"In My Opinion . . ."
April 19, 2002
Recently, Bill and I spent three long days with his 90 year old parents, trying to help them cope with the many decisions they face because of their frailties. Short-term memory loss is a major issue for them and crankiness is another. My in-laws move from one senior moment to the next.
I like to fancy myself as a mentally organized, semi-efficient woman with an adequately pleasing personality. These are givens. My irrational behavior for 48 hours after leaving Arizona forces me to conclude that senior moments are highly contagious. Consider the evidence.
The first morning back we retrieved our mail from the neighbor's including two new DVDs from Netflix. I recalled receiving one other film, Memento, on the day we left. I could visualize opening the envelope, reading the title on the disk sleeve, and putting the movie on the buffet for our return. I looked, but the movie was gone. I searched everywhere. I called my children to ask if either of them had borrowed it or moved it. I emptied the recyclables, the mail holder, and the large bag of important papers stashed under the desk; I even made Bill check the outdoor recycle bin, but no DVD. Bill suggested that the movie, which was sent days before the other two, might simply not have arrived yet, but I was adamant. No, I had vivid recollections of holding that disk. I felt anxious.
The next morning I drove up to the ATM, deposited several checks into my account, and then spent the rest of the day enjoying Seattle in Springtime. After an invigorating stroll through the Kubota Gardens, Bill and I went to Musashi's for sushi, my favorite treat. That's when I discovered that my ATM card was gone. I have NEVER left my card behind, but obviously, here was another senior moment for me. I felt anxious. I felt foolish. I felt worried.
Like a 48-hour flu, my senior moments began to dissipate as abruptly as they began. When we returned home from the restaurant, Bill opened the mailbox and pulled out an envelope from Netflix: Memento. The following morning, I hiked down to the bank (a strenuous, not-for-the-feeble trudge to the bottom of Queen Anne Hill), waltzed in and reclaimed my ATM card. I even made reservations for our family reunion brunch at the end of May, a very well-organized thing to do. No flies on Jody. I refuse to believe that my momentary memory lapses were anything other than symptoms of a nasty bug I picked up from too much exposure to the geriatric crowd. Gosh, it's good to be back to normal. Now, where the hell did I put my keys?