I have to write things down.
My very full, distractible (see last post) brain just cannot hold all the things I want to write about for longer than a goldfish's, and some of my best ideas come and go like the scarce rains of this summer. When did I get out of the habit of having a notebook with me everywhere I go? Or a least scraps of paper to jot down a snippet of overheard conversation or a scene that is story fodder?
Maybe I have become over-confident in my memory's ability to snag and hold ideas. I know sometimes when I am researching something on the web, I open a new tab to find a related post and forget almost at once what it was I came for, sort of like walking into a room in my house with great purpose until I stop and say, "Wait. What am I here for?" It's frustrating, but in conversations with others I find that I am far from the only one.
It's useless for me to try to retrieve the neural signal by concentrating harder. The more I struggle, the more elusive the idea gets. I retrace. It was a quote I read that got me pondering the complexities of . . . what? Arrghhhh. I tell myself to relax, clear my mind and it will come back. Sometimes in the fullness of time, it does. Sometimes, nada.
Deep breath. OK. I am going to strategically place notebooks and pens wherever I spend time -- in my handbag, in the car, by my bed, in the kitchen and maybe even the bathroom. (I do some fine thinking in there by times.) When the thought or inspiration comes, it will have no chance of escaping into the fargone-osphere anymore! (credit to my former husband for that word; it's where every lost thing ever goes.)
Wish me luck.
I get distracted.
If you know me, you get that. If you married me, you knew that coming in. If I gave birth to you, you really know that.
Could I call it Attention Deficit Disorder? In the best sense of the terminology flung about so readily these days, I suppose so. Having worked thirty plus years in the field of education, I know that the diagnosis rarely means the inability to pay attention, but the tendency to pay attention to everything, all the time. I think of it more as being pulled, drawn in . . . every sensory input requires acknowledgement and so I hear all the conversations within earshot, I see the tiniest movement of that branch . . . WAIT! Do I smell cinnamon? The fabric of that cushion on the display sofa is just begging me to caress it with my fingers, nay . . . both hands.
Sometimes the world is just much too interesting to get all my focus on the very thing or person that I am supposed to or wish to be attending to. This blog for example. So, I have about four other tasks, all pleasant ones, on hold while I write this entry, and I am laughing at my confession to you thinking that you do this too, in some regard.
It's not pure procrastination nor lack of my muse visiting. Oh she visits, all right! When I want to sleep, drive, grocery shop, garden, have tea with a friend, she visits, unbidden and I write and write. But rarely on my blog, to my chagrin and to that of a few of my dear followers who I fear must have long forgotten and/or abandoned me. And who would blame them . . .?
Living in the moment with mindfulness and gratitude almost requires one to be sensorily driven. How could I forego the minutes scratching my dogs' silken ears for anything else? I have the liberty to do nothing besides listen to Andrea Bocelli's voice for a whole hour if I so choose. Why would I multitask and do several things badly when I can just stop and look? Look and see the indescribable deep coral rose colour of the poppies in the vase on the coffee table?
Distractions as some would call them are everywhere -- the internet, Facebook and Pinterest, phone calls and people in store lineups, photo opportunities in a ditch or orchard. Other people's babies in strollers, elderly faces with the wisdom of the ages on bodies bent by work and time; books, shops and photographs. I look at all the lighted windows down any road at night when we drive past, and wonder about the lives being lived in those houses. I don't want to miss any of it.
When I am brought back sharply at times from one of these moments, I'm often caught off guard by what else is happening, what someone has just asked me, or the cover rattling on a boiling pot that I've momentarily overlooked. How can all of this be happening at the same time? I want to concentrate on the smell of this fresh cut lemon. I want to feel and hear and taste it all. I want to will my eyes to take it all in, the beauty and the ugliness. To commit it to memory and savour it.
We as human beings carry out some very strange rituals in the name of preserving tradition, even though these practices may leave us spent, tired and craving some alone time after they have passed for another year. How I love Christmas and the lead up to the days of family gatherings, friends, food and laughter as we catch up with one another in person from our various homes, nearby and provinces away! I revel in making our home a welcoming place by cleaning, re-arranging and decorating its rooms for the yuletide times so that Jules comes home from work each night in December wondering what else I have strewn with lights, boughs and baubles. She smilingly approves and tells me how nice it looks, and I know she is sincere, for it is not this part of the celebrations that either of us find taxing.
Where things get tricky is the part where we are invited out or we invite others in. Is it my age or am I just becoming less inclined to socialize? The cast of characters remains pretty stable - old friends, neighbours, siblings, cousins and children. Jules is not a big fan of crowds and noise. She loves these people but in small doses, and if there's something about Christmas that is troublesome to her, it would be large, loud gatherings with voices raised above music, hockey games, and calling from one room (or storey, for that matter) to another to round up the crew to get going. This is why either one of us gets a "by" if we need it on occasion. We have an agreement that she or I can be excused from play if we have simply had our fill. How I love the way this works! Now and then, we both send our regrets because we are double-booked, or just want to stay home, on our own in our comfortable nest that time.
We are such creatures of habit within our own domain, all of us. For the first time this year, our home was occupied not just by us, but for a couple of days and nights by our son, his partner and three awesome young people. The other 357 (give or take!) days of the year, we are free to walk around in our pjs and not lock the bathroom door. Now there are seven people wanting the shower . . . Add to it Christmas gifts for four more people, two adorable and well-behaved Golden Retrievers, meals, snacks and drinks at all hours, and there is disruption however brief. We not only survived, but had a wonderful time together!
I loved the hive of activity at our home from the 23rd to 25th with the arrival of our little family from The Passage. My heart was so full when after dinner on the night they came, all of us were tucked into our beds for the night, under this roof where my own parents made so many wonderful Christmas memories for us. Christmas Eve was so nice with friends and family at our open house for gentle snowfall and the brass band and carolers. We broke tradition and opened our presents after the guests had left, leaving stockings for morning and then brunch before they had to leave for home and other celebrations.
Give me the noise, confusion and people time every year - full on. We are very blessed. Sometimes the holidays are like a marathon, but it is so worth it!
