john s. smolowe, m.d.

mental soundtrack

i love my mental soundtrack. it runs in the background as i go about my day. just before i sat down to write, i ordered a grateful dead t-shirt online, a red one i can wear to stanford women’s basketball games. now “till the morning comes,” from american beauty, is playing in my mind.

i could sing it out loud, and sometimes i do. i could put on the cd - in fact, i did a few minutes ago;  but (uh oh) now we’re on to the next track, “attics of  my life,” which i don’t really want to hear right now. actually i can’t concentrate with that on. it’s too loud, so i’m going to turn it down. hmmm, still doesn't work. maybe it's the wrong song, so i’ll turn it off. ahh, that’s better; now i have, playing in my mind, just the verse i want to hear:

til the morning comes, it’ll do you fine.
til the morning comes, like a highway sign,
showing you the way, leaving no doubt,
of the way on in or the way back out.

at times i hear, looping, only the phrase “til the morning comes.”   it’s just the right volume – loud enough to hear but in the background, not overshadowing the action. most of the time i don’t even notice it’s there. then, occasionally the direction of my awareness shifts, and whoop, there it is! the song fragment accompanies and amplifies my actions and interactions, in the way that a movie soundtrack accompanies and supports the action.

mr. potato head

i am chatting with an attorney, 30-something, married, top schools. he’s recently been laid off and is considering different firms. he’s wearing jeans and a button-down oxford shirt, white with red pin-stripes. as i listen, i’m carried away by the whiteness of his shirt.  as i watch, it changes into a chef’s coat - double-breasted, large white buttons (yes, i know, “whoa, trippy…”).  let’s play mr. potato head (or ken and barbie) and give him a hat. there, a white chef’s hat.

may i mention something random?

“sure.”   he’s up for it.

i don’t know if this is relevant or will go anywhere, but as you were talking, i found myself picturing you in a chef’s outfit.

lost (in thought) and found

"when a warrior learns to stop the internal dialogue, everything becomes possible"

 - carlos casteneda                

i’m standing in thigh-deep turquoise water, the fine sand visible below my feet.  i’m facing jibe city, the windsurf concession at lac bay, bonaire, dutch west indies. the wind is at my back, blowing safely towards shore at about 18 knots. the sky is blue, water temperature 80 degrees, air temperature 85. i’m wearing bathing suit, windsurf harness, gloves, booties, a blue and grey, wide-rimmed, nylon hat, and spf 30+ micronized-zinc-oxide suntan lotion.

it is my first day windsurfing in 2 years.

i’ve walked backwards from the beach holding the mast in both hands, the transparent mylar sail, trimmed blue and orange, floating on the wind, a foot off the water. attached to the mast, the board trails easily behind. now i’ve passed the toddlers with inflated safety rings clinging to their biceps, passed the blond 8-year-olds jumping on and off an orange, hard plastic kayak, passed the local teenager who, every 2 minutes, sails close to shore, jumps into  a perfect 1 1/2 revolution spin, and without pause sails off full speed. boards pass every minute or so, some whizzing, some lumbering. it’s active, but less crowded than a ski slope; there’s plenty of room for them to avoid me.

(thinking) ok, hold the mast with both hands, walk backwards to lift the sail out of the water. check. the board’s facing left and i want to sail to the right, so mast in my right hand, reach under the sail with my left hand to grab the boom, press down and towards me with my left hand.

as i swing the mast counter-clockwise in a small circle, the nose of board crosses left to right in front of my knees. just as the board comes around to  point to my right, the wind pulls the tail end of the sail out of my right hand and flips it 180. thwap! nose and mast now point, correctly, to the right. 

hey, i remember how to do this. now put the boom on the rear of the board, check. grab the boom with the two hands. check, pull back and lift. right, up comes the sail. what size sail do i have? 5.8 meters. too big? nah, try it. ok, duck under the sail. ow! whacked me on the head. lift it higher. now step up on the rear of the board with my left foot. check.... oh, no! the front of the board’s turning upwind.

crash!