I have been continuing my work writing Hojoki.

Life is complicated. This time, research found me in the area clinic...

It is funny how things all tie together. I went to the library today to return some books for Mom. Since I was there, I went to look for a children's book I once read but they must have culled from the shelves. There is a book about Issa the Japanese poet that I once loved, but it is not "Cool Melons Turn to Frogs" which seems to have replaced it on most shelves. The book I remember was rougher, older, and thicker. It had poems but it was published prior to 1998, and I just can't seem to find it anywhere. It is like a figment of my imagination.

Anyway, I clearly didn't get it. So I went to poke in the book store there with the faint idea of "maybe something good will come of me poking in here." Something was going on with me, that is not much of a change, it was like I am becoming fainter and fainter in terms of being awake, tuned in, focused, and alert. But maybe my mental parts are just on auto pilot. I poked through the maps, but found nothing. Then I found myself in front of sale children's books, and there was this one that laughed to me. It was The Funny Little Woman a book "retold by" Arlene Mosel and illustrated by Blair Lent. It was one I think I have brushed through before, maybe just as an adult. But the story is about a Japanese woman and her hut. For many reasons it could be very useful to have this book, I thought to myself, then saw the price. One dollar and fifty cents! A steal, usually, I guess, but there was just a small pile of change in my purse, and it actually is all I have. I started reading the book and fumbled. Then I started counting the change and fumbled. I read the first page and found it familiar, but my brain wasn't 100% there. I think that children's books remind me of how mentally together I am because I might have first seen the book when I was younger, or much younger, or at varying times though my history when I was much younger. It took me 4 attempts to count the change in my pocket, which was 13 cents short.

So I, with my privilege and strong sense of entitlement, though I never am perfectly aware, took the book, and asked the librarian if she might consider selling me the book for what I had. She did and I was grateful. I have donated money to the library and will do it again. I hope. I walked on.

As I walked to my car I began thinking more about my neurodeficits. I guess like most matters of the mind, this is not something people always talk about publicly and openly. In a brief summary, I think I have had a lot of cognitive declines all gradually over the past 15 to 17 years. Because of the gradual nature of the decline I never have asked anyone about it, meaning a doctor, though I have mentioned it once or twice in a list of problems.

Anyway. I suddenly don't feel like explaining everything that happened when I went to the walk in clinic, here, now. But that is the story of how children's book research can possibly make a person feel they must go to the doctor.