DYSCO’S CORNER

musings from a parent & Cannabis consumer

Head in the clouds

“There’s a fine line between stoned and stupid, sis,” my brother laughed, standing next to me in the beach parking lot. “And I’m pretty sure you just crossed it.” We were appraising the assorted jumble of beach chairs and boogie boards we had yanked out of the back of my brother’s SUV and dumped onto the steaming Summer asphalt. No doubt about it, the pile definitely lacked some key beach necessities - namely the two beach bags I had packed full of towels, sunblock, trashy magazines and a speaker, immediately before puffing on a pre-roll to calm my sciatica. While Tom restocked the car, I bit my lip in concentration, mentally walking backwards through the fog, trying to remember how I could have possibly forgotten everything we needed - except the beach chairs.

HMMM. How to admit this without seeming like a total bimbo? “I’m so sorry,” I said meekly. “I swear I thought I put them in the car, but maybe I left them at the rental...”

I’ll admit it, Leafers. I was higher than expected and trying to get a mental picture of where exactly I had lost my brain and left the bags, and it was proving to be more difficult than usual. I should be better at these sorts of mental gymnastics by now. I forget to bring things all the time. Usually, the things in question are the very things needed for said activity. After making sure that the purse I intend to take with me is properly stocked with the appropriate lipgloss, reading glasses and Covid mask, I often get to the grocery store and realize that I forgot to add my wallet to the mix before leaving the house. Seriously - I do this often.

I have not always been so reliably forgetful. Some people’s feet are on the ground while other’s heads are permanently floating in the clouds. Twenty years ago, my feet were planted.

I remembered everything. I have migrated since then, gradually becoming a more forgetful version of my mother. Before leaving the house, I find myself verbally confirming that I do, in fact, have the basic essentials needed to leave the house. I was higher than expected The key word in that and trying to sentence is ‘verbally,’ as in out loud. I look like a crazy get a mental picture of where person standing at exactly I had the door announcing my pre-departure checklist to my fluffy lost my brain and left the companion, Garcia. bags, and it was “I have my shopping list. Good. Reading glasses, check. Sunglasses, check. proving to be more difficult than usual.

And hand sanitizer, mask - check, check. Good, lip gloss, don’t want to forget that. And look, here are my keys - haha - wouldn’t get far without them!” And then breezing out of the door for an intended afternoon of shopping.

You may notice the key item missing from that list is my wallet. This happens all the time. You’d think Garcia would demonstrate more empathy after years of watching me return home empty handed, full of angst and annoyance after discovering my mistake - a discovery always made after I’ve finished scanning most of my groceries. On the contrary, Garcia seems to enjoy watching my frustration from his perch on his princess puff pillow by the door. There’s no way to prove it, but I know he’s laughing at me behind his snaggle-toothed grin. Upon realizing I’ve done it again, I will rush back home, competing against the restocking clock on my grocery cart. I’ll throw open the front door in exasperation and announce (out loud, again), “I forgot my wallet.” Most loyal companions would show at least a little bit of sensitivity towards their intensely irritated human by jumping off their princess pillow perch by the door, by perhaps trotting over to lick their human, or even just by wagging their tail and making eye contact. But Garcia doesn’t even feign surprise anymore. He usually just nods and refocuses on watching the squirrels outside eat all the bird seed from my bird feeder.

grocery shopping was bad enough before lockdowns, but now? Shoot me if I have to do it twice in one afternoon. After standing in line just to enter, once in, all the arrows seem to go the wrong way. At this point, the one way traffic aisles at WalMart have made navigating through D.C. seem straightforward. I understand the health implications.

I understand why we, like kindergarteners walking to the cafeteria, are all expected to follow the directional arrows on the floor. But that doesn’t mean I’m good at it.

Some of you ‘feet on the ground’ people are better at following directions than us ‘head in the clouds’ people. But we are trying, and we will all get there eventually.

Like many of you, I’ve been freely roaming through grocery stores and WalMarts for 30 years. Never once did I look down at the floor for directions. So, to the people shooting me angry looks from behind their masks when I go the wrong way down the pasta aisle, please chill out. Be patient. Some of you ‘feet on the ground’ people are better at following directions than us ‘head in the clouds’ people. But we are trying, and we will all get there eventually.

So, back at the beach, it’s fair to say that I wasn’t really that surprised to discover I had forgotten to bring all of our beach supplies to the beach. Don’t get me wrong, I sure acted surprised. I almost never get to vacation with my ‘very together, very adult’ brother, and I work hard to seem together and adult myself whenever I’m with Tom - to the point that I had decided against my vocal checklist policy back at the rental.

Tom doesn’t need departure checklists - verbal or otherwise- to remember the beach bags. And, I know he’s my brother and that he loves me, but I’m pretty sure he still thinks I’m nuts. So, wanting to appear not crazy, I had not announced my departure checklist out loud as usual. I am certain this is why we were at the beach while our bags were back at the house, right next to the door where I had left them.

The great thing about Tom is that he never seems to get upset. I wouldn’t have blamed him if he’d expressed frustration or even anger at my forgetfulness, but here’s why my brother is awesome…

Without skipping a beat, he said, “Hey, don’t beat yourself up. At least you remembered the beer cooler.” He shut the tailgate and climbed back into the driver’s seat.

“What was in that pre-roll, anyway?” he asked, looking at me sideways with one eyebrow arching over his laid back smile.

“Umm, I think it was called Coastal Haze,” I replied as I clicked my seatbelt.

“Yep, that sounds about right,” he said, starting the car again.