What is Lost

 

What is Lost

 

A friend texted me about having lost her car fob. As she knew we walked a lot, she thought we might walk around her route and look along the way for the missing object. We walked a couple of blocks and back as another storm was rolling in with wind and rain. With the rain coming down we went home. No luck. But in my mind, I thought it was probably in her house and sent angels to help her find her car fob. She was successful and, in the evening, she texted again with great relief saying it had been found.

I have a theory about lost items. There is a third or fourth dimension when they rest. I guess they are tired from existing. So, they wander off, hiding in plain sight. Until we need them, and in a panic, we start looking. Heart pounding, anxiety mounting, and curses building in our minds. How they really get there in this other dimension is no mystery. We are the creators, the architects, the directors of the drama soon to plague us. All it takes is a moment where our mind drifts when we go about our business.

It is hard to calm our “monkey minds” as the Buddhas put it. Try sitting quietly for five minutes and concentrate on your breathing without many other thoughts barging in. Thirty seconds is my goal. Walking in the door with keys in hand, you would think we would have it down pat, with a routine firm in our habits but no, we are thinking about what comes next, shoes off, bathroom, changing clothes, getting dinner on, our thoughts really don’t have an order and easily jump from one to another.

Which is why I rely on angels. There have been occasions when I have gotten to the panic state and the man, my husband, gently asks, “Did you ask for help?” It is his way of letting me know to step back, breathe, and ask for help for whatever I need. And you know what? I end up saying ‘Thank you’ a lot. For the third and fourth dimensions open up, and I find what is lost.

Just a note:  To see a short story I have written, consider the anthology I am in.  Release date is May 11th, 2026.

 https://amzn.to/4smFmKA

Charting My Way

Charting my Way

 

I like lists.  I am the sort who plans her day in a somewhat haphazard way. I have given up on should (ing) myself.  If it doesn’t happen, I am fine with how the day has gone as I look for what happened.  So, I started a list, a very random chart of what I hope to drink, eat on every day, perhaps read, cook.  It seems to be working.  I keep revising and adding to it as I go along.  I like it. It is not great writing and sometimes my handwriting leads me to mark the wrong food group, or with a huh, what is that?  But I don’t worry, I just head to the kitchen and eat it or start cooking if I don’t get distracted by a book.  Writing without glasses leads to interesting things

I assume everyone believes or knows our bodies change as we gain the years around the sun.  The aches, the pains, the loss of things not working seems to be happening more. But I have decided to adopt a leisurely attitude to it all.  It happens and I am still moving. 

I started writing this on July 21^st, 2022. I am still grateful for being able to move but my list of things I am grateful for has grown. I now have Parkinson’s. 

***

The Parkinson’s Poet

 

I have Parkinson’s.

I am a poet.

This is part of the story.

Which rambles, stutters, leaning into silence

Changing with each tick of the clock.

It hovers until a desire to walk, to reach, to hold, to grasp, to do

Anything, all things even speaking with a voice

A voice without the trills, crescendo passages of joy

Lingering in the air. Now disappeared.

Endless rests without reason, a mind asleep before an open door

Where beyond is things, ideas, and moments of opportunities.

Yet, sitting, drinking tea or coffee is a common event without shaking of limbs, yet.

Fingers obey the request of tapping, tapping on keys, chopping, cutting, even the simple flossing

Of tired teeth from chewing, chewing for the swallowing, swallowing.

This is part of the story.

I am a poet.

I have Parkinson’s.

***

I am grateful for life. I was able to have a baby, raised him with the help of the man, my husband. I am grateful for being able to work and go on vacation with my son and my husband. Both my husband and I are actors. I remember dancing and singing on the stage. Sometimes, acting is very physical. I died in Act I and then Act II of a play.  I did prat falls when I died.  Oh, I can still get up and down off the floor, but it is with great intent as I carefully bend down and ease myself down for an easy yoga workout. I take meds faithfully, morning, noon, and night.  It is a good time for gratitude when I think of the scientists who develop the meds, the manufacturers, and the traveling my meds must do before they reach me.

I think my gratitude must start with the awareness of my first breath in the morning as I swung my legs off the bed. Afterall, I am still here. 

***

Just what have I been doing in my spare time. Napping has been a high priority. Walking, I love walking particularly in the early morning with all the birds waking up and greeting the day. Writing now and then with the emphasis on then. I have been writing short stories, and I am excited to be included in several anthologies. Here is one of them. Release date is May 11, 2026.

 

https://amzn.to/4smFmKA

My husband, Scott Branchfield is also included in this collection.