Blind Spots

I don’t like misplacing things and unfortunately that happens more often than I like. Sometimes I can’t find my reading glasses or my purse or my phone. I suspect it’s because I’m not paying attention when I set these items down. I blame my carelessness on the regular traffic jam of thoughts that distract me from what I'm doing. My body moves while my brain gets left behind.

When I discover something is missing, I can, unfortunately, spend a long time searching. Sometime things show up days later when I’m not looking and doing something else. Other times I don’t see objects even when they are right in front of me. Blind spots, I call them.

A case in point: One day I awoke around 5:30 a.m. Unable to fall back to sleep, I quietly slipped out of bed so as not to wake my husband, put on a pot of coffee and headed to my office. I figured I could make good use of my time by journaling. When I was unable to immediately find my red 10.5 by 8 inch spiral notebook, I was frustrated. It should have been easy to find.

I searched one room, then another, looking up, down and sideways. I examined my regular dumping grounds: my desk, the kitchen counters, the bench in the hallway and the nightstand next to my bed. I retraced my steps and repeated the process. I even looked directly at the spot where my notebook was lying and yet, didn’t see it.

Later on, I did.

The notebook was waiting for me, clearly visible, on a small dark wooden table in my office. Red against brown. How did I miss it? Reunited with my writing companion, I grabbed my cup of coffee and told myself to pay better attention to the world.

I returned to the bedroom, made myself comfy in the soft upholstered chair next to the window, and wrote down these observations.

“What do I hear?

Raindrops tapping on the greenhouse roof, my husband softly snoring, woodpeckers drumming, cars zooming on the highway a few miles away, birds chirping as if to announce the day…

What do I see?

Delicate pink crabapple blossoms emerging from the tree just outside the window. Rain streaking from the sky like disappearing threads. Mossy green mounds of vegetation in the fen. A gray sunless sky. Hummingbirds flitting at the feeder reminding me that I must make a fresh supply of food. Tiny mosquitoes clinging to the window screen hoping to get a taste of me…

What do I smell?

The aroma of my Breakfast Blend coffee combined with the smell of damp, musty earth.

What do I feel?

The warmth of the coffee mug in my left hand, the smooth solid surface of my pen held in the other, moving easily across the page with only a touch of arthritic pain in the knuckle of my middle finger. A cool, damp breeze brushes past my cheek nearest to the open window.”

As I continued to write, an unseen irritant tickled my nose and caused me to sneeze. Aware that the light of day was increasing, I hoped the sun would break through the clouds. I had faith that it was there even though I couldn’t see it.

…

What else is beyond my limited vision? What blind spots do I have?