My brain feels like a pinball machine these days. That sounds like a bad thing, but I’m trying to put a positive spin on it. Awareness is key and having that much, maybe I can also figure out how to make my way out of the arcade on occasion.
On one “I Love Raymond” episode, Ray is trying to explain to his older brother the benefits of marriage: “You wake up, she’s there. You go to sleep she’s there. You (fill in the blank) she’s there. And that sounds like a bad thing. But it isn’t. It’s a good thing.”
And that bounces me over to Martha Stewart saying, “It’s a good thing.” As I write this, I am pillow propped up on the sofa with one of her trademark colored, blue-and-green comforters. Sofa is one letter away from soft. Couch is one letter more than ouch. And my granny used to call it a davenport. Pinball.
So, feeling like one thought sets off a buzzer, another sinks into a hole only to pop up elsewhere, and a third rolls up a ramp headed toward Homer Simpson’s toilet bowl, well where is the positive in that? How about at least I’ve got balls, flippers, and quarters to play?
I search “simplicity” on the Internet and find the Simplicity 101 website. The exact soft shades on my comforter appear on the worksheet and hope grows. Maybe this will help me to narrow my thoughts and gain focus. Channeling all that super kinetic, frenetic energy must be a good goal. Right? Does anyone know a good pinball wizard that I could consult?
Then I remember that God is my pinball wizard, and I begin to settle down. I also gain hope from the 101 signaling the entry-level course. Even at 46, I feel daily like a beginner.
If God truly, truly is my pinball wizard, ALL my stuff is fluff. And at first, I meant stuff in the physical clutter sense of the word. That is an issue for me. When I searched “letting go of stuff,” and clicked on the first site, it turned out to be about “life issue” stuff. I guess, no I am sure, that I qualify for that too, but I’ve been actively, cognitively working on that since I was 19. Again, I’m 46.
I’m loving that number. The 4 is strong and the 6 formed from a single determined, yet curvy and flowing line. Add them together and you get 10, which is closer to how old I really feel.
I inherited my grandmother’s youthful complexion, my dad’s wavy hair, and my mom’s connection to the infinite. I am not a mother; yet, I work with children. It is a recipe for timelessness.
When I was getting married and really wanted to face the “would I, should I, could I” question of having children, I turned to a book. About in the middle I came to a page that asked if I really had the “psychic energy” to devote to the job of motherhood. And I got the answer to my question. I immediately understood psychic energy to mean the brain power, the mental capacity, to think about all that I needed to think about to survive myself, with enough left over for the responsibility of caring effectively for a new and developing human being. No. No, I don’t.
As luck would have it, I do have a stepdaughter. So I can feel and experience a tiny part of the world of motherhood. It’s similar to being permitted to dip my toe in the shallow end of a big luxury resort pool. Not that I am comparing motherhood to being at a spa, but rather that it’s such a special exclusive group to be a member of. Like they say, you can’t be a little bit pregnant.
So on Tuesday we will drive to the airport to pick her up. She and I both have spring break from school. We’ll go to the beach, the boardwalk, and the arcade. Salty air, saltier fries, and stuffed animals. Stuff stuffed. Necessary stuff.