Halloween Bunny Strikes Again

I’ve had several people send me carrot recipes.

You can see why….

Thanks Les for making this great photo

I’m not sure why I planted so many. I guess I was having a Scarlett O-Hara moment, feeling that  “Ah’d nevah be hungry again.”

I canned carrots. Froze carrots. I shaved carrots into all kinds of food…even brownies, until Scout and Dallas Cowboy found out and demanded no more healthy food additives for them.

Now, my latenights are busy with sneaking out and leaving carrots on folks doorsteps. BwahHaHaHa…

Beware!! The Easter Bunny is celebrating Halloween.

When You’re Not in Kansas Anymore, Dorothy

A Great Photo by PixieSticks23

It’s the garden’s fault.

First it was the raspberries. Millions of them, dangling like red jewels in the bushes.

Then a heat wave rolled into the valley, and like a Smucker employee, I was picking, jellying, and making cordial for days until…. well…often until morning broke the nightsky.

Then came blueberries, blackberries, peas, and the blessings kept sprouting out of the ground along with a few epiphanies.

Last night I was under the shade tree in the back yard snapping green beans. The thought came to me that this wasn’t as much fun as it used to be and I wondered why.

I have little-girl memories of sitting under the big ol’ elm, and everyone snapping  beans, slapping an occasional mosquito, and sharing their day.  Of course, we didn’t have air-conditioning, so sitting outside, hoping for a breeze to stir the baked air, was a nightly ritual.  We also put fireflies in jars, flipped june-bugs on their backs and watched them spin, and waited for the shift-change in insect hunting go from starlings to bats.

Now, I was under the tree with only the yard cat for company. Everyone else was inside, in airconditioning, watching TV, or in front of a computer.

I realized that the only reason I was sitting under the tree in the twilight was because that was how I had always snapped green beans as I grew up.  I hadn’t thought it through. I guess I thought everyone would drift outside to see what I was doing…in the heat…in the semi-darkness.

I felt kind of stupid.

Life changes. At least the bats still come out.

Improving Sleep by Recharging the Brain Battery

Great news.  I’m still remembering to haul those dratted reusable bags into the grocery store since my experiment with brain/memory a couple of weeks ago.  So I thought I’d do some tested ancient exercises (instead of the ones I made up) and see if I can recover even more brain cells and improve sleep.

I ran across  an article about using Chinese Health Balls to recharge.  The benefits are:

• Stimulates blood circulation
• Eases  joint stiffness
• Relieves stress
• Promotes sleep
• Increases Memory

HooRAY!! Count me in.  So I dug  out the set that Scout bought  when we were in San Francisco’s China town. They emit a soft chime as I rotate them in one hand.   Their  purpose is to fire the acupuncture points and  nerve endings, while loosening musles.  This is supposed to enliven the cerebrum and nervous system leaving me refreshed and relaxed.

Personally, I think it’s the chiming sound that’s relaxing, more than the muscle twisting.  And maybe the real secret behind the restorative powers of Chinese Boading balls is that you can’t cook, garden, write, or crochet when you’re twirling them in your hand.

I’m sure my memory will improve because I’m making time to sit and think about the things I’m forgetting.

Sleep?….we’ll see.

Mr. Spock Didn’t Have These Problems

I enjoyed the new Star Trek movie, nudging Scout and whispering, “It’s him!’ when the Old-Spock appeared on the screen.

The audience clapped when Leonard Nimoy’s voice intoned: “Space, the final frontier. These are the voyages of……”   You know the rest.

As we left the dim theater for the bright lights of reality, it stuck me that unlike today’s citizens,  no character  in the Star Trek movies ever looks for a job.  The industrial military complex of the Starship Federation provides millions of positions throughout the universe (with no discrimination toward multiple eyes, borg-parts, or creepy rippled foreheads).

In the future, folks wear attractive uniforms, bosses are almost always fair, and careers  don’t crush your spirit. Perhaps that’s why we enjoy the movies so much. They take us away from the reality of jobs that we don’t enjoy.

The good news is that in today’s market, simply having a job is a blessing.

I interviewed a stone fabricator last week. He was excited because his company had just received an order for a new construction project.  He’s done lots of remodels lately, but this was for a new home.  “Things are starting to tick upward.” He grinned with hope.

So if you’re looking for work, it’s possible that one will open up soon. If you’re in a job that’s a stepping-stone to your dream-position, then you may be able to hop to the next step shortly.

And if you’re a Trekkie…may you find work that allows you “to go where no one has gone before.”

Perhaps, this isn't the manager to work for????

Who Said Life Wasn’t a Musical?

Check out this video and smile.

I’m All Ears and Hot New Snyapses

Photo by Crashcandy

I’ve had several surprises since I began this quest to stop brain drain and gain better sleep.

Yesterday, I didn’t use my right hand. I agree with digipicsphotography’s  comment that a person learns clever work-arounds employing the rest of the body. Today, I was surprised to find that I still used toes and elbows to turn on lights and open doors, even though I could use my hand. Wow. I engaged or renewed some brain pathways and actually allowed my brain to start producing some new growth molecules. WhooHoo.

Today’s experiment was to try not to speak . I expected to become a better listener since I was taking myself out of the equation. I discovered nothing about my brain, but a lot about other’s actions.

A number of people didn’t communicate with me. They weren’t rude, but if they couldn’t use the spoken word, they really didn’t try much beyond, “Hello” or “Are you sick.”

For the two who did engage me in a bit of conversation, they had a great deal of patience, waiting while I scribbled out a note, then waiting again because they couldn’t read it and I had to do a rewrite.

I found I scribbled very few notes. It was tedious to write; therefore I was more selective about what I wanted to express.

It was frustrating at times. But it made me realize how often I’ve avoided engaging folks that had speech impediments, heavy accents, or (I’m embarrassed to say…) stories that I’ve heard too many times.

I knew the kernel of truth in this experiment, but I guess I had to be on the receiving end to make it blossom in my conscious. I realized that when folks genuinely tried to understand me—whether through notes, mime, or signing, it felt like a gift. A gift of their time and affirmation.

Wouldn’t that be a sweet gift to give to every friend, relative and new acquaintance? I hope I keep the residual effects from this experiment.

Tomorrow: I’m driving somewhere I’ve never been before and buying groceries in a strange store. I hope they have chili beans for Friday’s surprise experiment. And…

I’ll use my non-dominant hand to operate the computer mouse, tomorrow. According to “Neurobics” (exercises for the brain), If it’s uncomfortable and awkward, then practicing will help develop new neural pathways.

Join me.

I’ve Got My Fingers, But No Hands Today

In an effort to avoid sleepless nights from Brain Drain, I’m breaking out of my routine. Yesterday I made soup—blindfolded.

I was amazed to find  that my feet knew my kitchen even when I couldn’t see. I tried not to think about how to get from the refrigerator to the sink. I walked and stopped; and who-woulda-thought— the sink was right there! It was the same with the drawers. The stove. The utensils.

Perhaps it’s called “muscle memory.” But whatever the file in the brain is called, it has recorded all my steps to familiar places. (I wonder if I can tap into this process to find my lost keys? Maybe my feet remember where I put them.)

I was pretty smug until I started using the knife.  Even moving slowly,  it frightened me. I waited until Scout got home so he could take me to ER if I mistook a finger for a carrot.  I’m not sure which was more interesting: chopping veggies blindfolded or Scout’s on-going commentary.  Well, the soup was good, but had rather large veggies in it.

Since I was so worried about hacking off my digits yesterday, today’s experiement was: NOT USING MY RIGHT HAND.

Yes, I’m typing this hunt & peck style. And let me say: I’m thankful for spell check. Having no right hand has made me become very creative in finding “work-arounds.”  Elbows, toes, hips, and knees become important players in hefting, sweeping, and opening doors. I’m even looking forward to the next laundry day when I can actually fold with 2 hands. ( Funny how I take little things for granted.)

So here’s the sweet little secret I’ve learned so far: Like a movie, our brain knows the script and if we rest the main actors of our body (our hands and eyes), then the other characters get a chance to star.

What a wonderful creation we are…and that gives me hope.

Tommorrow?   I’ll try life without speaking.

Night time Brain Drain

Thanks to the Medem Medical Library

For the last two nights,  I’ve fallen asleep quickly, but then I find I’m working in my sleep. I’m aware of this in my dreams and tell myself to stop.  I’ve  even gotten up, had a bowl of cereal, hoping the intermission will change my thought pathways. But when I went back to bed and fell into a light snooze, I wrote a Powerpoint presentation on the history of Scouting.

Good grief. (It’s not due for another 3 weeks.)  I organized slides and wrote script, and let me tell you, it was BRILLIANT!

Of course, I can’t remember a bit of it in my waking hours. I’m tired, and feeling as though I’ve worked all night.

Brain experts tell us that 2 things are guaranteed to vacuum the brain of creativity and spark:

1. stress. This nasty little noodler of brain cells makes us focus on sidepaths rather than our goals and leaves us without energy to work on what’s truly important. (Okay, I knew that, but it’s not fair that it’s at work in my sleep.) And…
2. A repetitive and routine-driven life sucks the life out of your mental processes.

AAAwk!  Like Pigpen in the “Peanuts” comic strip, chaos fumes around me  in funky clouds. That’s why I strive for routine. I look for “uncrowded”, “unnoticed” paths for every project. Repetitive and routine would be wonderful, if only I could achieve it. CowboyFan says it’s because my definition of “Routine” is not the same as a sane person’s definition.

Well….who can accept the word of a man who thinks black-walnut ice cream is a huge anomaly?

So this week (much to CowboyFan’s horror), I’m adding one new experience to each day.

Why not join me for at least a day?  We’ll see if creating a new snyapse truly does help our sleep.

Do something different. It can be easy: (eat with your left hand; wear your watch on your opposite arm; wear you shirt inside out {which I’ve done by accident, then tried to convince folks that I meant to do it…ego is a sad thing, yes?])

Or Challenge yourself: learn a new skill: sharpen a mower blade; interview for a job; dye your hair pink.

I’ll report on my progress through the week. Let me know what new activity you’re doing for your brain.

Today…I’m going to make soup— blindfolded.

P.S. If I don’t post on the blog tomorrow, it’s because I’m in the hospital.

See…one new experience leads to another.

No Hope in Reusable Grocery Bags

I know some of you come here for your zen moment. And I apologize in advance that it’s not going to happen with this posting.  If you need a positive moment, maybe you should go over to Laid Off Now What? Les is the most upbeat guy I know in the face of unemployment, but even the subject of reusable bags might knock him down.

Now I admit,  reusable bags save a lot of plastic trees and real trees too. I have 7 fiber bags and one nice plastic-coated one that I won at a “Sustainable Environment” show at the convention center.  I won it by knowing how much compost a pound of worms  could process in a day.  (Don’t hold your breath waiting for me to tell you, because I forgot. It was multiple choice and I happened to guess correctly.)  But the point is….I’m interested in doing my environmental share in case you were thinking  that I’m a complete eco-slob.

The problem with those dratted reusable bags is that they make my blood pressure spike.  My shopping trips begin as pleasant strolls through the aisles matching coupons to things that I need. Then I reach the check out and wait in line, and just when it’s MY turn. I remember those STOOOPID bags are still in the car.

“Paper or plastic?” the checker asks. Oooooh the guilt. Then then the irritation. What is this….the 50th time I’ve forgotten those bags?

“Just throw it all back in the cart. I’ll bag it standing at my trunk,” I reply.

Well, that was a lousy idea. Besides standing in the rain, getting wet, most of the people in the parking lot thought that I’d probably stolen a basket of groceries and wheeled it directly to my car.

I used to lament loudly over my bag-dementia. Folks with me  in the check-out line had lots of suggestions. Like a frantic victim looking for a cure. I’ve tried most of them:

• put them in your purse. (They’re huge. This only works if I’m carrying a gym bag as a purse.)
• put them in the front seat with you. (Nope. They blend in with all my other front seat essentials: Kleenex, Chapstick, mints, notebook, pens)
• set them on your dashboard. (I’m not a race car driver, but not even a hula doll with a suction cup will stay on my dashboard.)
• “I sit on them,” one overly eco-confident shopper bragged to me. (Well sitting on those scratchy little buggers would tick me off even more. I’m already kicking the pens, notebooks and sliding hula doll back into the car so I can close the door, now  I have to  fight with bags, too?

No way. Those bags have more evasive moves than Chuck Norris. They know when to collapse and go limp so you can’t stuff anything in them. They know when to take a dive and roll their contents under seats. They lure you with their roominess and then laugh when you can’t tote them with 18 pounds of kittly litter in them. Those bags are clever adversaries.

So I resolved there’s no hope for this situation—until last week. Last Tuesday,  I ambled across the parking lot and a sign over one of the cart “corrals” read: DID YOU REMEMBER YOUR BAGS?

Hot dog! Now that’s what I call a public service announcement.  I grabbed a bag out of the front-seat rubble and shopped with the smugness that sustainability experts  must experience—until I arrived at the check stand.

Somewhere in my aisle meanderings, I’d laid my bag down.

Who knows where?

I hate those bags.

Jumping Through Life

I saw a homeless woman walking down the street yesterday.  She had on several coats and carried her bedrolls and worldly possessions in a raggedy back pack.

Suddenly she stopped walking turned around and hopped on one leg then two for  a short distance.  She turned and did the same thing again, then proceeded walking in the same shuffle she had before.

As I drove past, I realized she’d paused  and played on the hopscotch that someone had chalked on the sidewalk.

It reminded me among all the worries of life, to pause and take more moments to play.