Now Where Did I Put That?

I am at the point in life I can forget a lot of things. Where did I put so-and-so? I just had such-and-such. Where’d it go in five minutes? This no longer bothers me. When it did bother me was right after I was forced into early retirement, when I went on LTD, and was only 48 years old. I couldn’t remember the day, the week, the month sometimes. The Babe told me “You’re fine!” I did not believe him. Finally, I bought a planner. Never needed one when I was employed, but I sure did when I wasn’t.

Fast forward a few years to when the Babe retired. I had long since grown accustomed to being forgetful and made allowances for it. My motto was, “I’m not getting paid to think.” I sure felt better and everyone laughed. Including me. The Babe mentioned one day, “Gosh, I don’t remember what day it is.”

I was able to console him. “It doesn’t matter anymore; when you’re retired, there are six Saturdays and a Sunday.” Truer words never spoken. Now, we both have calendars (paper, thank you very much) with our collective events AND Mom’s appointments. Then, for emergencies, we can get ahold of each other. After the phone debacle (with my old phone dying, and my Google ID being locked for 28 days) I can’t rely on a device. I’m not trusting enought to do that yet.

Growing up Catholic, the first thing we did when looking for something we misplaced was pray to St. Anthony. Patron of Lost Items. (He is also credited with finding lost souls, but that’s another day.) The nuns would invoke him in the classroom daily. If Johnny lost his mittens, the good Sister would pray. If Susie lost her chapel veil, Sister would pray. We were ready to call the Pope about all the miracles. Except Anthony was already a saint. Still, it was amazing.

This week, I’ve misplaced a few things. First, the lid to my thermal Pioneer Woman glass; it’s so great for tea or coffee to go, then a book I ordered called, “Just One Look,” about a woman engaged to be married who loses her fiancee in the Vietnam War. I especially wanted to start it, but couldn’t locate it. Then, this morning, I walked downstairs, looked at a small stack of books destined for the new book cases, and there it was. Smack dab in the middle of the ones ready to be put away. That was easy. I’ve given up on the lid to the thermal glass. It may have been thrown out accidentally.

When I misplace things, I think back to St. Anthony, then sort of mention, “Hey, if you can give a hand, please do!” Then I start to think to the last time I saw something. Where was I, what was I doing, did I go in another room, was I in a hurry, and all that. Usually, I come up with some of those answers, and, just like this morning, I get a glimmer of where it may be. Maybe it was St. Anthony. Or maybe it wasn’t. But it’s not lost anymore.

Whatever you do, don’t take yourself too seriously. Learn to accept how things change as you age. Sure, you forget stuff. Who doesn’t? And if someone has more than normal difficulty with memory, of course, get professional assessments and help. Otherwise, remember, you’re not getting paid to think! Have a great afternoon, and I’ll see you tomorrow. Thanks for reading. Tomorrow, it’s “Mom’s New Wheels.”

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