Remembering What Counts

It’s been almost a week since I posted. I need to post today because I know that if I don’t update this blog regularly, those of you who are checking in regularly will stop. (If you’re not checking in that often... try harder.)

It’s not subject matter I’m having trouble with. Nor is it, even, the time to write. I’ve come up with subjects, and I’ve even had a few minutes of spare time. But the topics I’ve thought of—midlife psychosis, understanding teenagers, and why Xanax is so expensive—are the kind of subjects about which books are written. I write at that length only if I have some expectation of being paid for my time. Nobody’s paying me to do this blog, but if you want to make an offer, we can talk.

Small subjects... things where I can toss something off and leave you thinking I’m clever and pithy, yet wise... have eluded me. And also, if we’re going to be frank here, sometimes I just forget I have a blog I need to update. Maybe because I have these my-mind-is-an-arid-wasteland days.

Do you have those days? They’re the kind of days where you can meditate for hours, but still not find a single answer to the meaning of life, a single way to achieve the dreams of your heart, or a single thing listed on the menu of a fast-food restaurant that doesn’t cost more than the 76 cents you can find in your car if you hunt hard enough. That last is pretty important. I know, because the other day I didn’t have time to go home for lunch and I’d forgotten my bank card, and I was really, really hungry.

Okay, what I just said is a little misleading. About the bank card, that is. It’s not just that I’d forgotten the bank card; it's that I don’t even know where it is. I know, though, it’s somewhere in my house, so I’m not calling the bank yet. I’ve already replaced that card three times. This year.

Which brings to mind this idea I had. People who make bank cards should start equipping them with those beeper-things that are on a cordless phone. You know—-the ones where you push a button on the phone base and the receiver squawks from between the sofa cushions, from your son's room, or from the dishwasher? That beeper works really well for me, as long as I notice the receiver is missing before the battery runs down. I’m not buying another new phone this year, either.

Someone told me this blanking-out I experience is a result of declining estrogen. Or maybe I read it somewhere. I don’t remember. I do remember that the information was offered as if I’d find it reassuring to know that, at midlife, this is a normal phenomenon.

I’m not reassured. In fact, since I don’t expect spontaneous regeneration of my ovaries, I find it worrisome that this is something I’ll be dealing with for a while. If I'm lucky, quite a while.

Well, that’s the natural progression of life, I suppose. And maybe it’s not so important that I remember where I left my bank card or the cordless receiver, as long as I do remember the important stuff: never go to bed angry, always take time to smell the roses, and Hy-Vee Supermarket has Nature’s Choice Granola Bars for only 50 cents plus tax.