The best time for me to write is early morning. After a bowl of cereal and berries, I sit down to an empty page and turn the key. Sometimes I know exactly what I am about and it comes easy. Other times I haven’t a clue; it’s like reaching down a dark hole to see what’s there, hoping something bites you. If I pull my hand out and there’s a varmint chewing on my thumb, I have something to write about. So here it is early morning with stuff to write about but I don’t remember just what it is. It was crystal clear last night and I thought about it several times, as if it would help, but I should've known better. Right now I can’t remember what I’m wearing; just got dressed twenty minutes ago but looking at the computer screen, I don’t know what I’ve got on. I can feel shirt, pants, shoes and socks but if I don’t look, I don’t know. Well, maybe; I can tell by the feel that I have socks and sandals. Oh yea, now I remember; I took a tee shirt out of the drawer and put it back because it was the wrong color. I have green pants and a shirt that goes with green. Well, I cheated, looked down and saw the ‘Taylor’ guitar logo on my chest. It’s a black shirt. I didn’t forget, I just couldn’t remember. It worked itself out, sort of like a 12 step program without the addiction.
I like to think of this as a journal rather than a diary. Dictionaries and thesauri define them as synonymous in one case and different in another. I think of a diary as a private, personal work that is not meant for public consumption. A journal piece can certainly express feelings and experiences but you know from the start that other eyes will go there. So this morning I’m having fun at my own expense. Jokes about old people and memory loss are universal. But I’ve got so much more to remember now than when I was 35, it takes longer. It’s like digging in your pocket, looking for a penny amongst the nickels and dimes. You know there is one in there but everything that comes up is silver. Two hours later, when looking for a quarter, the copper coin will come up on top. You either be patient or change your plans. I push a dime across the counter and collect 9 pennies in return so I have pennies next time. I keep coins in a coin purse now. When I pull it out I get all my change at once, no digging for the solitary penny. If it’s not too full I can shake it around and see what’s there. Otherwise, I dump it all out in my hand or spread it out on the counter. It has several zipper pockets so I keep my pocket knife, several guitar picks, a good luck Petoskey stone, a couple of Canadian Toonies and a spare key to the lawnmower in there too. A lady behind me in line, waiting for me to finish sorting coins mumbled something about needing a bigger purse. I don’t have any issues with a shoulder bag except that I understand the principle: ‘Unnecessary stuff accumulates to fill the available space.’ If I carried a shoulder bag it would fill up and then, as I would unavoidably dig through it, hear comments about needing a wheel barrow.
Speaking of need, I need a magnifying glass. I don’t see as well as when I leapt tall buildings, faster than a speeding bullet so I keep a magnifier on a cord around my neck; I don’t lose it that way. I kept getting questions about my heart monitor so I added several Native American totems on two other cords. Now I am asked about my jewelry. I say they are religious articles, that I am pagan, which either ends the conversation or begins a different one. On one cord there are four items, a piece of Polynesian coral, a raven trinket from Alaska, a lizard from New Mexico and a thunderbird from Argentina. On the last cord there is a nice piece of Hopi silver, a hoop with thunder and rain symbols on both sides. I got it in 1992 up on 2nd Mesa in Arizona. It all goes together nicely and they don’t weigh much. Can’t say the same for my coin purse. Between it and my ‘Biker’ wallet, I can’t keep my pants up. I was ready for thinning hair and the memory thing but saggy pants was a surprise. Not that I ever had a big butt, but factor in the age element and muscle mass goes away. Gluteus Maximus are the big muscles of the butt and that’s where my pants used to hang. Now, with the extra weight of coin purse and wallet, my jeans work their way down so it’s difficult to do anything. I bought a pair of suspenders and that works but you have to be careful not to wear clothes over the top, it puts too much drama into pit stops at the local Home Depot. I don’t know anything about how pants are engineered but my jeans fall off without the ‘spenders’ and my cotton pants do not. Today is a ‘cotton pants’ day and I feel so liberated.
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