WEEKLY WRITER'S PATH #29
It’s almost too unbearably beautiful to live in Santa Fe in the fall, so the great jokester created pollen. Swaths of yellow buttercups across highways and meadows frizz the air above them with visible clouds of powdery ammunition. The blue sky gets deeper this time of year. It’s so lovely to look at through the tightly-sealed windows of your house.
Contact lenses are a luxury and pharmacies run out of medicine. The longer you live in Santa Fe, the worse your allergies get.
But fall is my most creative and productive time to write. The heat waves are gone and the birds sing all night long inspiring crazy ideas and entire film plot narratives.
There are people who appreciate my writing, who respond to my blog, who have cheered my efforts and been touched by my words.
Then there is my husband.
It’s not easy sharing a life with someone who only reads crossword puzzles and septic system manuals regularly.
And yet he learns. I ask him to look at my latest copy for a fall ad campaign and he says, Wow. This ad really makes you look thinner.
In deference to his attempt at constructive criticism, I have tried to learn some things myself over the years. Like the birthdates of our three children—something he finds extremely easy.
When someone asks me when the kids were born, I start to get all silly. This is how my brain goes: What year was Talaya born? Talaya is 16. No, wait, 17. OK. that means she was born in [2007, no, 2006-17=? the answer has a 9 in it, right?] She was born the year we came back from Japan, the year Emperor Hirohito died, 1988? [1988+17=? 8+7=15. 8. 9. 10 . . .] No, 1988 was the year we went to Japan, except I was pregnant when the year changed . . .
And so it goes. Times three. It’s like there is a seam in my brain and I keep trying to drive up and over the bump, but the back wheels keep getting deeper in the mud. I even tried straight out memorizing the years but it’s actually just easier to ask the kids. They know.
What is this simple math deficiency? Why do I have that when I can read John Nash’s biography and understand game theory? I can set up a 4-year cash flow projection and actually see, envision a reality in the numbers, the quarterly tax percentage on the last three months, my estimated income based on the types of clients I have. I can juggle numbers but I can’t subtract them.
Or perhaps the trauma of giving birth three times without anesthesia has created permanent scar tissue in my memory bank which compassionately keeps me from revisiting the pain.
It’s my personal speed bump. Everyone has one. What’s yours? I know a lot of people who don’t see dirty dishes in the sink—they walk right past them like they have a blind spot. Even when I point them out they have no idea what I’m talking about. So I can sympathize with them.
When they ask, What dishes? I say, How old are you again?
