Out of My Mind

I'm ironing when the phone rings. Henry hands it to me. A dear friend says "Hello" and then asks, "Are you joining us for lunch?" "Well, yes," I respond, "I'll see you tomorrow." Very sweetly she says, "The lunch is today." I am horrified, embarrassed.

I keep a rather complete calendar. It includes appointments, birthdays, reminders of chores, the minutiae of my life. My December calendar clearly shows that lunch is set for the next day, doesn't it? Susan tells me that she and the other ladies waited thirty minutes for me to arrive and then, fearing something had happened, decided to call our house. Very tactfully, she reminds me that it was necessary to move the lunch from Tuesday to Monday because of a guest's schedule conflict. Uh oh......

The filed and temporarily lost bit of information finally reappears in my head. Now I recall the change and further realize that I failed to alter my calendar. A much anticipated once-a-year luncheon is thus forfeited. My chagrin is palatable. These three ladies, whom I won't be seeing, were once part of my staff when I worked at the College. Throughout my retirement years, I've maintained these special relationships through occasional lunches and more frequent e-mail communication. Getting together with all three necessitates careful planning and always results in strengthening of our long-time friendships. We'll set another date.

As my years have advanced, I've become more cognizant of things I am able to retain and those which appear to be slipping deeper into the crevices of my consciousness. For a while I was certain that the losses were overpowering the storage of memories. At present, I'm comfortable that a person forgets things, gets mixed-up occasionally, is absolutely sure about something and is totally wrong at the same time. I am, after all, quite human. I have scores of foibles which are kindly tolerated by the incredible people in my life.

To combat concerns that I'll overlook a vitally important event, appointment, or even a loathed chore, I make notes. My brain sits in the middle of my desk, disguised as a large calendar. Each day has its own square into which I can write that which must not be forgotten. Supplementing this device is the front of our fridge. Utilizing colorful magnets collected when we travel, I'm able to insure that immediate tasks receive the proper attention. Repetitive messages are stored on the side of the fridge and moved to the front as necessary. A 'Call Barbara K. tonight' note is on display nearly every week, for example.

Being slightly OCD, I will admit that I also stick notes on the mirror in my bathroom. The most frequently used of these notes says, "Take out trash today." Is this pattern too telling? What would happen if I dashed all the notes, turned the brain calendar over so that it couldn't be seen? I'm not really sure. However, I know I'm not ready for such an experiment.

There are people who often say that I have an outstanding memory. Just ask me about a long dead ancestor. Most likely I can fit that person into our family tree, estimate when he/she lived, and probably name his/her spouse and most of their children. I can explain how this ancestor connects to the person with whom I am conversing or e-mailing. I remember vividly stories about my childhood as well as tales my parents and Granny Ruth shared about their young lives. I know the names of all my first and second cousins on my daddy's side and most of the next two generations as well. I track birthdays of family and friends and send cards, often e-mailing and/or telephoning the person as well. I'm able to discuss the plots of countless movies, talk about actors and actresses from the 1930's forward. I'm acquainted with multitudes of authors and can recommend long lists of titles that should be added to one's reading list. I'm fairly familiar with people in politics, music, art, history and to a much lesser degree, the sciences. Abundant data still dwells in my head.

I live with a person who keeps no notes. He doesn't seem to need assistance of any kind in handling deadlines or appointments. I marvel at his ability to synchronize his daily life with a lengthening list of responsibilities unaided by reminders. Not only can he handle these tasks for the two of us, but often he is providing some of the same oversight for relatives and friends. I wonder if there's a different type of wiring inside his head.

Our daughter has a facile memory. She's very proud of the trivia corpus that she's assembled. One of her specialties is that she can cite the middle name of every friend she's ever had. I'm not sure when or how this information becomes useful but it does say a lot about her intense devotion to the important people in her life.

Nearly twenty-nine years ago, two exhausted parents found themselves in a small hospital room. About thirty minutes prior, a much anticipated daughter had been born. My weary husband looks at me and says, "I can't find my glasses anywhere." From my bed, I reply weakly, "They're on the top of your head." I guess he was out of his mind.....with joy. We both remain in that condition today.