Oh, How I Can Relate

I Miss My Brain

Today I tried to open the office door with my car unlock button. I know there is a more efficient name for the car unlock button fob thing, but I don't have it right now. I had trouble driving without unnecessary impact. I showed up with my daughter for ballet at the wrong time. And the wrong day.

I used the suddenly vacant space of time to take the dog and the never-to-be-professional ballet dancing daughter to the sub-freezing dusk "no dogs allowed" park, instead. We ran from one end of the frozen tundra golf course and back, with a 4 month old puppy running circles around us. The air was biting, the light was low. It was hard to see the white puppy in the white snow. It felt wonderful. My daughter and I looked at each other from across a space of field, knowing that we had done the dog good. There was a big stone, the size of a resting cow, that I had never seen up close before. The inscription on the side said something about in memory for all the solders of the war of 1812 who died in hospital, or camp, or something like that, "and are buried here." I think I am going back tomorrow with the dog and reading it again. I saw the placard and year, but thought Teddy Roosevelt and wondered why folks from the Spanish American War infirmaries would be brought up this far north and put in the middle of the golf course. I decided that there must be a reason, and then ran after the dog.

See, I miss my brain.

Read the rest of I Miss My Brain, by Catherine at As Little Harm As Possible.

Comments

[yaya]

HAHAHAHA!!! I just noticed the BG face in all the picture frames behind Colbert!!! Your such a gas!!!

[Catherine]

I just mentioned to a friend that I had revived the blog, and he told me about your link. Thanks. I have tried for a year to figure out a way to separate personal from professional from art blogging and it's ridiculous. Something always gets dropped. So now for something even more ridiculous, an attempt at combining them all.

[blue girl]

Go for it, Catherine!

Oh boy, do I ever know about something always getting dropped.

Oh well. It won't kill us.

I don't think.