole thing won’t work as well…Every script, every movie has a certain DNA, and things which seem illogical may work…Because movies have gotten so expensive, executives feel more fear. And that fear rules. And that fear forces executives to make your screenplay perfect. Perfection is the enemy of art. It’s the enemy of character. It’s the enemy of anything that’s dynamic and interesting.”

Nick Kazan

I can never read all the books I want; I can never be all the people I want and live all the lives I want. I can never train myself in all the skills I want. And why do I want? I want to live and feel all the shades, tones and variations of mental and physical experience possible in my life. And I am horribly limited.

Sylvia Plath, The Unabridged Journals of Sylvia Plath

Besides the many things (portable transistor radios, street football, running through backyard sprinklers) that occupied our time together in summer, us boys never missed an opportunity to convert an empty refrigerator box into a “fort.” If such a box was left on the sidewalk, we quickly snatched it up and using our imagination and duct tape made it into a fortress–as we appointed ourselves soldiers. And then we each begged our mothers for permission to sleep overnight in them. “Thank you, Sir, I mean Mom.” With permissions granted, we planted the box (fort) in a friend’s backyard, as we cut off the top of it so we could see the stars at night–and sleep under them too. One boy’s family had rigged up a walkie-talkie so us soldiers could always reach ‘headquarters’ which was only 50 feet away in one of the parent’s bedrooms. Ah, the simple pleasures of youth.