Friday, September 5, 2014

Thoughts on the storage unit that is our brain.

“I consider that a man's brain originally is like a little empty attic, and you have to stock it with such furniture as you choose. A fool takes in all the lumber of every sort that he comes across, so that the knowledge which might be useful to him gets crowded out, or at best is jumbled up with a lot of other things, so that he has a difficulty in laying his hands upon it. Now the skillful workman is very careful indeed as to what he takes into his brain-attic. He will have nothing but the tools which may help him in doing his work, but of these he has a large assortment, and all in the most perfect order. It is a mistake to think that that little room has elastic walls and can distend to any extent. Depend upon it there comes a time when for every addition of knowledge you forget something that you knew before. It is of the highest importance, therefore, not to have useless facts elbowing out the useful ones.”
Arthur Conan Doyle, A Study in Scarlet

I happened to be reading random quotes just now and came across this one.  It makes a ton of sense!  I always compared a brain to a library filled with books based on what you read, learn, and experience.  Your ability to help others in any way is directly dependent upon what you store in that library.  If you only fill it with recipes, thoughts from other mommy bloggers, and the conversations you have with your children, then you will be equipped to help other people with recipes and children at the same stage of life and situation as your children.  Is that bad?  Not necessarily, but it means that if you don't take the opportunity to study scripture (not just mindlessly read for five minutes a day), you aren't in a position to spiritually lift or guide others toward Christ.  If you don't learn how to change your own oil, tire, air filter, or car battery, then teaching your daughter these things or stopping on the side of the road to see if you can help someone with a flat tire is beyond your capacity.


I disagree, however, with the point made about the brain's elasticity.  Instead I believe that your mind expands to hold all the new information you choose to store.  Useless thoughts do not replace the useful, but any skill can become rusty if not regularly practiced, and any piece of knowledge can be forgotten if not used in some way.  The goal, then, is to do as he implies: give priority to those things that will enrich your life and the lives of others.  Now, is this what Holmes meant in this novel?  Probably not...like, not at all.  But since I'm taking the quote out its context and musing on the quote as an entity itself, I choose to interpret it as I have already done.

And now it's after midnight and my brain is very, very tired.  This makes the second post in 2014...breaking the pattern of one post per year since this blog's inception.

Everyday seems a little longer, Every way love's a little stronger...

Life is seriously like a roller coaster.

I was supposed to be in Japan this month...supposed to be. I wanted so much to be there and made lots of plans with my friends there and was so excited to revisit places I really love while there. My daughter is now running around, knows all her letters and colors and lots of numbers too, so I was hoping to "show off" to my friends who only saw the beginnings of her awesomeness.

As is obvious at this point, I'm not in Japan. I'm at my parents' house in the States. Why? My father died. It was way sooner than any of us thought it would be. He was 78 and his health wasn't great, so it's not entirely unexpected, but he had recently been making some serious improvements and was in great spirits. Despite all of that, his number was called.

I got to see him one last time before we signed the papers for cremation and he looked almost the same as always. I completely expected him to take a semi-startled breath as he woke up to find us in the room with him. He would say, "Oh, hi!" like always and we would give him a big hug, grateful to have a chance to visit and talk story. That didn't happen. He stayed on the table, cool to the touch despite the blanket they covered him with. No wide smile, no arms wide for his tight hugs that made you feel small and safe, no warm voice assuring you of your solid place in his thoughts and heart.

For the first time since hearing of his passing, I cried. Not even the words, "Your father has died" stirred tears of sadness, it was the final realization that the body I was looking at was no longer my father. It was a shell of someone who loved me more than I had ever loved anyone else in my life before. Only after I got married and had my own child could I begin to fathom the love he had for me. This man taught me about love, forgiveness, and the joy that comes from family and food. All my life he has been my father and friend.


As my family attempts to sort through their feelings and grieve in our own way, I find myself put in the position of mediator and pillar. We all have our own strengths and both of those are mine during crises, but I can't say that they are my strengths for very long. Sometimes I feel as if others see me as unfeeling and callous toward the suffering of others, but I can't help it if I cry very few times and attempt to get all the necessaries taken care of before I finally feel the weight of my emotions. I cried when I saw my father for the last time, and haven't cried again since then...that was two weeks ago. I'm okay with that.

Two weeks have passed since I heard the news and already life seems to be moving on. Nothing has come to a screeching hault, the sun still rises, and the dog still needs to be fed and walked.

Life is different. Things change. Home is still home. Love is still strong.