My Cup Runneth Over

At one point this afternoon, I started hearing the song, "My Cup Runneth over."  In 1967, this was a popular love song sung by Ed Ames.   A few of you might remember Ed Ames.as Mingo on Daniel Boone.

 Well,  time ravages all of us, at some point or another.   Currently, Mr. Ames has been eligible for the senior discount at Denny's for years.  My even knowing Ed Ames, means I'm getting dangerously close to said discount.  But, I digress.  The reason this song flashed through my head mid-afternoon started with this morning and another "cup running over."  Well, it wasn't exactly a cup, it was a toilet.

My alarm rang at 5:30 a.m.  I shut it off and easily fell back asleep.  My inner snooze alarm had the good fortune to jerk my eyes open at 5:56 a.m.  I was up and staggering toward the shower before I knew what hit me.  I raced through the shower and practically ran to the kitchen to start the coffee and oatmeal.  Fast forward to 6:51a.m. when I entered the following in my Facebook status:

Ok, Who cast an evil spell on my Wednesday. It's 6:51 and I'm ready for it to be over. Toilet overflowing, lost library books, car lights that won't go off. UGH!

How so much could go so wrong in a matter of minutes still remains one of the great mysteries of life.  Lost library books and car lights are nothing compared to toilet overflow. Combine them with toilet overflow and you have a morning that has gone so far south, it's not funny.    Toilets overflowing is one of my least favorite household disasters for all the obvious reasons.  It is not what I would choose to have happen on a lovely autumn Wednesday, not on a windy winter Wednesday, a rainy spring Wednesday, not even a Wednesday in hell complete with snowman and snowball.  Since, I'm not yet Queen of the Universe with the power to travel across time and space, fly, levitate, bi-locate or become invisible, controlling toilet overflow is not within my limited human powers.  As soon as the job of Queen of the Universe opens up, I'm going to apply.  I would be so good at that job.  Again, I digress.


By the time of my departure at 7:15 a.m. I almost ran out the door eager to leave toilet, unhappy children (blamed for clogging toilet by angry parents) and nasty dirty towels and rags (for husband to wash/sterilize) far, far behind.  As I drove across town, listening to music trivia spoken by radio DJ's who seemed to be having a bit too much fun first thing in the morning, I decided that I was going to "start my day over."  No toilet had the right to ruin my day!  I shook my proverbial fist at the heavens and vowed to forget about the hideous pall cast over my day by an evil toilet.  And, I did.  Now, I'd like to take a lot of credit for some great self-reprogramming or cognitive behavioral "stuff" but now that I'm beginning to rapidly approach the land of senior discount, Mr. Ed Ames forging the way before me, forgetting things is not that difficult.  If there is one good thing about aging, I think my favorite is this ability to forget.


A lot of the time, this ability does not feel like a gift.  When this forgetfulness began to first expose itself for what it is,  I was certain I had a brain tumor or Alzheimers.  I still have moments when I entertain the possibility.  While I don't relish the idea of ending up as shriveled empty shell of a women, drooling mindlesslessly, waiting for death, the truth is if my brain goes completely, I won't realize it's gone.  What I don't know or don't remember can't hurt me while I'm drooling in my ancient shriveled state.  Things could be worse, a whole lot worse.  Forgetting can be a very sweet thing.

Forgetting that my day started out on the wrong foot was the best thing I could do for myself today.  I let go of the morning irritation, leaving it somewhere on the road between home and work.  I'd like to think that lots of cars drove over this irritation, leaving it flat and lifeless, stinking in the afternoon sun.  Well, maybe cutting the odor is a good idea.  By the time I got to school, I was enjoying the DJ trivia.  I greeted people with a sincere smile. Time flew by.  My cup was running over, not my toilet.

This awareness made it self know via a flashback to the Ed Ames song.  At first, I thought it was an Engelbert Humperdinck song.  Google straightened me out.  There was that forgetfulness thing again.  Hmm, I'm finding Englebert's album cover a bit disturbing.  Where was I?  Ah, my cup. . . my cup running over with love."

When this song first started playing through my head today, I wasn't exactly thrilled.  Runneth isn't a word used in English for centuries which tends to make this song's popularity in 1967 a mind-boggling event, along with flower power, men wearing puka shells and the blow-up bubble chair  All of those things are usually best left forgotten.  Yet, in the swirling maelstrom that holds court between my ears, one of those things rose to the surface in the middle of the afternoon,  Ed Ames song.  For a time, elevators everywhere played this song and a myriad of other easy-istening schlock.  Music droning out of speakers as human cargo was trafficked between floors of buildings every where. 


When I woke up this morning,  I was a long way from a 1967 elevator.  So, what was this song doing in my head?  Without more than a split-second's elapse in time, I connected my toilet overflow of that morning to the cup, Mr. Ames immortalized in song.  "Yes, " I said to myself, visualizing a mental smile on my face.  "My cup did run over." Apparently, I hadn't really forgotten after all.   Somehow, the imprint of the morning had pressed itself upon my psyche and left a lingering impression.  I had left the horror of the morning behind but I hadn't really forgotten. Instead, as the day wore on, I carried the morning with me.  Some how, by the time I arrived at afternoon, my cup was running over, not my toilet.  One thing had become another through the magic of time and letting go.