Thursday was a rough day. There are days when I really wonder if my brain is working the way it should be - things I forget, things I misplace, repeating myself (my husband loves to point that one out). I'm only 48, but there are days when my brain seems to be twice that age.
I lost something yesterday. Something I was supposed to mail for my husband. When I asked him if he'd taken it from my car, his voice on the phone rolled its eyes and asked why he would do such a thing... He later filled out another form for mailing and said something about what a pain it was to have to do it again and I burst into tears.
This is not like me.
He immediately apologized and did what he could to make amends, but it wasn't even really him. It's my own fears about my mental ability sliding downhill.
Granted, there's a lot on my mind and its involvement with bigger issues may be part of the reason some of these little things keep slipping by. There's concern and heartbreak over the oil spill in the Gulf. My best friend's son is very ill. My other best friend's husband keeps disappearing and not communicating which is frightening and stressful for her. Another friend is observing the anniversary of her mother's sudden and unexpected death. The economy sucks. None of these things are actually, physically my things - but I care and worry about all of them nonetheless.
Which apparently set the stage for my spectacular meltdown yesterday. Poor Darling Man.
When the phone rang at 10:30am (I can get so much melting done before 10am!!!), it was Mom. She was being left at the Black Dog Cafe while Dad went to interview a local politician and would I like to come have lunch? I had already set my mouth for a rendevous with Bacon N Bakin', a little hole-in-the-wall lunch place in a local art park, so I suggested that I come get Mom and take her to lunch there. Come to find out that they've decided to stop serving lunch and concentrate on takeout dinners and catering. (Wah!!! Another THING for my list!) So I got in my car and drove to Black Dog instead and we had lunch there.
The Bradley's Country Store Casserole was yummy!!! And the organic chocolate cake we split was lovely (not too sweet).
As I carried our food out to the shady deck, I passed a famliar-looking man at one of the tables. He had a box, a computer, a cup of coffee and a wadded up t-shirt in front of him. And a very tiny baby bottle. I stopped and looked over his shoulder and saw this:
The runt of the litter. Nine Boston Terrier puppies competing for mother's milk. This little one was losing the race. At three days old, eyes not even open yet getting noticeably weaker. The man rescued it from under the pile of squirming puppies and brought it to this quiet place to feed and sleep untrampled by siblings. So tiny! And yet, so loved that this man would carry it wherever he went to feed and hold as needed.
It brought back memories of Beryl - our lovely black lab/pit bull mix that was rescued from the woods. Her whole litter was dumped in the woods before their eyes were open. A person running through the forest spotted them and took them to the vet's office. When DM took one of the cats in for shots, he heard them, saw them and fell in love. He sent me the next day with another cat, telling me about the puppies. I saw them and fell in love. And I chose the runt of the litter to take home. What followed was weeks of bottle feeding and carrying her to and from work with me and cleaning up the stuff that came out of both ends.
She thrived, grew big and strong and was the best dog ever. Our hearts broke when we had to put her to sleep at age 12. All those years of love came rushing back over me as I watched the man with the puppy.
Mom and I talked, and Dad joined us after his interview. It was a rather jolly gathering as we sat in the shade and sipped cappuchino and mocha, and by the time it was over, I was ready to go back to work, ready to get things done.
Sometimes, a meltdown can teach you a lot about what's important.