March 20, 2007
Yesterday I spent several hours in a stressful meeting -- at times boring, at times informative, but at all times I had to be quiet, and all I was allowed to do was observe. After behaving myself for a long time, I discovered a trick for dealing with such situations, in fact, it happened to me as if by magic and all I did was go with the mental flow.
I became somewhat unstuck in time. Rather than sit in a room listening to people talk, I was planning the shopping trip that I would take if the session ended by the 3:30. I was on the ground floor of the department store, inhaling the perfume and glancing at the lipsticks, lotions, and potions which could restore my youth and beauty and provide a sense of calm and confidence. I strolled through the section of handbags, small casual ones of straw and plastic, knockoffs of expensive designer creations, all colors and myriad shapes. Where was one with pockets for my eyeglasses and the iPhone I haven't got yet (because it's not on the market yet)? What color would go best with everything so I don't have to change it every day, remove the contents and forget to include something in the other bag?
Then onto the escalator to housewares, where I saw in the paper they are having a sale. Shall I buy square plates? I don't have any square plates.
Then I'm back at the meeting. Nothing of consequence happening. Well, I don't have to stay here. I can go somewhere that I was having fun.
I think of the two little boys who happen to be my own, my grandsons. Elias is saying to me, "Grandmama, I want to talk to you. I need your guidance." It is three years ago at Christmas. He is nine and has gotten money for Christmas and wants to invest it with a friend but doesn't think his parents will approve. I am in awe that he "wants my guidance." What a serious little man he is. He wants the advice of an elder, and glory be, I am it. I am telling him that I think his parents will not mind what he does with his money but to be sure that the friend's share of the investment is equal, and that he himself gets equal use of what they buy together.
Now it is last year at Easter, and they have both been indulged by allowing a professional-looking hair coloring job applied to them by their mother. Andy, now age 8, is looking at his new platinum hair in the big mirror in my bedroom. "What a cute little blonde-haired boy!" he says.
This is quite a trip inside my head. What great fortune to be old enough to have such a store of places I can visit when I need (or just want) to!
But now I come back to the room and stay there for the duration, having had a pleasant escape and having complete control of my return. What a fascinating computer the human mind is. I recommend such time travel, consciously and deliberately applied. Just be sure to come back.