ADDiva Blog

Confessions of an ADDiva

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An ADDiva Un-holiday

posted: Wednesday January 6th - 3:40pm

I have gradually recognized that high expectations and perfectionism of the holidays push me directly into the path of ADHD overwhelm.

Huh? Did Thanksgiving and Christmas and New Years and 2009 just whoosh by while I wasn’t paying attention? Oh yeah. I’m ADHD. I have TROUBLE paying attention!

Seriously, though, this was a serious lapse of attention. I performed some of the traditional holiday duties. I basted the turkey and had dinner with friends. I visited my parents and bought Christmas gifts. I welcomed the new year by singing around Victor’s karaoke machine (OK, so it’s not ‘traditional’ in the strictest sense, but it sure is at our house).

It’s all a blur. With a smidgen of “I’m glad it’s over” tossed into the fog. That’s not like me at all. I am the perpetual child, enthralled by the colored lights, excited about the energy of possibility that lingers in the holiday air. This year the thrill, as they say, was gone. What happened?

It might be that I’m getting older and more jaded, but I doubt it. I’m still wildly passionate about other possibilities in my life. Perhaps it’s because I did 100% of my holiday shopping online. There’s a level of detachment about gift shopping when I choose from a screen of pixilated images, pay for them with credit card numbers typed into a keyboard and have them delivered directly to the recipients’ door, already wrapped. I guess I do like to touch the presents I’m giving.

When I get right down to it, though, I think I simply didn’t want the extra distraction. Gosh that sounds awful. Sometimes the truth sounds unflattering, I suppose. But the thought of dragging 16 wreaths down from the attic and tacking them up to the windows with red velvet ribbons almost made me nauseous. Why? Because in 30 days I’d have to take them all down again and put them BACK in the attic.

That’s a lot of energy and focus that my brain requires in other arenas, thank you very much. Yes, I know this sounds Scrooge-ish (isn’t there a female version of Scrooge? Patty Parsimony? Suzy Selfish?). I’m not selfish or parsimonious (yes, I had to look it up, too). Exactly the opposite, in fact.

I am, however, realistic. I have gradually recognized that high expectations and perfectionism push me directly into the path of ADHD overwhelm. It can take weeks for me to recover from a hit-and-run case of overwhelm. Not this year, though.

I have so many wonderful projects in process. I’m almost done with my book. I want to make time for little Lilly who is now six months old. And I’ve committed to rebuilding my physical strength. Though it felt strange to step out of the holiday frenzy, I also skirted the Overwhelm Express. I’m a bit proud of myself: I conserved my energy for the things that are important at THIS stage of my life. And that’s the best gift I can give … or receive. With the exception of a few dozen homemade Christmas cookies.

ADHD Adults and Trees

posted: Monday November 30th - 4:40pm

When I see those craggy branches and knot holes, I think of the parallels to ADHD adults. Our attention deficit disorder has bent some of our branches into unusual patterns.

They are embarrassingly naked, the trees that surround my house. Cool temperatures and autumn winds have finally stripped even the most stubborn leaves from their dark branches.

During the summer, I tend to see the deciduous trees as one unit, a broad bank of shade. Now the structure of each tree is exposed, every flaw visible. There's a tree trunk that has twisted sideways, perhaps the result of a passing hurricane. I can see a few broken branches and limbs poking out at odd angles. High in a tree are a couple of abandoned nests -- probably left by squirrels or a red-shouldered hawk.

I am struck by the absolute honesty of these barren trees. There is not a "perfect tree" among them. Yet, divested of their leafy summer clothing, they stand proud. They reveal their battle scars unashamed. They have girded themselves for the winter chill and will face the ice and snow with stoic beauty.

And make no mistake, they are beautiful. These intricate, stark sculptures that grow in my yard are magnificent, awe-inspiring.

I realize that I hold an ADHD hammer, so almost anything can look like an ADHD nail. But when I see those craggy branches and knot holes, I think of the parallels to ADHD adults. We, too, have quirks at our core. Our attention deficit disorder has bent some of our branches into unusual patterns. Sometimes we list to one side or grow in a wide arc instead of a straight line.

Many of us came to believe we needed to hide our flaws. We grew thick layers of protective clothing to obscure our true ADHD nature. We tried to blend in with the crowd. We hoped beyond hope that no one would catch a glimpse of our crooked branches, our procrastination or tardiness.

In our hearts, we knew we were living an illusion. The deception is especially difficult because ADD folks tend to be fiercely authentic, with high integrity. The illusion erodes our self-esteem and disheartens the strongest among us.

But with courage and tenacity, we can strip away those layers of leaves to reveal the bare structure of Who We Are. When we do, we'll discover that there are no perfect ADHD beings among us. Instead, we'll find bent branches, angled limbs, and crooked trunks in every possible combination and permutation. Each of them unique. Each of them without pretense. Each of them absolutely beautiful. Especially yours.

ADHD, Procrastination, and Pedicures

posted: Tuesday November 24th - 1:00pm

In true ADDiva style, I began to fall behind in my pedicure schedule. I couldn't get my ADD brain to believe that spending time on a pedicure was as important as other activities.

It's November and I still have naked toes. Ewwww. Are we gonna talk about TOES? Ewwwww! Trust me, it's relevant to ADHD.

First, you should know that I've never been much of a spa babe -- one of those women who actually get regular manicures and facials. For the most part, I'm a practical farmer's daughter who gets by on a seven-minute beauty regimen. My claim to fame is that I used to polish my fingernails at the stoplights on the way to work (not a recommended practice). It was the only time I could sit still long enough to let the polish dry.

When I turned 50, I had my first professional pedicure. Ooh-la-la! I liked having "grown-up toenails." Those neatly painted toes were so out of character for me that when I'd catch a glimpse of them in the shower or walking barefoot, I'd be shocked. Then I'd blush with the secret pleasure of knowing that my toes were certainly not in sync with my chaotic attention deficit disorder -- they screamed sophistication!

I maintained my glamorous toenails all summer, into autumn, and even through the winter months. As usual, I got a little bored with the whole nail polish scene. By the time my birthday rolled around in April of the next year, I had decided pedicures would be a seasonal indulgence. Summer: yes. Winter: no.

In true ADDiva style, I began to fall behind in my pedicure schedule. I couldn't get my ADD brain to believe that spending time on a pedicure was as important as other activities, like surfing the internet, or cooking for my dogs.

This year, I renewed my vow to sport grown-up toes. In February, we traveled to Portland, Oregon for a conference. The spa did a great job on my toenails. By March, the polish looked a little tired, so I carefully removed it, knowing I'd get painted toenails again soon.

April came and went without a pedicure, (not even on my birthday). May, June, July: really busy with other important stuff. I'd get to it soon; there was still plenty of time for my summer pedicure. In August, I began to lose hope; some of my young coaching clients were back in school already, a sure sign summer was ending.

But I had a beach retreat planned for September -- a great excuse to get a pedicure. Oops, the nail salon was out of business. Tough economy. And I wasn't helping the nail business much.

October. Pumpkins. Witches. Halloween. No summer pedicure yet. It's October, for Pete's sake!

Two weeks ago, I finally got my summer pedicure. Friday, November 13th. The sun was shining. It was 80 degrees in Miami Beach. I have grown-up toes once again.

My "summer pedicure"? No problem. I've rebranded it as my "semi-annual pedicure." I'm due again in May, 2010. Maybe I'd better write that in my planner. And my iPhone. And Google calendar. And on a sticky note.

ADHD and Going Overboard

posted: Friday November 6th - 4:21pm

Sometimes, overdoing things is a guilty pleasure, like I am indulging my ADHD. That extra brain stimulation can be quite satisfying; it hits the ADHD spot in so many ways.

I went overboard again last night. That's what my dad used to call it when I was a kid: doing too much, talking too much, wanting too much, creating too much of something that had captured my full attention and made me hyperfocus.

Last night, it was a long overdue indulgence: reading a novel from cover to cover. All at once. No bookmarks. No "I'll come back to this later." One book. One night. The End.

Mmmmm, it felt so good. I slept happy and woke up with a smile. Of course, I didn't sleep much. I started the 300-page book at 8:30 p.m. and didn't finish until 3 a.m. But it was glorious. Something I haven't allowed myself to do for months, perhaps years.

Which brings me back to going overboard. It actually feels good to go overboard. Sometimes, it's a guilty pleasure, like I am indulging my ADHD. That extra brain stimulation can be quite satisfying; it hits the ADHD spot in so many ways.

To wit: I have a lifelong aversion to live birds. I don't like those little claw feet (probably because I was attacked by a chicken when I was a child). When we had a mural painted in the foyer of our new house about 20 years ago, I insisted that there be not a single bird on the wall, even in acrylic!

Then, my husband's mom and dad died within three weeks of each other. They loved to watch the wild birds that gathered at the feeders in their back yard. They weren't so crazy about squirrels that tried to steal the birdseed, however. My father-in-law would lean out the bathroom window with his .22 rifle and scare the daylights out of the thieving squirrels. After his funeral, we found that rifle in the bathroom right where he'd left it.

I was so touched I that went home and erected an elegant bird feeder in their honor: the Anna and Louis Roggli Memorial Feeder. It looked lonely, so I bought another feeder. And another. And another.

Within a couple of years, we had 40 or 50 bird feeding stations all over the yard, garden, windows, and trees. Yes, it was a classic case of going overboard. And I so enjoy the dainty little birds that visit them that my previous aversion to birds has vanished. Replaced by ADHD extremes.

In this case, was it a bad thing to go overboard on bird feeders? The birds appreciate it. Hummingbirds and chickadees and bluebirds flock to our yard. Of course, it gets a little expensive to keep those feeders full of seed and sugar water and suet. And my husband has been pressed into action as assistant bird feeder filler. But when I see those birds, I am reminded of Anna and Louis, and my heart melts.

So maybe going overboard isn't a great idea for some things: alcohol, Halloween candy, driving too fast. But in this case, it feels really good to indulge my ADHD. And it felt good to read all night long. The End. Wow. One book finished. 436 to go. Oh, did I mention that I tend to go overboard at the bookstore, too?

ADHD and Swine Flu: Similarities at Home and Abroad

posted: Friday October 23rd - 4:55pm

This incident forces me to look at the serious effects of ADD-ish behavior. It’s not funny. It’s not whimsical. And it needs to be addressed effectively.

"The main problem in Egypt is follow-up. A decision is taken, there is follow-up for a period of time, but after that, they get busy with something else and forget about it."
-- Chief of Infectious Disease, Department of Agriculture, Cairo, Egypt?

I’m pretty sure that the Egyptian medical expert who made that statement last month had no idea he was exactly describing ADHD symptoms. He was merely explaining why there is now a terrible pile-up of rotting garbage in Egypt’s cities after the government-ordered slaughter of every hog in the country.

It was a well-intentioned act. Egyptian officials were trying to prevent an outbreak of the flu formerly-known-as-swine-flu. But someone, somewhere, forgot that the pigs functioned as environmentally friendly garbage processors, roaming free, noshing on leftovers that are routinely tossed onto the streets.

Now, the leftovers are literally left over, turning the cities’ streets into giant compost piles. It’s smelly and people are understandably angry. And the whole snafu sounds like an ADHD moment to me. But it probably doesn’t wear the ADHD name tag.

In Egypt, as in many Middle Eastern countries, attention deficit hyperactivity disorder is barely acknowledged as a medical diagnosis. Researchers are aware of the disorder; I found a substantial research study on school-age ADHD children in the Delta region of Egypt. More often, however, ADHD symptoms tend to blame the victim for being “naughty, misbehaved” or even mentally challenged.

Although the prevalence of ADHD in the Middle East is considered to be about the same as the rest of the world -- 5 percent of the general population -- there are far fewer ADHD diagnoses. And there are no ADHD accommodations for students in the public schools.

The good news is that in April 2009, the Egyptian Parliament enacted a long-overdue law that substantially alters mental health treatment. The Egyptian Initiative for Personal Rights (EIPR) vigorously advocates for the rights of people with mental health disabilities. The progress is slow, but significant.

As I learn more about ADHD abroad, I have a new appreciation for the mental health services available in the United States. The DSM-IV (Diagnostic and Statistical Manual of Mental Disorders), as out-of-date as its ADHD criteria seem to be in 2009, is pure gold when used for appropriate diagnoses and treatment.

In the final analysis, it makes no difference if that unnamed decision-maker in Egypt has a diagnosis of ADHD. It is equally unimportant whether the statement about lack of follow through within Egypt’s leadership is accurate. The lesson is that ADD-ish behavior -- impulsive choices, lack of forethought, single-minded adherence to a goal, even a laudable one -- can create an ADD-ish nightmare that affects hundreds of thousands of people.

I often bristle at ADHD treatment that entices me to behave in a more linear fashion, to think in logical sequence. I am more comfortable when my wild and erratic ADHD brain is allowed to skip and play at will. But this incident draws me up short, forcing me to look at the serious effects of ADD-ish behavior. It’s not funny. It’s not whimsical. And it needs to be addressed effectively.

On a lighter note, I must say that Egypt is at the top of my list of “Must See” countries. I want to stand in the shadow of the Great Pyramids and float down the Nile. After careful consideration, I think I may wait until the flu pandemic runs its course...and the pigs, like the swallows of Capistrano, return to Cairo.

ADHD and Writer's Block

posted: Wednesday October 21st - 4:41pm

Writers’ block is not the exclusive province of ADHD folks. But the creative ADHD brain and creative writing have some, shall we say, “issues.”

I’ve been composing blog posts for you in my head for weeks now. I would notice or experience something that had implications for our collective ADD-ish-ness and mentally “write” the opening lines of dozens of posts. For instance:

"Grandma LaLa update: little Lilly is growing into an adorable marshmallow baby..." and

"Faced with the prospect of retraining my memory cells, I begin to wonder if I’ll lose my ADHD self in the process. It worries me a lot..."

and

"My husband insists it’s not heart 'surgery.' It’s just a 'procedure,' he says. As if the precise term makes his 7-hour ordeal less dangerous. Or frightening."

The problem, of course, is that I didn’t get them OUT of my head (until this moment), onto a piece of virtual “paper” and submitted to our esteemed web master, Anni. In the moment of inspiration, I was SURE I’d remember my brilliant thoughts and capture them the next time I sat down at my computer.

Instead, my first computer action (as always) was to check my email. Respond to my email. Answer the phone during my email. Realize that I’d forgotten to send in my registration to the ADHD conference. Get up to find my credit card so I could register online, etc., etc., etc.

You know the drill. My fascinating storylines disappeared under an avalanche of To Do items and Don’t Need To Do But Doing It Anyway items and Oh My Gosh I Forgot To Put That On My List items, never to be heard from again.

When I sat down, determined to write a few posts, my mind went blank. For days. And days. What happened to those cogent, succinct thoughts? Those inspired ideas? In the famed words of Margaret Mitchel: “Gone With the Wind.”

Darn.

I know I had a lot of things to tell you. I’m sure if we sat down over a cup of tea, we’d talk until both our throats were husky from sharing intimate, silly, and wonderful stories. So what’s up with forgetting those very stories when I sit down to write? A reputable source tells me it’s called “writers block.”

Writers’ block is not the exclusive province of ADHD folks. There are entire books written about how to get started writing (presumably those authors were successful at overcoming it). But the creative ADHD brain and creative writing have some, shall we say, “issues.”

We procrastinate (“But I don’t have anything new to say”), then hyperfocus (“It’s 3 a.m. already? I missed dinner. And lunch.”). We are terrific with Chapter 1. Not so terrific with Chapters 2 – 22. And we have no idea how to end the article, the poem, the book. It’s a conundrum.

But it needn’t stop us. We can push through that inertia or fear or procrastination. Because ADHD folks have a lot to say. The world needs to hear their voices. Perhaps yours. Are you writing your novel? Your poetry? Your blog posts?

Oh, yeah. Blog posts. I must write some. I want to write some. I WILL write some.

But first, let me check my email...

Living with ADD Beyond Tips and Tricks

posted: Tuesday August 25th - 11:54am

How do I move from "dealing with" ADD to "living with" ADD and thriving as a result of ADD?

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Does ADD define me?

Of course not!
That’s a silly question!
Everyone knows that ADD is only one small part of me.
I am MORE than my ADD.
Right?

Then why are there websites and podcasts and books and organizers and therapists and, yes, ADHD coaches, who are eager to help me “deal with” my ADHD? They have tips and tricks and advice oozing from every pore and every page.

“Break the big job into smaller ones.”
“Begin with the end in mind.”
“Stop working on the computer two hours before bedtime.”

I’ve spent a lifetime memorizing these and hundreds of other helpful tips and tricks. I have schedulers and timers and colored folders and project management software. I’ve even recommended them to my clients. I know HOW to get organized, be on time, deliver on my promises. Yet I’ve mastered none of them. And frankly, I’m tired of trying.

I can’t shake the feeling that the world ‘out there’ believes that the operative word in Attention Deficit Hyperactivity Disorder is “deficit.” That’s awfully close to “deficient.” And a long way from “fulfilled,” which is the adjective I’ve chosen to describe the rest of my life.

I unconsciously fall into it, this sense of being “less than” those perplexing folks whose neurotransmitters play together nicely. And I am usually unaware that I have clicked into my compensatory mode, either tap dancing to cover my deficits or applying a thick layer of my most effective tips and tricks. I can fake being “normal” for a while, but I have no endurance. The facade melts and I am exposed.

Now that I’m older, I don’t cringe nearly as often as I once did when I was “outed” as an ADDiva. But I do take a look at my patterns. With as much “work” as I’ve done with therapists, coaches, books and all the rest, I am dismayed to find that sometimes my gut response is still shame, followed by an urgent need to “try harder.” Even deeper though, is my realization that I am simply exhausted by the effort. It’s not worth it any more. To my body, my psyche, my energy.

Surely, surely, I can release the growling undercurrent that monitors my ADD-ish behaviors. Or at least notice it before it controls my thoughts and actions. When I’m on my deathbed, I don’t want my last words to be: “Well, I was almost linear!”

Of COURSE there is more to life than dealing with ADD. Everyone knows that. It’s the popular answer, ADD wisdom du jour. But honestly, how much of our lives ARE spent with ADD at the helm? If I am truthful, 100 percent. ADD isn’t a mask I can take off at night. I am not “more” than my ADD. I am ADD and ADD is I. Or perhaps ADD R Me.

So the harder question is: how do I move from “dealing with” ADD to “living with” ADD and thriving as a result of ADD? How do I look ADD in the eye, acknowledge its breath and depth and treat it as a respected ally instead of a pesky nuisance to be shooed away and thwarted at every turn?

I don’t have the answer. This inquiry deserves more than a flippant remark or a cliched retort. My suspicion is that each of us will make peace (and friends) with our ADD with as much variety and creativity as our wild-child brains allow.

So I invite you into the question. How do YOU go deeper, beyond the “let’s fix it” stage. How do you put your arm around ADD and walk down the road with it, knowing that there is one absolute certainty: that ADD will never desert you. It is yours (and you) for as long as you live. How do you move from “endurance” to “fulfillment” starting right now?

Going Green, ADD Style

posted: Friday August 21st - 8:22am

I just love it when something works for me and my ADD. I love it even more when it also helps the environment.

I have a trunk full of reusable grocery bags. They make me feel so environmentally conscious -- until I get to the checkout line and remember that they are...still in the trunk of my car.

Why can’t I remember to bring them IN to the grocery store? (Oh yeah. ADD.) Once, when there was no one in line behind me, I actually excused myself and ran outside to get them. Of course, by the time I returned, six people were glaring at me, waiting impatiently to check out. Won’t do that again.

But what’s the point of having reusable bags if I don’t, eh, USE them?

A good friend of mine unwittingly solved my ADD-ish problem with her Christmas gift last year. She gave me a ChicoBag. I love these little critters!

ChicoBags are fat little bundles that expand to full size grocery bags. Made of polyester, these mighty little sacks can hold up to 25 pounds of groceries. (The larger size holds 40 pounds!)

Each one has a self-fabric storage sack sewn into the bottom seam (so ADD folks like me never lose it). And best of all, the ChicoBag has a carabiner (hook) so it attaches to your purse, belt loop, notebook, shopping list, you name it! I love the bright colors, too. Some of the newest ChicoBags are made of 99 percent recycled materials -- even better for the environment!

I bought several more at the ChicoBag website for $5 each. What a bargain! And if you buy five, the company throws in the fifth one for free.

I attached three ChicoBags to my purse on an unused key ring. I know I look a bit like a pack animal with my pink, purple and green bags, but hey -- I’m using them! Sometimes, I even use them at the hardware store or department store, too.

It’s a perfect ADD tool:
A. There are no parts to lose.
B. The little hook lets me take it with me everywhere.
C. It comes in bright colors so it doesn’t get lost in my piles.
D. It’s cheap and good quality.

I just love it when something works for me and my ADD. I love it even more when it also helps the environment.

Viva Green ADDiva!

What ADDers Can Learn from a Doggie Stroller

posted: Tuesday August 18th - 4:53pm

Cosmo's doggie stroller reminds me that we ADD folks also need a little boost when we get tired halfway through doing the dishes or organizing our closets.

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"Do dogs really need their own stroller?"

I mulled this question for several weeks before I finally plunked down my credit card on the dog stroller website and bought a few months (or years) of freedom for Cosmo, my 14-year-old Sheltie.

Like any living being that is the equivalent of 85 in human years, Cosmo has a few aches and pains: a bad back, arthritic shoulder, painful hips. He sleeps most of the day and night. But he still loves his walks. When I lace up my walking shoes, he perks up and trots out to the garage to be harnessed into his leash.

Cosmo, and his younger counterpart Boomer, launch our walks with great enthusiasm, nosing around mailboxes, checking out the latest deer tracks. But on the way home, Cosmo’s optimism is overshadowed by his physical ailments. He slows down, limping with each step.

A couple of times, I tried to carry him home, but 40 wiggly pounds gets heavy after a couple of blocks. I left him at home, which broke his heart. The stroller was my last hope, even though I was a bit embarrassed to order it –- after all, this is a DOG we’re talking about. (OK, I also cook for my dogs, but that’s another story.)

That doggie stroller works beautifully, though. I push it empty on the first leg of our journey and when Cosmo tires, I lift him gently into the stroller and push it "with dog" the rest of the way.

That stroller reminds me that we ADD folks also need a little boost when we get tired halfway through doing the dishes or organizing our closets. Our initial optimism and enthusiasm can take a nosedive. Our brains poop out and our bodies follow suit.

Like Cosmo, we have a few aches and pains going on in our ADD brains. We need the equivalent of a doggie stroller to get us back on track. Choosing the right kind of boost is important.

Sometimes we simply need to take our next dose of ADHD medication. Sometimes it’s better to call our therapist or a good friend, or to make an appointment for a neurofeedback session. Like Cosmo’s doggie stroller, we need to tailor our support specifically to meet our ADHD needs.

And then we need to accept that assistance with grace and appreciation. None of this "no, no thanks, I can do it myself" kind of stuff. We know better. We won’t do it ourselves. We’ll stay off track. And then feel bad about ourselves. Again. Which makes it even harder to get back ON track. Sometime we never get back...

So just in case you’re waiting for it, here’s permission to ask for what you need. Hire an ADHD coach or a professional organizer. Join an ADHD support group -- online or in person. Sign up for reminders from an appointments-online website. Whatever you need most, make it happen. Then, be grateful for the boost it gives you to make it all the way to DONE -- the most beautiful word in the ADHD language!

ADD and the Case of the Missing Grapes

posted: Monday August 10th - 4:31pm

Then it hit me: I had actually lost my grapes! I had to ask: Is that like losing your marbles? Is there ADD medication you can take for losing your grapes?

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I haven’t killed any grapevines this year...yet.

Actually, the two vines that survived Japanese beetles, grape fungus, and complete neglect look pretty good -- probably because I did my duty and pruned them in February (the actual recommended month for pruning -- a triumph for any ADD adult!). And I threw a bunch of well-composted fertilizer (aka chicken poop) around the roots. Voila! They were happy little vines.

In June, I noticed several small clumps of hard green nubbins that supposedly would ripen into luscious grapes. Not in my garden; for five years, they have shriveled and fallen to the ground. Or the birds and squirrels have eaten them. I’ve never tasted a single grape from my “vineyard.”

Several weeks later, the darned things got plump. Then, they started changing color. My gosh; grapes were actually being born! Every day I checked on them; I shooed away the hungry beetles and hung a little bird netting over them.

Did you know that all grapes don’t ripen at the same time? Within the same bunch, there were several deep purple grapes ready to eat, a few more grapes that barely blushed pink, and a majority of stubborn green grapes that refused to ripen. When was I supposed to harvest? When all of them turned purple? When a few were still green? I was baffled.

I had my answer the day some of those early bloomers burst their skins and went flat and droopy. Oops. No matter what color, those grapes were coming with me! Carefully, I snipped off the three little bundles (at most 30 or 40 grapes).

I dared not risk bruising my precious cargo in a wicker basket. Instead, I carefully turned up the hem of my T-shirt to form a pocket (think apron pocket) and nestled the grapes against my waist. I patted them gently to make sure they stayed safe, then closed the garden gate and headed for the air-conditioned house.

I went straight to the kitchen, stood over the counter and flipped open my shirt. No grapes! Not one! They’d fallen out! Panicked, I retraced my steps; surely red and green grapes would be easy to find. No grapes were seen. I went back to the house, more slowly, eyes scanning the green grass. Could birds or squirrels have grabbed them so quickly? Curses on them!

Tears were beginning to gather behind my eyelids. Five years of battling birds and bugs and I had LOST the first harvest? I tried to think like Sesame Street and “take a walk backwards in my mind.” Where had I gone? What had I done? I’d snipped the grapes, put them in my shirt, went to the house...ah! I’d closed the other garden gate!

And there they were, a little smashed (apparently I’d stepped on a few of them), but mostly intact. I made silent apologies to the birds and squirrels after my undeserved condemnation.

Then it hit me: I had actually lost my grapes! On the way from the garden to my house, I had LOST my grapes! I had to ask: Is that like losing your marbles?

Do you lose your marbles and then lose your grapes? Or does losing your grapes MAKE you lose your marbles? Is there ADD medication you can take for losing your grapes?

I was still giggling as I composed the survivor grapes into a sad little still life and took pictures for posterity. I might never harvest grapes again. But if I do, with god as my witness: “I’ll never lose my grapes again!”

Not sure I can say the same about losing my marbles...

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