Category Archives: brain research

The Present Mind.

May 14, 2020brain research, commentary, contemplation, Deep Thoughts, family history, grief, healing, health and wellness, human behavior, psychology, relationships, scenes, social behavior, social commentary, sociology, thoughts, Uncategorizedabsent mindedness, coping during the coronavirus pandemic, Covid-19, creatives and utilitarians, home maintenance, living inside my head, mothers and daughters, Mothers and homemaking, presence of mind, the coronavirus pandemic, the mind's eye, the new panoramaruth ann scanzillo

It’s not that I never saw what Mum saw.

It’s that I never saw as she did.

My view of Mum was always from behind. Her back ever turned, either standing at the kitchen sink or seated at the sewing machine, this was a mother intent upon managing the household. And, fulfilling this charge was the daily commitment – task by utilitarian task. Born likely of deferred dreams, to her the home was more about its daily upkeep and less about the living beings who occupied the space.

But, occupy I did.

Whether sprawled across the davenport, face embedded in the corner behind the pillow, or planted at the piano, or poured into a novel……I was there. And, what I saw while known to be was driven by the images which first appeared in my mind. Pictures; stories, entire narratives, from a single seed of thought. Though my body lived in her house, I dwelt well outside of it — inside my head.

But, to Mum, whose immediate purpose was home maintenance, anything worth vision was populated by that which dictated the next, practical move. Dishes, crusted with drying food, waiting by the sink. Dust, coating the coffee table. Cluttered magazines, sleeping with newspaper. Dirty clothes, lounging about. These, she clearly saw, every day of the week and Saturday, too.

On the unavoidable occasion which brought us both into the same room, her raised voice would sometimes penetrate the air around me. In tones of exasperation:

“Are you just going to sit there, all day?!”

There was “work” to be done. Didn’t I see it??

No. I did not.

Oh, I saw the coffee table. I saw the sink. I saw the magazines, and the newspaper, too. These were all props, in a delectable scenario which morphed every time my eyes rolled back and to the left, never requiring my interaction. But, if they captured my fancy, I might consider the contour of the sofa pillow, or the crisp leaves of paper, or the outline of the scalloped table’s edge. Perhaps I would grab the sketchbook, and draw them into the still life of a given afternoon.

But — clean them? Straighten them into regimented rows? Why spoil a good lay out? Why wreck the whole picture?

Some fifty years have passed, since Mum moved about around me in the house we called home. Now, the novel coronavirus has been upon the planet for at least eight weeks of our current lives. None of us, whether absent or present of mind, can see it in any form. All we know is its power to manifest, in potentially life threatening proportions. And, because we are nearly defenseless against such invisible, yet diabolical, intent, we must gather our senses as if to battle. We shield our noses and mouths, attacking only that which must afterwards be thoroughly washed. We count the number of steps between our feet and those of the person approaching us on the sidewalk. We stare through the windows, instead of going outside at all.

And, as we look, we are called upon to see our surroundings as our mothers did, as they appear before us demanding our command. The layout of our lives has changed, fundamentally, for as far into the foreseeable as we are able to imagine. We exist framed in an entirely new panorama, one to which we must be accountable nearly every minute. With each blink of our eye we must be present of mind, lest we be found absent, forever.

littlebarefeetblog.com

The Last Trombone.

December 21, 2019arts education, brain research, Christian fundamentalism, Christianity, classical music, classical musicians, dance, drama, Fundamentalism, human behavior, humor, musicians, performance, personal testimony, professional musicians, psychology, sectarian Fundamentalism, social commentary, sociology, UncategorizedAF of M, celesta, comparing piano keyboard weight with synthesizers, Fundamentalist Christian theology, harpsichord, keyboard synthesizers and keyboard weight, Martin Luther, muscle memory and professional musicians, prophetic scripture, sackbut, The Nutcracker, the Rapture, trombone, Tschaikowskyruth ann scanzillo

littlebarefeetblog.com

Vitality.

November 14, 2019brain research, commentary, health and wellness, human behavior, love, personal ads, psychology, relationships, social behavior, social commentary, sociology, truth, Uncategorizedattraction, attraction between seniors, being attracted, chemistry, love, pheromones, post-menopause, relationships, vitalityruth ann scanzillo

Lately, the whole topic of what constitutes attraction has been pounding away at my not- so subconscious.

Always having been among those who appreciated beauty in nature I have, however, been known to become madly infatuated with certain humans who do not possess what has historically been termed “conventional” good looks; namely, that excruciatingly high standard of physical symmetry has never been the prerequisite in order for me to become irresistibly attracted.

Science has since pretty much, to coin a phrase, proved out the reason why. They’re called pheromones, first discovered in the mink, I believe, and now found to be present near the human nostril. Much like a hormone, as if we didn’t already have enough of these, this one governs the law of attraction; if male pheromones sniff out female, the chemistry is a lock and so are the two hapless victims.

In my personal post-fertile years, though the poundage has remained relatively stable and the skin tone in a holding pattern I have noted a marked drop in the number of looks and/or advances from the opposite sex. Perhaps the absence of pheromones provokes a flat facial expression in place of the former, manic radiance of “come hither”-ness, the ready laughter at the slightest quip, the tendency to reach out and touch. Whichever the case, these pesky little chemicals are sleeping it off, and most of the time I feel secretly grateful to be free to go about my business with a new clarity of lucid purpose.

But, enter the potential for a lasting partnership, perhaps those first couple dates. Is there something else, beyond the chemical, which gives the older girl a reason?

I have to call it vitality.

My father possessed this feature. The bound in his step, the lilt in his voice, the unmedicated, natural light in his eyes. The nimble quickness. And, his skin.

He spent most of his time outdoors, from age 50 to the end, training for these crazy marathons at high noon. But, he downed gallons of water, never a drop of drink or a single puff, and ate wholly, rejecting all processed refined sugars and sodium, even eliminating white flour years before everyone knew why this was a good thing, and his skin glowed. The color was warm, moist, sunned without burning, lined without sagging. Everything about him had rebound all over it. He was vitally alive.

Perhaps we have an instinct for that which we seek. We are in search of our kind, our complement, in my case the one who honors health and wellbeing. We want more life, and we yearn for someone who teems with it.

Dad remained vibrant, engaging, winsome, and endearing until the final months of his 95 years. If my body keeps waking up every morning, I hope to sustain even half of his brand of vitality. And, maybe there’s one more man out there like him. I’ll take another deep breath, and hope.

littlebarefeetblog.com