Posts Tagged ‘the mind’
Chopper Mittens
This morning, I tried describing a dream I just had so that Cyndie could share in the experience. Of course, the deep drama I had witnessed and felt as if it was actually happening was not adequately conveyed by my words. My struggle to express the dream’s intricacies revealed a glimpse of the monumental difference of what telepathic communication must be like. I quickly realized that each moment in the dream encompassed more impressions and thoughts than my words were able to recreate.
We think and feel a lot faster than words can express. It’s why a picture is worth a thousand words. Visualization is better than verbalization.
Have I described how phenomenally great chopper mittens are for the outdoor winter activities I undertake? If you are unfamiliar with chopper mittens, I could describe them to you, but let me offer this so you can visualize them:
I have tried a variety of other versions, but none compare to the perfection of the original, right down to the knitted inner mitten. I don’t know what makes that liner different (better) than any other new fandangled water-wicking Thinsulate® version I’ve experimented with, but, for me, it falls under the idiom, ‘some things can’t be improved.’
Somewhat counterintuitively, the floppy looseness of the mitten fit is a feature, not a flaw. Being able to pull my bare hand out quickly and easily to accomplish a task that requires ultimate dexterity, and then slip it back in with equal ease, is like having a superpower.
If the mittens get wet from heavy use in the snow, pulling the inner mitten out when I get back indoors allows them to dry quickly and be ready to go, as good as new in no time. If they get too wet, or I need to go back outside before they are dry enough, a second pair is more than worth the money spent.
If you aren’t able to telepathically perceive the unmitigated amount of satisfaction I get from the original chopper mittens, you are only getting a fraction of the perception of how great they are through my written words. Trust me.
Thinking about communicating in words, it occurs to me that, even though using words to describe something falls short of what our minds can do in an instant, I am fond of written communication because it gives me time to construct my thoughts more adeptly than I can do on the fly if I were speaking to you directly.
I suppose that is why, after some 16+ years, I have never felt an urge to transition from blogging to vlogging or podcasting.
Will we someday come up with a word for telepathically sharing our take on things and experiences? Telelogging? Telecasting is too conventional and already in use. It’s not wrong, though.
Since I’m already beaming love to you all telepathically, maybe you can tune in other intricacies my words are incapable of including. You won’t believe this dream I experienced early this morning…
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Wandering Around
There are days when I step outside in the morning to walk Delilah without having any idea what will command my attention for the rest of the day, but something always does. There are just as many times, maybe even more, when I set out to write something without having any idea what point I hope to make. Of course, here’s a good idea. Have a point.
“He’s got a point there!”
That is a mashup of Steve Martin’s character, Neal Page, ranting at Del Griffith the shower curtain ring salesman in “Planes, Trains, & Automobiles” combined with a line from Harry Nilsson’s animated movie, “The Point.” Both tremendously worthy works of film entertainment.
I would say that my great affection for those two movies reveals something about the way my mind works.
It’s probably a bit of a stretch to say it works when mostly my mind tends to just wander around. It’s like a sticky sponge that gladly picks up whatever happens to reach my eyes and ears.
Last weekend I melodically vocalized that I was getting silverware and it came out sounding like I was singing “Silver Bells.” By the end of the meal, as I was picking up placemats from the table on the deck, I caught myself humming some other Christmas song. I’ve since forgotten which one but at the time it was startling for being such an odd thing to be contemplating.
It would seem likely that the first song could have triggered the second, but still… What the heck?
Cyndie was out overnight last night, on the road for a consulting gig, leaving Delilah and me on our own to keep each other occupied. Delilah did her share by alerting to a raccoon climbing down a tree off the backyard well before yesterday even started to seem dusky outside. I grabbed my newest toy, a slingshot, and hustled out onto the deck to take potshots at the critter. I hope to make it feel completely unwelcome living so close to our house.
It made a hasty return to its apartment high in the upper limbs.
I am encouraged in my harassment efforts by apparent success on the other side of the house. Two days of flinging stones and steelies toward a young raccoon in a tree out our front door have resulted in zero sightings since. That doesn’t necessarily mean it left entirely, but at least it stopped coming out before dark.
The masked bandit would pop its head out and watch the world for a while before climbing out on the big branch to take a tongue-bath in preparation for its night of adventures. I think it didn’t like suddenly becoming the target of my aiming practice.
That was totally the point. I’m hoping he or she received the message I was sending.
It will be very satisfying if they are now off wandering around the woods looking for a quieter neighborhood with friendlier neighbors.
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Relative Something 