I wrote recently about donkey zonks, and the importance of embracing the hee haw of it all. (link toDonkey Zonk: https://kellybrewer.blogspot.com/2024/12/donkey-zonk.html )
The catalyst for that analogy was a writing contest I entered last Fall.
I usually enter with an interest in 'staying active' and having fun, getting a little feedback and just giving myself something to do.
But this contest was a little different. I wanted to do well.
This contest was connected to a favorite author and I hoped to reflect my appreciation for her work in my writing.
I spent a lot of time planning, writing drafts, editing, proofreading, overthinking and even praying about my entry. I used real life family members as inspiration. I submitted from the heart, daring not to be too hopeful.
And then, miracle of miracles - I placed in the top 3 finalists.
I was invited to a reception at the upcoming literary festival at the author's museum (Yes! she has her own museum) and I would get the opportunity to tell her thank you for her own inspiring works.
It was to be a grand adventure- right around my birthday, too. My sister in law and I would Thelma and Louise our way up the mountain, give Ms. Jan a hug, have some marmalade cake and call the whole thing a shin dig. We had taken a similar trip for the museum's grand opening. This time, we would take our girls. We rented a lakeside Air B&B @ Lake Hickory.
Our group chat was named "Mountain Mommas"
(link to Mitford Museum Grand Opening: https://photos.app.goo.gl/KRM1Sqo2484rvfLG7)
Leading up to the event, I hand painted no less than a dozen wooden medallions inspired by the author's works. I would tuck them around the museum when I got there -like the little scraps of art I'd recently been hiding around town to spread smiles in my community.
(link to post: Hidden Things- https://kellybrewer.blogspot.com/2024/09/hidden-things.html )
(link to post: Scavenged Art: North Carolina - https://kellybrewer.blogspot.com/2025/01/scavenged-art-north-carolina.html)
Winds of change blew those plans to pieces, and we called her name Helene.
I've said that gal was out to get me one way or the other, for it hit my backyard and blew the lights out in the museum at the same time.
We were probably spared a lot of hassle and even kept safe by not being on the road that day - ya gotta count your donkeys for the blessings they be, too.
We followed the museum's social media feed after that and watched a developing trend: whenever anyone asked about refunds for the weekend's event (due to an inability to travel or even put gas in our cars) those inquiries were not responded to. There were other communications, we got to see the first place winner of the writing contest with the author, as well as the 'mend and make-do' candle lit reception for those who had gotten into town before the storm. But the refund was a mute point.
I realized they probably weren't sure what they were going to do, but I felt terrible.
My sister in law had paid for her ticket to the event where mine had been comped as part of my "prize". I had wanted to cover the cost myself but had to wait for the extra to do so.
Our Air B& B host had already initiated a return on our stay and we were all facing days of uncertainty for the foreseeable future.
After a few days with no word, and having talked with my sister in law about it, heart sick that one of my favorite fictional hometowns did not appear to be, in fact, “taking care of its own” I wrote an email to the museum office explaining our storm-tossed state and asking that my sister in law have her money refunded.
The reply was cordial and a refund was granted - in fact they had sent out an email that very morning.
An email I didn't receive because, as a winner, I was not on the email list for ticket holders.
I thanked the office and we arranged that I'd send them some of the art tokens to be hidden in the days to come.
Time went by and we dealt with the trees and debris.
We are still dealing with trees and debris.
I mailed a package with all my hand painted ornaments before December so that would-be finders might have an ornament for their tree. I encouraged those in the museum’s office to choose one to keep for themselves.
Also tucked inside were bracelets made by my mom for Ms. Jan.
She started making bracelets a few years ago when she was walking through a shadowland. When she makes you one, or gives you one of the many encouraging phrases she keeps in her purse, she's handing you a tangible reminder that you are loved.
The author's bracelet said "Thy Will Be Done" - which is a key phrase from her books, and also the prayer that never fails.
(link to Thy Will Be Done: https://kellybrewer.blogspot.com/2025/01/thy-will-be-done.html?m=1 )
December arrived. Christmas week came and went.
My sister in law mentioned the museum sent her a Christmas card.
Again, I failed to make the mailing list.
As we approach February, no ornaments have been found. Each one has a QR code that invites the finder to log their find.
I'm a little sad because they were dated 2024 and now it is 2025.
Perhaps the package got lost in the mail ?
Another package of ornaments sent to our Air B&B host came back with insufficient address info.
North Carolina has had its share of woes... so really, who knows?
I know there are good explanations for missed communications.
Heck, in my most Mitford-like job, as a Lutheran church secretary, I battled the bulge of multiple old email lists and had to re-send communications to those who'd not yet been merged in - it was never malicious.
Still, the opportunity to feel rejection in all of this has been real.
“Mitford takes care of her own”
Perhaps I am one of the tourists they prefer keeps passing through.
I placed in the contest but won less, somehow.
It’s kinda like hearing "Come on down!" only to become the butt of a joke on stage.
I've been waiting for a sense that it has all 'worked for good' to share my lost art and my writing entry, but now, I'm ready to just 'clear my cache' and walk on.
I'm going to use the next few posts to share my lost art and (probably)-third-place writing entry.
Last night, before I went to bed, I saw the museum is hiring.
The job description emphasized making all guests feel special and welcomed. In addition to other qualifications that I possess for the job, I found that having been overlooked increased my desire to step into that role and do it very well.
I considered the ramifications as I drifted into dreams... and dreamt my parents were cautioning me about moving away .
In the morning, Rye vetoed any talks about moving to North Carolina, so I'm not putting in my resume.
That would have been a swell conclusion, though- wouldn't it ? I could say it all made sense now - could point out all the synchronicities and cosmic timing.
But, it's still a mystery why every door in Mitford seems to be hiding a new and precocious baby donkey for me alone, lately.
Me. Alone.
I'm choosing to embrace the hee haw of it all instead of turning bitter though.
My neighbor recently moved to Missouri. Though we both lived here for many years, we only met for the first time a month before she had to move.
In that time, we shared more neighborly exchanges than I've had in this neighborhood the whole time I've lived here. She adopted my son's cat, Timmy and brought over soup, tea and medicine when I was sick. I loaned her air mattresses when all their furniture was packed up and sent her away with Book 1 of a rather special series.
On the note I wrote:
"In Mitford, we will always be neighbors"
