Life as we know it - 2/2011

Life as we know it 

 

Last night I went to bed around midnight. I turned out the light, made my way over to the bed in the dark, then suddenly got the idea – almost like a voice in my head - that I should go back to the bathroom. What? I thought. Why? I opened my bedroom door.  The light was still on in the bathroom. I turned it off.

I know, no big deal. It's a 60 watt bulb. But I couldn't stop wondering what it was that reminded me? I offered a thank-you to the unknown universe.

Today I tightened the small screw in my glasses frames. I applied some glue, to the head of the screw on the advice of a student in my class decades ago. As I worked I reflected on where I should put the screw driver when I finished, so I’d know where it was the next time it was needed.

I set the repaired glasses on the kitchen counter to dry. I noticed a few crumbs, brushed them into the wastebasket, moved some utensils and cereal bowl to the dishwasher, crumpled a plastic bag and walked it over to a recycling container.

Out the front window I spied the neighbor walking her dog. She has two; where’s the other? I moved closer to the window, watched for a few seconds. I turned back and saw the small pile of tax documents on my desk. I should look on-line, I thought, for a rough calculation or rate chart, to see if I’m going to get killed with taxes this year. So I think.

Back now to where I should put the mini-screwdriver. Ok – so first - where is that screwdriver?

I look on the kitchen counter. No.

I walk to the front window, glance around. No.
The desk? No. Over by the recyclables? No.   

I repeat the same path again. Still no screwdriver.

I reflect on last night, the voice (or something) that said “Go back into the bathroom.” I could call upon that voice again I think I should go back to the kitchen once more. But I pause here. And I reflect, should I sit down to call “the voice?” I should, I just think – to concentrate. I pause again. Do I want to sit now, to better think? Who is that “voice” anyway? My deceased mom or dad I imagine. I remain standing in the dining room, not moving, thinking of my parents, when I turn my head and notice the screwdriver laying in the folds of a sweater on the dining room table.

Again, I think it was my parents.

What can I say? It seems, stuff like that, it’s in our nature.