Puzzling

And then there’s the really serious short-term memory problem, as evidenced by trying desperately to recall where I set down my glasses, or the checkbook, or, heaven forbid, my car keys. I’ve taken heed of the good advice of others and promised always to put such things in the very same place, which works really well except when it doesn’t, i.e. when I don’t.

I suppose I could regard those moments as instructive, or at least as lessons in humility, but at my age, it’s hard to appreciate either instruction or humility. Neither is it possible to accept the well-meaning reassurances of younger members of my family. I remember that when my mother was my age, she made some remark about noticing a reduction of mental capacity. I rushed to reassure her that she was still, as far as I could see, sharp as the proverbial tack. She rolled her eyes and said: "Thanks, honey, but you’re not in my head."

The only bright — well, okay, semi-bright — moment in all this is that while memory may bobble, the sense of humor does not. I find that most of my friends are struggling exactly as I am, and sharing our tales of woe brings healing laughter. At this point in our lives, that’s probably better than sex.

The other day, a friend sent me the URL for a You Tube piece featuring a very funny woman named Pam Peterson. Isn’t it good to know that we aren’t alone?

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Puzzling

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