In a recent email to a few folk,

I gave an example of my memory loss, which could be seen as humorous if it stood alone. Problems with that theory are, (1) it involved forgetting my son's name, and (2) there are other examples.

I laugh about aging and the ensuing problems; you laugh or cry; you stay or go. I choose to hang around and laugh about it as much as I can. But I'm starting to think it's somewhat less amusing than I wish it to be.

The other morning, as I was making another pot of coffee, I ground the beans and poured them into the water tank of the coffee pot. I laughed at myself because it was just a silly problem, albeit annoying. I've made quite a few pots of coffee in my time and understand the coffee goes one place and the water another. But it was like I didn't remember this and just added the freshly-ground coffee to the water because it seemed like the thing to do.

After rinsing out the coffee pot multiple times (getting grounds completely rinsed out after they sank to the bottom) was even more annoying. And in this process I understood that my memory was betraying me in regard to simple, routine, mundane things.

This morning when I went out to get the paper and put the DVD I watched yesterday in the mailbox to return, I found my wallet laying in the street under the mailbox. Frankly, I'm amazed I even noticed it, given my tendency not to see details clearly. Thankfully, I did see it and knew immediately what had happened.

When I came in from short trip out yesterday afternoon, I went to the mailbox to check for mail. I had my car keys, my wallet and my jacket in hand. Clearly I dropped the wallet while retrieving mail; the kicker is I didn't realize I'd dropped the thing and it lay in the street the rest of the day and night.

I'm starting to think I actually need a list of names, addresses, phone numbers on my person whenever I'm away from the house; and perhaps I need things I have to keep secured to my person by belts or hooks.

That's an interesting picture, maybe a notebook tied to my waist, or hanging from a rope around my neck. OR, with my phone secured in a pocket and all needed info loaded into it. THEN I can pin the wallet in a pocket, or underwear, or on a belt.

I've joked before that I'm impervious to stuff, varying dependant on the situation. Evidently, I'm impervious to things I do. As I said in that email about my memory, maybe I'd better reserve a rocking chair at the home, a place where someone else keeps up with me and the things I need.