by jphilo | May 13, 2016 | Daily Life
In the four years since this post first appeared on Down the Gravel Road, memory issues at the Philo house have only gotten worse. So much worse that this Fantastic Friday’s muffin mystery is one I don’t even remember. Which is why it’s worth solving a second time.
This morning, I was up bright and early. At 6:15 I left the house to walk, my back exercises, Bible study, and breakfast already completed. Ten minutes later, my phone rang.
By the time I fished it out of my pocket and untangled the iPod ear buds wrapped around it, and I inadvertently pressing several buttons, the caller gave up. The screen said it had been Hiram, so I tried to call back. But somehow I hit the mute button and had to hang up. Eventually he called back, and after explaining I really hadn’t hung up on him twice, he remembered why he called in the first place. Which is a miracle in itself, as the rest of the story proves.
“Did you put muffins in the microwave this morning?” he asked.
“Yes,” I answered, and then added. “And I ate them. For breakfast.”
“Okay,” he said. “So these in the microwave are mine?”
I pondered the question for a moment.
I didn’t remember putting more muffins in the microwave.
But the older I get, the more I forget what I’ve really done.
The older I get, the more I confuse what I only considered doing with what I actually did. And the older I get, the more reality seems like a day dream and the more my day dreams feel like reality.
That’s when I realized Hiram and I have been married for a long time, and he’s rubbing off on me. As my internal dialogue confirms, though I have spent the last 35 years pulling him out of the anti-memory-time-and-space vortex where he lives, growing older is gradually sucking me into it with him. My days as household memory queen are numbered. Maybe even over already.
Hesitatingly, I answered. “I don’t think I would put a second set of muffins in the microwave. And my stomach feels full, so I ate mine.”
“Okay.” His voice remained cheerful and unperturbed. “They must be mine. I just don’t remember putting them there.”
I laughed. “We’re pathetic.”
He agreed, and we both hung up. I slipped the phone back in my pocket and felt something long and stringy wrap around it. I pulled the phone out again, along with a tangle of iPod ear buds.
Where in the world did those come from? I wondered. Then I stuffed them in my pocket and walked down the road cheerful and unperturbed.
Just like my husband.
by jphilo | Mar 31, 2016 | Three Thoughts for Thursday
- Why is it I can open my junior high year book from 1968 and match a name to every face, but I can’t remember the name of a new couples at church 5 minutes after they introduce themselves?
- Friday, I began a scene in the second novel of my mystery series. It describes the protagonist directing the Christmas program in the country school where she teaches. Saturday, the Man of Steel and I cleaned the attic and found the program for one of the Christmas extravaganzas I directed during my country school teaching days. Coincidence or confirmation? I believe it’s the latter.
- The daffodils are blooming. Happy, happy spring!
What are you thinking about this week? Leave a comment.
by jphilo | Jul 17, 2015 | Family
This post, written a few days before my daughter’s wedding on July 11, 2010, will forever and always be one of my favorites. I think you’ll see why it is this week’s Fantastic Friday choice.
Four days until the wedding, and what did I find? A dandy patch of Queen Anne’s lace, swaying tall and graceful, in an easy-to-reach spot by old Highway 30 east of town.
The flower lady, also known as my sister, plans to gather the the lovely weed, to use as an accent when she creates bouquets and boutonnières on Sunday morning.
She sees an accent flower, but I see my three-year-old daughter standing on the pew at a long ago wedding. Looking like she’d died and gone to fairy tale heaven, my little girl watches the first bridesmaid glide down the aisle. My little girl leans toward me, her eyes wide, and whispers, “She’s a princess.” As bridesmaid follows bridesmaid, she whispers the same words.
“She’s a princess.”
“She’s a princess.”
“She’s a princess.”
Then the organ music swells, the guests rise to their feet, and I lift Anne into my arms so she can see the bride, lovely in her white gown. My little girl gasps, clasps her hands, and her sweet, high voice floats above the rustle of the crowd and the music.
“Mommy, look. She’s the queen.”
Her voice swirls around the Queen Anne’s lace beside the road, and the memory of her childish face shifts, I see a bride, wearing my wedding dress and carrying a bouquet trimmed with small, delicate white flowers. A sweet, high voice floats out of the past and across the meadow to where I stand beside the road, staring at the patch of wildflowers.
“Mommy, look. I’m the queen.”
by jphilo | May 23, 2014 | Out and About
Camp Dorothy went on the road Tuesday with a rockin’ and rollin’ multi-destination trip. The camp’s namesake was packed and waiting at the door when the activity director arrived. Moments later, Iowa’s Thelma and Louise were on their way to the first destination:
The doctor’s office.
Six month check up time for Dorothy, and she passed the doctor’s examination with flying colors. The only thing that flustered her was the fasting blood draw. She came out of there saying, “They took a lot of blood. They nearly sucked me dry. I need coffee.”
She also needed breakfast.
So our second stop was Perkin’s, where Dorothy had her favorite of all time meal: pancakes. With coffee to wash it down. So much coffee that she agreed a bathroom break was in order before we hit the road again. Even though the bathroom was a far piece from the booth where we were sitting. A few minutes later, we were out the door and on the interstate, headed non-stop for Albert Lea, Minnesota.
Or so we thought.
Just south of Story City, Mom requested a bathroom break. The activity director snagged the handicapped parking spot outside the McDonald’s, and the camp’s namesake trooped off to the bathroom. A few minutes later she emerged feeling, as she put it “pounds lighter.” The activity director knew better than to inquire further, as the answer would include details she didn’t want to know.
A TMI situation to be avoided at all cost.
The remainder of the trip was a race. We were supposed to meet the son-in-law of the camp’s namesake’s at 1:30 in Albert Lea. Due to the unexpected potty break, we were running late. Even so, we arrived before he did, so Dorothy ordered lunch…just before she realized another potty break was in order.
Guess where the bathroom was?
Clear on the other side of the building…beyond the McDonalds, Cold Stone Creamery, Pizza Hut, Verizon kiosk, clothing display, snack food, aisles, and the coffee bar. The Camp Dorothy version of a cross-country hike designed to work up a camper’s appetite. By the time she got to the bathroom, our camp namesake was pooped.
No pun intended.
The return trip nearly did her in, but Dorothy rallied enough to eat her sandwich (though not the fries, which the ravenous camp director consumed), greet her son-in-law, and decide she needed ice cream for dessert. Which she instructed the activity director (who’s allergic to ice cream) to order for her.
Cruel, cruel request.
The ice cream finished, the fickle camp’s namesake ditched one activity director for another and headed north with her son-in-law. As the jilted activity director drove home, she thought about Dorothy’s response to the doctor’s question about her memory. Based on observations over the previous six months, the activity director prompted her. “Do you think maybe you’re having a harder time with your short term memory?” To which the camp’s namesake gave the director a blank look and replied, “Who are you?”
Gotta love her!
by jphilo | Aug 16, 2013 | Current Events
Yesterday was one of those days when this old gray mare knew her memory ain’t what it used it be. The epic memory failure began when I discovered I’d purchased the wrong kind of puff pastry for the new dish on the supper menu.
What to do?
Thanks to improvisation techniques honed by many years of practice, the meal was saved. Hiram liked the new dish so much, he said it deserved to be photographed and put on the blog, improvisations and all. But the camera was missing.
Nowhere to be found.
Eventually, I realized I must have forgotten it at last week’s family reunion. So, no picture of last night’s yummy meal. And the evening was spent sending a series of emails to cousins trying to locate the camera. (Janet, if you read this, check your email and reply asap!)
This morning I remembered the iPad.
Why hadn’t it come to mind last night? But no worries! I could use it to photograph the left overs. Except by then, the leftovers were gone. Hiram had taken them to work.
Rats!
That’s when I knew my memory ain’t what it uses to be. So I was very pleased to discover the article 10 Ways We Get Smarter As We Age at the Time website. Those of you who share my age bracket will appreciate them, I’m sure.
- Your hemispheres sync up. That sounds awfully high tech, doesn’t it?
- Your brain never stops growing. So, should we worry about exploding heads?
- Your reasoning and problem-solving skills get sharper. Sharper than what?
- You can focus on the upside. That’s why this list is showcased today.
- Your people skills are constantly improving. Compared to what?
- Your priorities become clearer. What’s for dinner and where’s the bathroom?
- You’re always adding to your knowledge and abilities. Though you’ll constantly forget where you put them.
- You can see the big picture. In that case, new glasses may be in order.
- You gain control of your emotions. Then why did a cardinal singing make me cry the other day?
- You become an instant expert, even in new situations. Since we’re instant experts, this expert recommendation is that you copy the list, tie it around your neck so you don’t forget where it is, and read it daily as a reminder of how smart you are.
Just sayin’.
Photo credit: www.freedigitalphotos.net
