Barbara J. Hamby

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Memory—Or Not

Years ago, when my mother’s memory began slipping noticeably, I’d chuckle when I visited her and found a partial cup of cold coffee in her microwave. She’d reheated it and forgotten to take it out and drink it. I didn’t dwell on how soon those types of things would happen to me. Never, I hoped--in vain.

Lately, when I go to the microwave, about one out of three times I find a partial, or whole, cup of cold coffee in there. It isn’t always mine, of course, but at least half the time it is.

There are other little annoying memory lapses popping up from time to time. I set up an appointment to sign my will at my lawyers’ offices and forgot to go. A couple of days ago I wrote in my blog that a particular phone call was the highlight of that day, when I was searching for something special that had occurred. Actually, the phone call was received the night before the day I mentioned it, as Al pointed out to me a day or so later.

Al and I are both attempting to preserve the brain cells we have left by exercising them regularly playing cards and working puzzles, etc. If I write down everything I need to remember, that sort of defeats the purpose of brain exercise. I guess I’ll just have to write down the important things and try to hang on to whatever I can of the rest of my short-term memory