by Shirley Bahlmann
It was a flashback to my childhood. When my husband, Bob, complained that some of us watching a late movie at our son's house last weekend was so loud he couldn't sleep, I told him he should develop a cement head, like me.
He gave me a funny look and said, "But you used to get mad at the kids who called you 'Rock Brain' in school."
"No," I said. "I mean you should make your head so heavy and dense that when it hits the pillow, you can sleep and no noises will bother you."
His face did not light up. Apparently, he didn't get it.
Maybe it's just something inborn, that blessed ability to shut out the noise and confusion from the world outside your head so you can create characters and places inside your mind that eventually find their way on paper for others to read. And don't forget that wonderful cement head ability to sleep any where, any time. I've slept in station wagons with seven siblings and two parents (one of whom was driving.) I've slept on airport floors, restrooms, and in church. I've even slept in the bathtub. (Glub, glub.)
There's something to be said for knowing what's going on around you at all times, but I'll leave that to Bob. I'm happy with my cement head and all the wonderfully tangled adventures inside it.
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