A Mother of All Lists

Four o’clock this morning my eyelids flip up like a venetian blind with a slipped spring. It’s Wednesday and I’ve forgotten about the blog. You’d think, after a full year of doing it, the habit would be tattooed in place. But—

POOF!

My brain has been slipping that clog too often lately. One minute I’m paying attention to what I’m doing and the next I’m in some other world winning an argument with someone, or even more likely, giving someone the full benefit of my wisdom on how to take better care of their life.

Too bad it’s not me I’m giving the lecture to. Or is it? Since it’s all in my own head, maybe I am lecturing me. Am I?

Wait! Crap, now I’m confused.

Here’s a prime example of slipping the clog. Yesterday was shopping day; up before dawn, make out the grocery list, the stops-in-town list, and the stops-in-proper-order list. Then bag up my have-read library books and the bag of plastic bags to recycle. Once daylight arrives, Mom has her first tray of pills and such-stuff in bed. Then she is up and ensconced in her living room chair with her breakfast tray and newspaper. Meanwhile Man-wonder is preparing himself for any calamities that may befall him while I’m gone – meaning he’s slurping his green smoothie, doing a crossword puzzle, and mentally beating his chest.

And so at this point, I head to town feeling a tad like superwoman, even remembering to check that my clothing was on right-side out. (A job Man-wonder usually does before I leave the house since I’m prone to dressing in the dark and forgetting about it.)

Sure enough, partway to town, I feel toes rubbing against soft (go-to-town shoes are not soft). Too bad I didn’t stick with the clothing check long enough to reach my feet. I made a quick corporate decision—to heck with it—my slippers were going to town.

We had a lovely soft, comfy four hours in town.

Maybe I need to create a check-list to hang beside the front door.

I’d better go make a list of things I need a list for. . .  

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