Bared to the Soul

I visited my mother.

On the first day, my mother didn’t know me when she saw me.

That was okay.  She’s collected a whole lot of birthdays.  She’s had a stroke. I’d prepared myself for such a possibility.

But then, sometime during the second day…she knew me.

I knew the moment it happened.

It wasn’t the “aha” moment I have with friends when I spot them in the grocery store. It was the quiet, solid locking of eyes when two people have shared the same experience. In that deep gaze, images came at me–rapid fire and plush with emotions: teenage arguments; late night talks, sewing lessons; snotty things I’d said…

In no particular order, wordless visions of our lives twined around each other as we stared.

She looked into my eyes and read the depths of my soul, asking me to understand all the words she  wasn’t  able to speak anymore.

“I know you,” was all the vocabulary she was able to say. All my courage and bravado crumbled.

I had prepared for my mother not knowing me.  I was unprepared for the depth at which she knew me.

I’m not for sure who my tears are for….her or me.

Front Row Seats If You Answer the Call

The phone rang at 12:30 am.

Two rings. It jolted me upright. But when I picked it up, there was only a dial tone.

Probably a wrong number.  Maybe someone grabbed the caller’s phone and shut it off, exclaiming, “Good heavens. Don’t call them at this hour!” Maybe.

Possibly,  it was bad news. A heart attack. An accident. My mind flits to a friend. When her uncle died at 3 am, her husband took the phone away from her, saying her uncle would be just as dead at 9 am; why make folks fret about it in the middle of the night. Let everybody get some sleep.

I rooted back down in my covers, making a nest out of sheets and pillows, getting it tucked in just so at the sides.

The phone rang again.

My arm shot toward the receiver like a yo-yo.

The raucaus laughter of teenagers sounded from the other end.  Then “shh’s” and giggles. I hung up without  saying a word.

My sleep is a fragile thing, like a shadow that I can’t catch. My mind spiraled to my juvie phone pranks.  Like calling the National Gambling Association and telling them, “I bet 50 bucks I can end my gambling problem by the start of next week.”  I was glad I wasn’t 16 and hilarious anymore. Half and hour passed.

I could hear a barking dog. I wondered how far away he was. What was he grousing about?  Images of skunks and  raccoons on night raids filled my mind. An hour winked away.

I got up and padded outside, wrapped in a blanket.

A full moon reigned over the sky. The earth like a stage, lay waiting in silvery-blue light.  The faintest breeze carried star song from the passing constellations.   Fine white crystals spider-webbed across pumpkins and leaves. The first frost of fall.

I smile. Maybe it wasn’t a prank call. Perhaps it was the signal to let me know intermission was over. The second act of the seasons had begun.

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.

Canning Moonshine

by Zest-pk

Yes, even though I haven’t posted for most of the summer, I’m still laboring while others are sleeping.

Tonight the kitchen is abuzz with activity.

A three-layered metal contraption called a steamer is percolating on the stove top.  The Swedish genuis who designed it created a method to split open the cells of fruit with heat, and siphon their juicy goodness.

I’ve beaten the wicked deer to the Concords this year. 5-gallon buckets of grapes line up next to the stove, awaiting their turn in the steamer.    I drain the boiling purple juice into big half-gallon jars and listen for the lids to “Ping”, indicating they’ve sealed. It takes about an hour for each batch.

Even though it’s 2 in the  morning when I finish,  I trek the stems and collapsed grape skins outside to the compost pile.  (Fruit flies…blah)

The air is crisp from the first chilly snap of the season. Leaves litter the ground. Orion has returned to the sky after his summer vacation. The faint light of a half-moon illuminates curlicues of steam ghosting off the pot of spent grapes I carry.

It’s a night to remember. Late nights are like that…when you think no one is awake, and you have the stars and quietness all to yourself.

Just as Dandelion wine evokes images of long sunny days, each jar of grape juice, will fill my cloud-ridden winter with crisp autumn nights and the waning moon of summer. I’m really canning moon shine.

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.

Eureaka! It Works.

Photo by Thomas Hawk

Sorry, I didn’t wear strappy heels to the Salsa experiment. I’m not sure they would have helped my appearance. There was a mirror across one side of the room. I was thinking Penelope Cruz, but I looked like Tom Cruise jumping around.

I’m not sure how the instructor was able to disconnect her spine from her lower body and move her hips like one of those wooden, jointed snakes you win at a carnival booth.

It was great fun, and like a square dance, I had to listen to the instructor’s calls and try to respond with the right moves. It wasn’t pretty, but it was a lot of exercise.

So, this week I discovered that stepping outside of my routine made a small but significant change in my brain. I experienced new sensory abilities which have become part of my brain’s vocabulary.

This experiment was started to alleviate brain drain in the hopes of sleeping better. Perhaps, if the brain isn’t bored during the day, it doesn’t try to entertain itself at night. I have been sleeping better,but my dreams are still strange…maybe even weirder (probably all those new synapses firing.)

I’ll continue to try to add new routines and different motor skill each day  because I have empirical evidence that it gives results.

How?

I remembered to tote my reusable bags into the store  today.

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.