A day of forgetfulness

 

Cheating: This is a picture of me and Mary
at last year's dinner.
No pictures this year--darn!

This morning, Mary picked me up for a trip to the nursery to restock my herb garden. During the horrible hot dry spell, everything had died. Recently a couple of stalwart green onions peeked their heads through the dirt, but my wonderful, raised garden was pretty much barren. We chose thyme and oregano and basil and parsley and a couple of other things. At checkout Mary handled the transactions for me since I was in the transport chair and couldn’t reach. That may be where my problem began.

Next we went to Trader Joe’s. I don’t get there often at all. In fact, Jean usually shops for things for me, like the bread I love for sandwiches. I went without a list and without really needing anything, so it was fun to browse. I saw many things I wished I needed—baby zucchini for one—but I refrained. Came away with two more herbs, a small container of chicken salad, and a wedge of cheese that blended three English cheeses—it will be nice for happy hour one day. Mary found a frozen, ready to eat dinner of scallops and mushrooms in a wine sauce. Sounded so good we each bought one and then agreed we would forego lunch plans to get the scallops home to the freezer.

When we first parked at the grocery, I asked Mary to go in and drive out one of their motorized carts. Pretty soon she came with a store employee driving the cart, and I wondered if Mary, who is never intimidated, was a bit unsure about the cart. Trader’s has nice wide aisles, and I did not hit any people, knock down any displays—I did skirt a big stack of large jugs of apple cider at a great distance. When I was settled back in the car, Mary drove the cart back inside, and I thought maybe she said to herself, “I can do this.” I think they’re fun to drive, though I’ve had some minor accidents.

When we got home, I had the gate opener but could not find my keys. We both remembered me locking the door, and the keys were not hanging in the door. We searched everywhere—each of us emptying my purse, Mary searching her car. Nothing. Neither Jordan nor Christian were home, so a lot of phone calls ensued (not all happy); Jacob came out with two keys that obviously didn’t fit; Christian told Jordan where there was a key, she relayed the information, Mary went into the main house to get it, and Jacob came out with the key. Sort of a circus, but I got into the cottage where Sophie was so glad to see us. I’ve called the nursery and Trader Joe’s, but so far, no keys.

Tonight was the adults-only dinner for our neighborhood, held in Mary and Joe’s spacious yard for the second year. A bit bittersweet since they plan to move during the winter (Joe has lived in that house fifty-one years). A nice event—about a hundred people, barbecue provided by a neighbor who’s an expert and gave us really good food. With a five-year gap in the late eighties and early nineties, I’ve lived in this neighborhood for forty years, and I have edited the newsletter for maybe ten or more. So I knew a few people. I was pleased that several came up to talk and some commented on how long it had been since they’d seen me. And sometimes I heard, “You look really good!” I may be oversensitive, but I think now that I need a walker and I don’t get out much, they must think I have shriveled into old age. Not so (I hope!).

Since Jordan and Christian had other plans tonight, Greg and Jaimie Smith took me. Jaimie, as social chair, had to be there early and stay late, but Greg picked me up, helped struggle me up the four stairs into the yard, and sat with me. We had a happy table of neighbors I very much like, but both Greg and I are a bit hearing challenged, and we often exchanged whispered asides. He’s good company, and it was fun.

So I got home without a problem—had the gate opener and the keys. Got settled, went to get my phone out of my purse, and it wasn’t there. I had it on the table during dinner and remembered thinking I must be sure to put it in my purse. But I didn’t remember actually doing it. So in a panic, I emailed Mary that I’d left it on the table—after all, I could neither text nor call.

As I was brushing my teeth, I thought I should take one more deep dive into that purse. I did—and there it was. I was red-faced over a false alarm, but I was also grateful. I really don’t want to be in the cottage alone, especially at night, without a way to call for help if I need it (which is most unlikely, except if I don’t have a phone which is when the odds go up dramatically). Email is not effective—who reads email at three in the morning?

So it was a lovely day, one I enjoyed a lot, glad to get out, but one in which I feared for a bit I was losing my mind. Not yet, I guess.

Sweet dreams, everyone. Keep you phones handy.