brains and brows

I woke up this morning humming “Moon River.” When I caught myself, I thought, What on earth are you doing? It kind of startled me, but I suppose it’s par for the course. It seems I’ve had moon-on-the-brain lately. (See my previous post, moon songs.) If you got an eyeful of the full moon over Seattle this last week—and yes, our moon is different than yours—then you’d understand. It ‘s been so full it’s looked like a caricature of itself, so big it seems like a giant white china plate hanging over your head. Maybe my awe of that moon wiggled itself to the “oldies” filing cabinet in my memory and yanked that song out its slot.

It’s so odd the way our minds work. Take dreams, for instance. I dream every single night and wake up with fragments of those dreams clinging to my memory. Very often--usually, in fact--I dream something along the lines of big-money movies. Generally, I’m involved in some kind of international spy-ring caper, complete with trench coats and nearly-missed flights and smashing cars and soundtrack. I sometimes wake exhausted.

But the other night, I had a different kind of dream. I dreamt that my sister and I had flown down to Arizona to watch the Mariners in spring training. When the particular training session we watched ended, we found ourselves suddenly surrounded by thousands of baseball fans, with a television reporter waving a microphone at the two of us. I could see myself (from outside my body) while I responded to questions from the reporter—almost as if I were watching the events on TV. Near the end of the interview, the camera panned in close. I was nodding at something my sister said, and all of a sudden, the camera zoomed in ultra-close, right on my eyes . . . and then right to my eyebrows, and I could see that they really, really, really needed plucking. I don’t mean the eruption of a few new brow recruits. This was a call for serious plucking, as in “how did you enjoy your six months in a cave with nothing but a canteen” plucking.

I’d like to think my love of the Mariners and anticipation of the coming season caused that dream. But I’m afraid the real provocation was the fact that the other day, my friend Denise, who gave me a gift certificate to a nail salon for my birthday last August, said, “If you haven’t used that gift certificate yet, I think it’s time. And I recommend you use it to get your eyebrows shaped.”

For those of you who don’t know me, let’s just say I’m gifted in the eyebrow department (thanks Dad). And for those of you who do know me, please stop pointing and staring.

So I left Denise’s, went out to my car, pulled the mirror down, and inspected. By the much-brighter-than-my-bathroom light, I could see that she was right. Nothing major, but I did notice a few strays. Unfortunately, I forgot to do anything about it when I got home. Hence, I believe, the dream.

I have no real point in telling you this, except that I’ve been pondering the workings of the mind this morning and thought you might be interested. I may have been wrong about that.

Off now to write ... or maybe groom.