The Letter Z

Today’s nonsensical post will be brought to you by the letter Z. It was going to be sponsored by X, but my fingers inadvertently hit the wrong key. So Z, it is!

Lately, my thoughts have been somewhat Zigzaggy as they skip from one subject to another, seemingly at random and with little warning. I believe this to be the result of new responsibilities while trying to tie up previous commitments. And a lack of a stable and steady landing pad. Or perhaps I am just becoming sentimental as my last child zooms through his senior year of high school and contemplates the next steps on his journey.

I have zero tolerance for these mind-wanderings as they make me feel freakishly unfocused. Perhaps some invisible zombies have taken over my brain, and I am halfway to zombie-state, myself. Having recently made it through Halloween, this is a distinct—though distant—possibility.

Adding zombies to the zany zoo of my life might be a bit crazy, eh? Then again, it is likely that I wouldn’t recognize the difference between the animals, the kids, and the zombies. While we’re at it, let’s throw in a lizard or two. But now maybe we have gotten so far off topic that we are conjuring a magic potion that will cure the zombies: tongue of lizard, eye of newt, and two chicken teeth, ground to green pulp….

Together with the magic potion, all of the words in this post will be stuffed into a tiny Ziploc freezer bag (because freezer bags are stronger). I will zip them in where they will stay—until further notice—in the zone of the Zodiac in Xanadu.

Oops. That was meant for the X-sponsored post…. I need to catch some Zzzs!

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Drawing Memory

As I sort through the fifteen-plus years of stuff that has built up in my home, every now and then I come across interesting souvenirs from my children’s younger days. Slips of paper tucked long ago between the pages of notebooks, books, files.

Recently, as I sorted through a pile of old magazines, I came across a bin of notepads. Years ago, I had used these pads to write “lunch notes” to my oldest child. [By the time the others were eating lunch at school, life had become too harried and chaotic to continue this practice.] One pad was made up of sticky notes with sweet messages pre-printed on them. As I picked up this pad and began to flip through it, a small scrap of paper slipped from the pages and fluttered to the floor.

I bent over and picked it up. It held a drawing from that brief period where images begin to emerge from the early scribbles of a child. The drawing was a vehicle of some sort—the favorite subject of art for my youngest child. Memory drew me back in time, and I could see him sitting in the brightly colored booster seat that was strapped to one of the kitchen chairs. He was bent over the table, working studiously to create this picture. His blond head bobbed a bit as he drew, tipping this way and that as he created the perfect picture. His glasses slipped down his tiny nose, and he wrinkled his face to push them back up. Many days were spent in this position as he produced drawing after drawing.

When this now eighteen-year-old arrived home from work that night, I handed him the drawing. “Look what I found when I was cleaning this morning.”

“A tractor!” he said on first glance.

“Do you remember drawing that?” I asked him, amazed that he knew exactly what it was.

“It’s obviously a tractor, Mom. The big wheel in the back gives it away.”

Yup, silly me. “I hadn’t thought of that. So what’s this?” I turned the paper over to reveal another drawing and handed it back to him. On this side were three things that might possibly be cars. Each was connected to a line that ran willy-nilly across the page. A map? Directions? Lightning strikes? The image was crossed out, so it clearly was not the image of choice on this paper.

He smiled and shrugged. “I have no idea.” I took the paper from him

and tucked it back in the notepad. Someday, I would once again unearth this drawing. An

d I would take another trip through my memories to the time when a little blond boy would sit at the kitchen table and create drawings that I would puzzle over long after he’d grown.

Next time, I’ll tuck it into his box of memories, so it can become his puzzle. And maybe, before it winds up in the trash, it will give him a smile of memory.