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I Spy
As we age, we become Sherlock Holmes or die.
Why did I come into this room?
Where are my glasses?
Which side of the road do I drive on?
Who is this man lying beside me?
What is my best friend’s name?
Why am I bruised from stem to stern?
Are my parents still alive?
Sometimes you can find the answers by going backwards: what was
my last thought? Which room was I last in? Which barstool did I
sit on last night?
Or call a friend, “Sally, do you know where my car is?” “Am I
Republican or Democrat?” “Did I make you my power of attorney
for health care?” “Do I even have health insurance and with
whom?”
True friends will give you clues while you sniff out a trail to
The Answer.
There are five markers in my pet cemetery at home. I am
reasonably sure who four of the cats buried there are. But the
fifth one eludes me. Was it Fluffy whom I teased in childhood
and who retaliated by ripping me a new one on a weekly basis? Or
did I leave that one with mom and dad who are no longer alive to
attest.
Oh, yeah, they did die 14 years ago.
Was it Poppycock who teased the neighbor’s pit bull mercilessly
and disappeared about 20 years ago?
Exhuming the body is not an option. But I’ll bet my little
sister can clue me in . . . She has a memory like an elephant
and says it’s a curse.
Patience is golden as we broadside into our golden years. Keep
in mind: you are not dumbing down. Your hard drive simply has
way more memory stored on it than, say, when you were 15, and it
has to “go fish” every time you want to retrieve one.
Why just Saturday, while conducting one of my famous
inspirational workshops, I had the class playing Charades while
I suffered several Mental Pauses.
“Gimme an ‘f’ gimme an ‘i’ . . . I know it starts with a “t” . .
. It’s long and multi-syllabic and has to do with finding your
spiritual center . . . Oh! Thanks. Transformation is the word I
meant to say.”
That kind of thing.
Yesterday I left the house, forgetting to turn off the gas wall
heater. The thing is a blow torch and all one of my cats has to
do is toss one of her “dollies” at it and set the house afire.
The day before, I drove away from the gas pump with the hose
still attached. But, then, maybe I can blame that on sticker
shock.
So, in conclusion, don’t be too hard on yourself when you, uh,
um, ah . . . I th-th-th-ink it starts with an . . . “f” . . .
Guess you’ll have to fill in the dots yourself.
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