Squirrel Brain
My efforts to change the world are failing. My cat ignores me when I tell her to catch mice and not birds; my neighbors don’t agree that it is OK to have a brown lawn if it means a full aquifer; and my congressman tells me I have my priorities wrong. Certainly, anyone with half a brain knows we should use our taxes for bombs and not health care. He assures me that I just don’t understand the bigger picture.
Given my inability to comprehend complicated issues, I am focusing on myself -- a big task. I am 61 years old, and still a mess.
I have a legitimate excuse. Really. I would never choose to live like this. When I lose my keys and phone, forget to bring reusable bags to the grocery store, and find rotten food in my car, I blame my parents. The genesis of my inability to handle details comes directly from them. After all, my ADHD is in my DNA, spawned directly from my mom and dad.
When I was growing up, each morning was a circus. My dad would sit at the bottom of the stairs putting on his shoes, while yelling out: “Where’s my lunch?” “Where’s my briefcase?” “Where are my keys?” This caused my mom to dash here and there trying to find things, while I simultaneously sprinted up and down the stairs, first to retrieve my backpack, then my coat, then my loose homework scattered across the dining room table.
Through all of this, my brother slept, or at least tried to. But almost always, partway through our “finding our things” pandemonium, my dad would realize my brother was still in bed. Then his cheeks would clench, his face would redden, and he would catapult off the stairs, run to my brother’s room, throw open the door, and bellow: “Get up! GET UP!”
My mother was the master of ceremonies. She would put together our lunches, search for our lost possessions, kindly encourage my brother to go to school, and give me a ride when I missed the bus. But given that my mom was also the woman who buried keys, never returned anything to a designated place, and once found her missing purse in the washing machine, where she had put it for safekeeping, her “help” mostly added to the chaos.
I still live like this. In a bedlam of my own creation. I have times when I almost get organized and adhere to a schedule. These snippets of calm are like mini nirvanas, a deep breath, where I can catch my footing. Unfortunately, this quiet space is always short-lived; I will inevitably take on too many projects, and my brain will go into squirrel mode -- a condition where it reacts to everything and focuses on nothing. I know myself well enough to understand I am not going to change the wiring in my brain. I can not suddenly become a sheep, a manatee, or a sloth. I am a squirrel, and I need solutions that will work for my fast-twitch brain.
My self-correction for now is to concentrate on one thing: bring a water bottle with me when I go places. I am choosing this focus because I need water, and I want to stop creating plastic waste.
My solution for never having a water bottle is to put them everywhere -- like a squirrel caching nuts for winter. I will stash them in my car, my boyfriend’s car, my bag -- if I can find it, and the storage shed by the tennis courts where I am currently coaching. When these bottles vanish, I will simply replace them. Drinking containers are cheap at the thrift store. Sometimes, I even find one of my own lost vessels. I think, “Oh, there you are. I am so happy to see you!” The $2 to $3 finding and storing fee is a reasonable price to pay to be reunited with an old friend.
Another simple solution I have tried is to drink less water. When I am at a coffee shop, a bar, or an athletic event and water is available in a community container, I try not to take one of the plastic water cups provided. I try to avoid using the plastic cup by not drinking the water. But my willpower is almost non-existent; my self-bargaining begins within minutes. I tell myself, “Just this once,” or “This is just one small cup”, or “Next time, I will bring my water bottle.”
Given the massive amounts of plastic piled in landfills and choking our oceans, rivers, and streams, I should be able to tough it out. But I can’t stand being thirsty. This, too, is my parents’ fault. I still have PTSD from a coastal backpacking trip I took with them when I was in middle school. After a carefree day on the beach, tidal currents and darkness forced us to camp on a stretch of sand where there was no fresh water. Our dinner was to be spaghetti and green beans. But of course, to cook spaghetti, you need to boil water. We were hungry and didn’t consider going to sleep without dinner. Instead, my highly educated parents cooked our spaghetti in seawater.
Since then, just thinking about not having water makes me feel like I have been staggering through the desert for hours. I start getting dizzy, my tongue becomes parched, and I feel my lips begin to crack. I can’t swallow, and become so miserable that I use one of the community’s plastic cups. After I have drunk my fill, my guilt drives me to fold up the cup and put it in a pocket to use at another occasion. But I rarely find these cups when I need them. Instead, they become shame tokens, falling out of my pockets when I am coaching, out with friends, or doing laundry. They remind me of my plastic consumption sins, and announce to everyone around me —she is an odd one.
I know using a water bottle isn’t going to save the Earth. But it is one thing I can do. And maybe, if a few other squirrels join me and stockpile their water bottles too, we will make a difference.
An important Unrelated Action Item:
A good friend told me that the BLM is intending to cut down millions of acres of previously protected old-growth forest in Oregon. She asked me to go to the BLM website and comment. I researched the issue further and am spreading the word that we must try to stop the administration from going forward with this proposal.
Quality, well-written information can be found on the Substack: More Than Just Parks. I am quoting directly from them in the following paragraph:
“On February 19th, the BLM published a Notice of Intent to gut the management plans governing nearly 2.5 million acres of old-growth forests across 18 counties. The proposal seeks to eliminate old-growth and wildlife protections to facilitate what the agency calls “maximum” logging capacity. The stated goal is to accelerate timber harvest to approximately one billion board feet per year. That’s four times current levels. It would match the peak production of the 1960s, before the Endangered Species Act existed, before anyone with authority cared whether a spotted owl or a salmon run survived the next decade…”
Public comments can be posted through March 23rd here:
https://eplanning.blm.gov/Project-Home/?id=a591dee8-500c-f111-8406-001dd8029ed0
Click on the “ Participate Now “ tab.
My Comment:
Please use any part of this that is helpful.
I am opposed to the plan to cut Oregon’s old-growth forests. My family hiked and camped in these woods on our vacations. The Valley of the Giants is a space I consider sacred. I can’t imagine cutting down these ancient trees. Once they are gone, we will never get them back. Newly planted trees can not replace them. Logging them will create a wound on our planet, where something magical once lived. A refuge taken from our children.
Furthermore, it is well known that industrial clearcutting followed by dense replanting creates a fuel-loaded, fire-prone landscape that feeds our wildfire crisis. This is stated in the BLM’s own documents. It is important to state true facts and not just fan unsupported rhetoric about preventing wildfires to justify killing these forests.
The BLM is required to re-evaluate all existing Areas of Critical Environmental Concern in the planning area. Please follow the law and the process. The Valley of the Giants, Mary’s Peak, Alsea Falls, and the Sandy River are irreplaceable national treasures.
I request the BLM to hold a public meeting to discuss these proposals. After all, these resources belong to us, we the people.
Annie, I too sometimes feel like a squirrel running around in circles and “occasionally” accomplishing something!!!!
Then I look at all the squirrels in my yard and I realize they are having sooooo much fun!!!!
Love your writings and you are so right about are beautiful trees . We need them!
Yes, I need to remember that sometimes the disorder takes me on an adventure.