Peanut Butter Brain

It’s Monday. My brain is sticky. I just can’t seem to concentrate today. I haven’t run all weekend and I haven’t come up with a single good idea all day. Getting out of bed was my first bad idea. Followed by getting dressed, putting on my work face and getting on the bus to stare blankly at a computer screen for hours. All very, very bad ideas. Let’s take a moment to breathe.

When I find myself stuck in a mental quagmire, I make a list. Lists help me get organized. Here is my list for today:

1. Make to-do list
2. Do stuff on to-do list
3. Cross stuff off of to-do list
4. Have a chocolate bar
5. Have another chocolate bar, maybe with almonds or something

I am one of those people who write stuff on their to-do list simply to have the thrill of crossing it off and feeling accomplished. Like that whole chocolate bar thing. I did that around 10:00 am today. But I’m all about celebrating successes. Now that my day has some order, I am regaining some mental clarity.

This weekend I went to a community garden meeting to push the issue of creating no till areas in our garden so that we can do crazy things like grow garlic and plant a late crop of potatoes. I also somehow got roped into assuming more of a leadership role at the garden. This role was confirmed when a fellow gardener, who has taken on the role of garden vigilante, spent the night at the garden to keep a lookout for garden thieves. He called me at midnight to report that armed with his flashlight, he had chased six guys out of the garden.

Welcome to Wisconsin, where the thieves don’t steal cars. They steal cabbages.

Yesterday we had both sets of parents over for dinner. We roasted one of our chickens from the farm, mashed potatoes plucked from our garden and cooked up zucchini from our neighbor. The meal was topped off with homemade rhubarb pie and fresh whipped cream. As we sat down to dinner, Chris enthusiastically told everyone the stories behind each of the items at the table. It was really cool to be able to tie everything back to someone we knew.

We finished the night by heading out to the Memorial Union for ice cream from the Dairy Science School at the University. On the way back to the car we found ourselves drawn in to a drumming circle at the end of State Street. Jay, who regularly gets sent to his room for banging on buckets and pot lids, could not believe his good luck. A whole group of grown ups raising a ruckus, and encouraging him to join in! He bounced and bopped to the undeniable, unstoppable booty shaking rhythms. They smiled as he shook tambourines and rain sticks, maracas and measuring spoons. They laughed as he beat on bongo drums and metal bowls and empty water bottles, thumped trash cans and wooden boxes. They even let him take the lead. All the while Jay, who obviously could not believe his good fortune, kept looking over at me as if to ask, “Is this REALLY o.k., Mom?” He was exhilarated. It was exhilarating to watch him.

And yet I am so glad those bongo drums stayed at the end of State Street.