Friday, May 25, 2007

Yup, it's THAT kind of day.

How can they say my life is not a success? Have I not for more than sixty years got enough to eat and escaped being eaten?

-Logan Pearsall Smith, essayist (1865-1946)

Monday, May 7, 2007

Crochety!

I'm getting more crochety as I get older, which is funny since in many ways I continue to mellow. Is it possible to have those opposites happening simultaneously? Perhaps the key is that while many things irritate the poop out of me (messy!) I'm more able to grit my teeth and try to manage the instant outrage. Not just repress it, but actually notice that there MIGHT be more to the situation than I see or know.

The thoughtlessness and outright stupidity of many people (yes, this IS the same subject) really makes demands my reserve of self-control. Item in point: my husband and I stopped on our drive to see the grandkids yesterday to take pictures of the dogwood trees blooming near the highway. One of those magical moments when the sky is ultra blue, the spring sun warming and illuminating each new green leaf on the trees, lupine ready to bloom, birds singing. Ah, so beautiful and serene. My husband walked back to try another angle for a photograph and came upon an impromptu dump site in the forest. Hidden off the edge of the slope was a pile of discarded TV sets, old computer printers, and a collection of rusty brake cylinders. The thoughts of anger, contempt, and wishes for retribution that wrestled in my mind were quick and strong.

The mellow is having a hard time competing.

Thursday, May 3, 2007

Memory

Let's face it, my memory just isn't as sharp as it once was. The brain works okay overall but where once I was the designated rememberer for the entire family I now seem to lose things willy-nilly.

In reality I probably forget as much, or no more these days as when I was spring poultry. I can still do the daily crossword puzzle, though more often a clue requires a bit more "background processing" while I go on to another clue. I grope for words on occasion, but then I always seemed to conceptualize and run off at the mouth faster than my mind could put those ideas into appropriate words. But after seeing several family members succumb to Alzheimer's or old age dementia, one begins to question any forgetfulness - Is this it? Is this a sign? At twenty you shrug it off. At thirty or forty you are so busy remembering anything is a surprise. Past sixty anything you forget causes a moment of anxiety and a pause to run a quick spot check : Phone number? Check. Social security number? Check. Day of the week? Uh-Oh!

And this morning's spot check is brought to you courtesy of "Didn't I have a bin of fabric scraps? And where the heck did I put it anyway?"