Kombucha and My Stream of Consciousness

A few weeks back, my friend Cindy told me about this strange drink called Kombucha.  She touted its benefits for women of our age, and that piqued my curiosity.  She then told me that the product was “live”, and that there was a “mother” living in each bottle.  I like mothers.  I am a mother.  I wasn’t scared.

 I bought my first bottle, and I drank it that day.  There were no adverse side effects, it didn’t taste as awful as the healthy green stuff my daughter-in-law Anna drinks looks, and the bottle was so dark that I couldn’t see the mother.  I survived, and was still curious, so I bought some more.  Now I have a bottle of yummy Kombucha for breakfast every day.  

 As great as the Kombucha makes me feel as far as inflammation and gut health goes, the huge difference that is most noticeable to me is my stream of consciousness.  Is this influx of whirling ideas a coincidence?  Maybe.  But suddenly, my typical incessant subconscious narrative (which occasionally leaves me alone as I spend the day “counting bricks” at my job in accounting for a custom home builder) is in overdrive.

 We’ve had a lot going on in our family recently.  Our freshly born third grandchild, our son’s upcoming wedding, our daughter’s family’s impending move, an aging father-in-law, and my siblings and my first upcoming holidays without parents.  Life’s changes. The little details that used to occupy my mornings and evenings don’t exist anymore.  As a result, there is a lot of big picture stuff on my mind.  And rather just embrace these changes as they come, I’m questioning their meaning.  And my head is spinning.  I’ve been reflecting about people, and why they are who they are.  I sometimes remember who they used to be and occasional ruminate about who they are going to be.

 So, I’ve decided to write it all down.  Not in a journal, because I’m not interested enough in myself to commit to something that personal, but here, where anyone can read it, and hopefully help me make sense of what it’s like to be a fifty-six-year-old woman who can’t stop…. thinking.  

 One of my favorite things to do is to wish people well the day before their birthdays, on social media.  My late mother-in-law called that day your “Almoster Day”.  I like to take that opportunity to tell people what they mean to me.  The nicest thing anyone has ever said about me was when my daughter Lucy claimed that I “remind people why they matter”.  She probably doesn’t even remember saying that, but I’ll never forget that she did.  As much as sharing that sentiment sounds boastful, and makes me uncomfortable, I feel obligated repeat the compliment when asked, because really, isn’t this why we’re here?  To let people know how much they matter, sometimes when they need it the most?  Is there any loftier goal I could have?

 I’m leaving this here. I’ll see if it’s my first and last post. I’m anxious to find out if my mind eventually gets used to the Kombucha and its apparent prolific effect on my active brain.  (I sort of hope it doesn’t.) And along the way, I’ll probably say something nice about you or someone you know.  That’s my goal anyway.