What? ……. Where’s my Brain?

With three teenagers at home and I the only taxi before and after school often created a very hectic schedule. Katy called from gymnastics, “Mom,” In a whisper of embarrassment I heard her dramatic voice, “Where are you? All of the other kids are gone, and I’m still here.”

“I can’t find the keys. I came in with the groceries and turned around to run back out the door and pick you up but I can’t find my keys.” My voice rose in frustration with each syllable I uttered. Without cell phones we depended on landlines, time limits, and neighbors.  “Call me back in five minutes, and I’ll see if I can find someone to pick you up.” Promptly hanging up, I turned to rummage through the groceries on the counter one more time.  Quietly, a gentle hand touched my shoulder. I swished to turn toward the touch only to face our youngest son, Matthew, who dangled a set of car keys in his hand.

In a monotone voice he spoke, “Is this what you are looking for?”

“Yes,” I screaked like a breathless actress trying out for a role, “Where did you find them?”

Soberly his large eyes looked at me with concern, “In the refrigerator.”

I paused for a moment to think! “Thank you.” I cried, then grabbed the keys and tore out for the door, “Oh, Matthew, please tell Katy when she calls that I’m on the way to pick her up.” I left him standing alone in that tiny kitchen, and felt like the worst mother in the world for abandoning our nine year old son, who had saved me once again.

So when I feel my age playing tricks on me, I remember how forgetful and chaotic life felt in my thirties…and forties.

The other day, I turned on the computer to finish a blog about a woman who sculpts ceramic hands, but I walked away to do something and forgot to go back to the computer.

This afternoon I came into to my playful room to color and draw and noticed my computer set up to work:  my notes about the lady sculptress were spread out over the Word 2013 Level 1 book showing my class assignment. Then my brain kicked on. I not only forgot to write the blog, I never did finish my class assignment from the day before. Now I was faced with three choices: draw, write, or study the technical reading step-by-step and finish the one class assignment.

I love my brain.  We (my brain and I) sat down without chaos and  doodled, colored, and piddled until at last the brain waves floated like clouds and I could think.

“Now let’s have some fun.” Whispered my brain.  So I put the lease on the peacefully sleeping dog and out the door we trotted. 

Guess I only have my brain to blame, or the disease CRS!

Oh, I’ve got to remember to buy cheese….

Que, Sera, Sera

The forecasting began over a week ago, “Cold front coming folks and moisture from the south means ICEY conditions.  We’ll keep you up-to-date.” Over and Over the words were repeated, “With Arctic air arriving on Friday and moisture from the Pacific and the Gulf colliding, the conditions can only mean disaster. Make sure you have your survival kits, stay off the roads, school closing are running at the bottom of the screen…..” Tension hung in the air, not ice.

Visceral memories of previous ice storms--four days without power, solid ice on roads, trees, people iced into their homes, and cell phones running down, created a mob effect at the grocery stores.

By Thursday I’d seen enough television to know that the area in purple could expect devastating effects from the ice; red meant three quarters of an inch of ice expected on power lines and trees for a moderate effect; orange meant enhanced; yellow meant slick; turquoise meant a glaze.

Remaining proactive whether about weather or daily life is important. What I question is the effect of sensationalism on our minds and bodies. Why do we allow the Media to create such havoc in our lives? We’ve been blasted from our comfort zone over national politics; the strife and division created by two simple colors describing who I am NOT—the Red states and the Blue states;  the what if’s and unknowns of change; of scenes of daily shootings on our streets and the continued holocaust in the Middle East.

Technology screams in tweets, peeps, gongs, swooshes, and sirens like a constant train of wrecks on the highway. And we wonder why it is so hard to relax and enjoy the moment.

Friday dawned cool, dry and refreshing.  We took Lucy to North base to run the fields and sniff the grasses while we walked a cool mile or more.  Suddenly, I thought now this is living in the now. The chilling North wind forced itself up my nose, opening my mind to the multitude of birds in the low grasses. A Killdeer fluttered away screaming in her protective mode; the Meadowlarks sang and ignored us; the Red-winged Black Birds swirled and circled around behind us; and dozens of UBBs (unidentified brown birds) fluttered and swarmed low to the ground, giving us a show like an MGM musical.  I forgot about the impending doom that never arrived.

Thanks to the descriptive words of Ivan Doig, I escaped part of the weekend reading This House of Sky, and realized that drifting

away to the mountains and valleys of Montana allows me to live in the fullness of the moment, much like meditation. Stopping my hands from rushing over the keyboard gives me brief moments of sparkle as I watch a tiny House Wren wag its tail while eating from the bird feeder outside my window. My husband steps in my Art Gecko room to tell me that the radar shows rain coming within the hour, I reply, “Que Sera, Sera, Whatever will be will be, I’m sick of the radar you see, Que Sera, Sera.” He smiled, we hugged and giggled. Now that is a visceral moment of living in the now.