My mind is aswirl with whisps and threads, and cables of thought being thrown around in the tornado inside my head. If only that tornado would ever stop. Of course, if the tornado stopped it would likely clear just enough area to recognize the wave of the next tsunami about to charge ashore like the bulls of Pamplona crashing and clopping down ancient cobblestone streets. Doing more damage of tangling the threads because my thoughts, this one or that cannot seem to get out of their own way. Any more than some of the runners before the bulls on that day each year where they, for some crazy reason, think that running in front of bulls with long, pointy, distinctly hard things on their heads would make for light-hearted fun.
One thought/wisp trips over its own feet just walking quietly forward. Just as I notice my big KEEN shoes do when I walk. I have large feet for a woman. Which, now, as an adult, is not so bad. But, to wear size nine shoes in the ninth grade was considered big. Especially, for a girl. Now, that I think about it I guess that my body actually fits my personality more than I realized. Tromp, tromp the thoughts bypass one another. Then. my left shoe which, is heavier than the right (yes, all of my lefts), often causing me to kick myself when picking up my left foot to bring forward. As my foot embraced by its big shoe reaches the apex of its movement to step out in front of its sibling, my right, I often feel both the left foot turning inward, just a bit, simultaneous to my right calf or ankle registering it has just been grazed by a rubber toed hammer. A familiar one at that. Seriously. Didn’t we just do that?
I always want to write out my thoughts. That is quite impractical as I either cannot type fast enough or long enough or am not in a place where taking my hands off the steering wheel to open my laptop, much less encourage my fingers to tap dance across the keyboard, would be very appropriate. While I am not all that appropriate a person there are some things even I will not do.
That is not en-tire-ly true. I have been known to sneak out my SmarterThanMePhone during services and try to quickly buzz out a staccato sticky note. One containing only a sentence or two of my thought. Hoping that later in that same day, week, or even month (HA!), that I will revisit that theme. Once revisited I imagine I would very much like to sit down at my computer to tease out the tangles between the thread and the wisps caught within the cables of my inertia. And there is where it all falls apart.
Inertia. I am become the immovable object. Though, as a new Mom I was in near constant motion. Even when sitting. I was each of my children’s first and most favorite toy. A jungle gym. I had more toys on me than any eight hanging interactive toys. Their favorite; my stomach was the reliable though, somewhat squishy ground their curled toed pointy feet, stabbing into me could stand upon while their soft little fists wrapped their fingers around one of my fingers on either hand.
Their fingertips only slightly overlapping the thumb from the opposite side. My loose fingers gripping securely around their wrists. We held hands as they climbed Mt. Mommy. Up, jerkily and slowly from my ground to the curve of my collar bones. There they could push off to climb like the rock climber my oldest child has become reaching outward and unsteadily upward. Not even looking down to see where their foot would land. Certain that their Mommy God would guide them and support them to victory over the chin promontory was never in question. There they could stop for a moment to catch their breath and make a soft sound as they learned to giggle at the fun. Bouncing and stretching their little muscles. or just plopping down on my face. Then, resting before taking that final run up my face over my nose, toes on the lower orbits of my eyes set to trampoline up to my forehead. Arriving at the top of Mt. Mommy. Standing upon the highest point of my head. Proud and exhausted, giddy, and bouncy, and wobbly. Very like those first climbers of 1913 Denali (Mt. McKinley to some). Success. Accomplishment. Pure joy!
Walking down Mt. Mommy was not quite as fun as the ascent. Lucky for them they had a Mom who was willing to endure these climbs multiple times in any hour. Even the occasional tantrum. I don’t think they even knew why. Sometimes, you just have to cry.
The tornado got hold of me there. The thought. The one I wanted to expand upon. It was something about……….That is if I can remember the thought of such great weight and import it requires immediate edification. What thought? Yeah. That’s the problem. I cannot remember the profundity that once yelled at me to share it with the world.