Reports From The Nursery (Part Ten)
By Alexis, In Her Own Words
When I first began these chronicles —as of today, a little more than a year ago; how the time has flown! — it was largely because I had realized that my memories of my pre-birth days back in heaven were disappearing— and that, at a rate roughly equal to the speed and volume of new knowledge I was acquiring as a human.
This distressed me no end, and not just because of my initial concern: that I was clearly losing my mind (literally— like a person with a pocket full of dimes and a large undiscovered pocket-hole).
But I’ve come to the realization that this process is as necessary as it is logical. After all, human life is a journey; it’s supposed to be. It’s rife with decisions and guesses and judgements, both wise and less-so in the process of deciding or guessing or judging. It’s all new, as uncertain as a coin toss; if we had all come into earthly life already knowing the answers, how could we find merit and honor on our own? How would we know the harsh satisfaction of learning through failure, or the sometimes-double-edged thrills of surprise?
Admittedly, my new life was not short of memorable surprise—my first experience with diaper-filling, for example, was eye-opening indeed (no doubt for all concerned, at least in the aftermath thereof). But through this first surprise, I learned— and now filling a diaper is commonplace to me; not to brag, but I do it several times daily, with scarcely a second thought.
As for failure— well, suffice it to say that I still fail daily on my attempts to stand and walk, I’m still seeing most of the world from a ground-level perspective. Believe me, you can only look at so many shoelaces before it gets really old.
Still, I did not relish the thought of relinquishing arguably more aesthetic memories, like calculating the resolution to Goldbach’s Conjecture or discovering the even more startling answer to the Chicken-Or-The-Egg Paradox. (A hint: it is neither of them. I could tell you more —or could have, before I forgot it. But you’d never believe the actual answer.)
And so, I wanted —strike that: I needed! — to transcribe as many of my heavenly memories as I could, before they were lost to me forever. I yearned to enshrine the sheer ecstasy of the pursuit as I chased a never-ending trail of integers shed by pi throughout infinity’s universe. I craved the comfort of once again pondering the quiet waters tracing through verdant fields of the Celestial Estate.
And while many of those memories are dimmed now, or just plain gone —though I have become a recognized expert on the subject of my own toes (and their taste, too) and I’m without peer in my knowledge of the music-and-lyrics to Twinkle Twinkle— I take comfort in the thought that I’ll be able to retrieve those pre-birth moments when I revisit these essays. After I learn to read, that is.
By any measure, I’ve had no shortage of events and experiences over the past almost-year.
I’ve had a “birthday” (though this one involved a candle, two cakes and a large celebration: nothing at all like what I remember of my actual birth date, which centered on sudden bright lights, chaotic noise —most of it from me— and being removed from the warmth and left to the cold delivery room. I won’t forget that, for sure).
I’ve seen a tree, ridden in a car, learned how to swim (though that’s still mostly theoretical, a work-in-progress) and met dogs and cats and a multitude of members of my new family. I’ve mastered the once-baffling sorcery of Peek-A-Boo, and I now know your face is only behind your hands or my beloved Dolly; however, I’ll still giggle, but mostly because the world expects me to.
I’ve also learned a surprising amount about money and economics, largely because I’m blessed with a grandfather who finds me an excellent and attentive audience. For instance, through our chat sessions, I now know that “interest” is what you pay —or get paid, if you’re on the receiving side of the ledger— to rent money from (or to) other people. I’ve heard more than folks twice my age about risk analysis, about calculating the cost basis of a portfolio’s holdings for tax purposes, and about the smartest way to buy a car or finance a new business. Grandpa has some funny stories; I spend much of my time with him laughing and giggling like a madwoman. (To be fair, he also tickles me. A lot.)
He also has some helpful stories about purchases that have “gone south”. As a result, I can even recognize most varieties of scams and con-jobs, or at least well enough to look with all due diligence before leaping. I can translate “caveat emptor” into modern English… as well as translate “buyer beware” into Ancient Latin. As Grandpa always says, “Everybody wants your money.” (To which he often adds, “And take your toes out of your mouth.” Grandpa can be awfully strict at times.)
I miss my Heavenly days— where you could trust everyone. As the Psalmist says: “Do not put your trust in Princes.” Everybody certainly does want your money; but sometimes they want even more. They also want power or to be in charge.
To hear Grandpa talk about it, to get that power they’ll promise what they know you want to hear but have no intention of giving. They’ll carefully study you and repeat what they think you want to hear back like a parrot with a thesaurus… or perhaps, more like a crow, because crows are shameless and cannot blush.
“Crows always think that they are the smartest bird in the cornfield,” Grandpa says. “And that people, by and large, can be dumb as rocks. Don’t be a dumb rock, okay?”
I’ve tried not to be. I spent some time this morning reading and re-reading some of my writing over the past almost-year. (Actually, Mom read them to me. Authors rarely do their own proof-reading.) I’ve penned insights involving how to buy or lease cars, new and used; about financing higher education with a 529 Plan; building retirement security; home-buying in today’s chaotic environment; Social Security and taxes and a few other challenging topics.
In all modesty, they hold up reasonably well. Sure, I could nitpick on some: I might have spiced up the drama, or leaned down some of the details, or sharpened up the Human Element (which would have been, mainly, about me anyway). You can always do a little bit better, is my motto and mantra.
But I also realized that these were all written by a much younger me— not yet seasoned by the passage of time. Simply said, not bad for a mere child. I hope you all agree
I’m just over a year-old now and consider myself a very mature woman (ok, Toddler).
All in all, I’ve had a fulfilling, often exciting, human life.
So far, so good!
— end —
(EDITOR’S NOTE: Alexis and her musings will return to these pages in future editions.
But not right now: she’s eyeing up her toes. Again.)
