It's as easy as riding a bike.  But is it?  I've just spent forty minutes trying to remember how to inflate the tires on my bike.  Granted, I haven't ridden the darn thing in a year and it's got those tricky little Presta valves, but I'm still a little abashed by my need to watch a tutoring session on tire inflation on YouTube. (Thank you, cute bike guy, for all the info.)  Inflating the tires on my bicycle is not the only thing that I've forgotten.  I forget regularly how to pay my bills (some of them are paid online through the bank, others come out at intervals through auto withdraw and some I actually have to sit down and write a check.)  I've written a list of how and when all these things happen, but then I forget to look at it.  I forget the passwords to my various online accounts (why in the world do I need a security question to buy a top from J. Crew?)  I forget what book I'm reading and then when I remember the title, I forget where I am.  In all the catching up, think I probably read each paragraph five times.  And then, when the book ends, I promptly forget all about it.

Am I overloaded? Under brained?  Sometimes I worry about Alzheimer's.  But mostly I figure that there's a lot going on.  With over forty years of stuff crammed into my cranial file drawers, things are getting a little crowded, a little dusty.

Besides, I can remember how to make a souffle, how to saddle a horse, how to make paper dolls for my daughter.  For everything else, there's a recipe book or a cute guy on YouTube.

I'm up at The Next Family

Spring is here.  I can feel it.  The park is lush and green and filled with flowers.  The scent of orange blossom drifts in the air. The sun feels warm and the sky is still blue blue, not the smog tinged blue gray of summer heat.  I love Los Angeles in the spring when the stiff branches of trees fluff out into blossoms the color of prom corsages and the earth is plump and damp from rain.  Grass grows overnight, spreading a dense emerald carpet over hills that will, too soon, turn crackly and brown in the summer sun.  Too soon there will be fire danger and baked hard clay beneath my feet.  But for now, the moist air adds an ever so slight curl to my fine, straight hair and bright orange poppies spruce up even the most bedraggled median.  Spring in the air.  Spring in my step.