Limbic Health List
I’ve been talking with a friend about limbic health lately. I have a goal of being solidly on the half-full side of the line every single day. Do less weeping (or, as Ms. Moon says, "motherfucking crying") and more laughing. There’s a list on the internet, but it has things that seem unnecessary, like "wear a helmet". I can’t remember the last time I took my helmet off. Right? You guys are wearing head protection, true?
Anyway, here’s my list.
Anyway, here’s my list.
- Bring flowers inside.
- Deadhead flowers in the garden so it doesn’t look like an abandoned graveyard the minute the columbines are done.
- Speaking of cemetaries, visit some of my favorites. Maybe even that one by Lake Quinault near the old growth forest with Pacific rhododendron scattered about looking cheery.
- Listen to Wagon Wheel. A lot.
- Laminate more lyrics for the shower so I can learn songs while I wash my hair.
- Burn incense. Buy it from that really nice guy on the Ave.
- Clean the window next to my bed so that when I wake up I’m not already faced with the alarming and disappointing fact of entropy. Wake up as if everything’s not falling apart at a rapid clip.
- Close drawers and doors after myself. I know. That shouldn't have to be on a list. But I’m that person, the one who opens doors but doesn’t close them because I might need to go back outside/into that drawer/cupboard, whatever, soon. As if opening a cupboard or closing a door is hard. Behave as if I have the capacity to open the door as many times as I need to.
- Hang out with lovely fun people who are interested in things.
That bright spot is the lantern, carrying
messages up to high far away places. And of
course, the other big orb is the super moon.
(Photo courtesy of Erin)
- Release hot air lanterns with messages to the universe. I'd like to confess right here that watching the glowing rice paper orb float up into the sky, propelled only by burning lard, just as the super moon began to peek through the clouds, is possibly the best thing I’ve done in a long time. Thank you for including me, lovely people.
- Figure out if there really is a painting that I remember seeing, a commentary on Seurat’s A Sunday on La Grande Jatte, but with one nude woman picnicking in the midst of it all. Did I make that up? Was it a dream?
- Actually listen to the birds when they sing. Oh, and The Byrds too.
- Figure out where I heard stuff. Did I really listen to a whole podcast about processing baby carrots? Or was that a dream? It's better than the other dream, the one where JJ has only ten minutes to live because of a giant gash at the top of his head, and I keep misdialling when trying to call 9-1-1.
- Stop dreaming that.
- Watch the movie that my customer, the one who built this treehouse, recommended: Wings of Life.
Permits? Who needs a stinkin' permit?
It's only a treehouse!
Source: This blog
- Give more gifts to friends and loved ones for no apparent reason.
- Create more friends and loved ones.
- Make a treasure hunt for adults. (I don’t mean that in an “adult treasure hunt", like x-rated” way. But the sort of hunt where you need resources: a car and a tiny amount of cash. And perhaps a flashlight.)
- Have a picnic that involves a picnic table and a table cloth and perhaps salt and pepper shakers. Oh, and food. Abundant good food.
- Go crabbing in about 11 days, not that I’m counting.
- Learn to make excellent crab cakes like the ones at Lowells.
- Get proficient at Astavakra, although, as S. says, “It’s just a fucking pose.”
- Cook more feasts and never be cheap about cheese or other ingredients. In fact, just never be cheap about anything.
- Get bees again. Next year.
- Appreciate every quirky thing about this town. Even the fact that we're always dropping pianos from the sky for no apparent reason.
- Figure out which things are traditions that I do every year, and which things are random, so I don't always have to ask. E.g., "Hey, do we run for the pies every year, starting last year, or is that just one time thing?"
- Get genetic testing, not to learn my health future, but to discover where my people came from and if I’m related to Gengis Khan. If they accidentally send my health future, try not to look, because the last thing I need to know is that I’m going to get hit by a bus next week. Someone clarified that this would be a genotype, not a fortune cookie, but I still think it’s possible that I descend from the sort who get hit by a bus. That wouldn’t be so terrible except that it means my kids could die first, which would be unbearable.
- Swim in our little lake every day, even if it's cloudy and cold and doesn't look like a good swimming day. Because every day is a good swimming day.
- Do as much yoga as this lifetime allows.