There is the strangest phenomenon at my house. The phenomenon seems to increase with every year. Items that I know where they belong are no longer there – sometimes they are misplaced, and sometimes they’ve simply disappeared. Lost. Nobody, but nobody has a clue where or when they disappeared, nor how or where they are to be found. One might deem me forgetful, but I am certain it is not so.
For example, I could not find my spring form pan – looked for it for four months. So, I bought another one. Then one day, a single guy from church casually remarked. “I’m sorry I never got that pan back to you. You know, the one you sent the rest of that cheesecake home with me for my birthday.” You see? I knew I had that pan and I knew it was lost; I just didn’t know where because I promptly forgot where I sent the pan. The spring form pan was lost and found. Now really, who was the forgetful one?!
The other phenomenon continues to happen in my house. Items I’ve never seen act like they belong – and suddenly appear. Like the miniscule gold screw I found on the dining room table the other day. It had to fit in a special place – but I have no idea where. Nor does anyone else in my house know where it came from – or to what it belongs. That’s why I call it “unfound” because it does not belong.
There was a black jacket hanging at my house. I tried to give it back to my sons or daughters, but no one claimed it. For months, I tried to figure out whose it was, but nobody knew, and nobody seemed to care. One day a friend called. Her jacket – lost for a year – was nowhere to be found. She had been looking for her lost jacket for a year. She remembered that perhaps the last place she wore it was to my house. Found. She was grateful (and so was I) that I did not gift it to Goodwill during that year. That jacket, too, was lost and found.
Signs of the age – lost and found
What does one do when these things happen again and again? Become a sleuth; show forgetfulness; or ignore it at best? I think a little bit of all three is in order. In addition, there are times I write things down. Who borrowed that DVD set, where that distinct bulb belongs, where I put that birthday gift, when that event takes place for which I need to purchase tickets.
When I was younger, my brain stored all that information in those cells. I suppose it still does, but sometimes my brain forgets where it put the information. I tell my kids that my brain cells have a lot more to store and keep track of than theirs. Mine has done a lot more living, knows a lot more people, and has travelled through more decades than theirs. Their turn is coming – their turn in looking in the lost and found and well as finding the un-found.
In the meantime, sometimes I text one of my kids to give them information to store for me. I have master lists of what is stored that have come in handy on more than occasion. I play games “guaranteed” to keep my mind sharp, and I am trying harder to remember something by writing it down instead of just leaving it to chance. Getting old is not for sissies – and neither is forgetfulness. Sometimes I really miss my mind.
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