The old joke is still funny even though I am now living in it so to speak.
“Experts tell me that ones memory is the second thing to go. I can’t remember what the first one is.”
No, not dementia for me…at least not yet or I can’t remember if my doctor told me it was so. Too many of my friends are gone because of the demon Al Zimer. Dear dear friends to, not acquaintances or casual friends. But memory problems visit even those of us who are not confronted with Alz or any other form of dementia for the time being. So it will come as no surprise that what I wanted to write about, and what I had formed in my mind a clear initial outline can not be found among the years of collected “willdos,” “gonnados” scrap notes in my mind.
It’s not funny but I’ll say it is anyway. It’s funny how I will jot ideas into my ‘notes’ on my smart phone only to forget that I ever jotted any note on a fresh gonnado. If I had done that with this idea, I’d still have it but I forgot to make that jot. I forgot to make the tilde too.
So, this post will be designated as a ‘Draft’ until I remember my idea.* I’ve always said that ideas I have, even brilliant ones, but I can’t remember or don’t remember aren’t worth the paper they are written on. Of course, yes they are not written on any paper or I would not have forgotten forever. Make a note, keep the note, read the note and I am on my way.
Here is what happens most times these days. As I search for the brilliant idea, most times, I come across memories that are sitting on some shelf in my brain with some degree of dust upon them. Good happy memories and bad unpleasant and sorry memories are all the same. They are found while looking for my brilliant ideas.
Here is another happening related to forgotten brilliant ideas. Because I know the idea is indeed brilliant, I have the most difficult time walking away from it. It is worth something, isn’t it? I mean the brilliance of it should be shared and to do that I have to get it on some means of communication. My world will stutter a bit today because I have stirred up a rather rambunctious stampede of memories and their accompanying images from my early teen years. While sitting here pecking out the words so far, my mind has been shoving my home in California when I was in grades 5-8 and all the secret places I hid things and the secret ways from here to there across fences and violating the backyard property lines of neighbors to avoid walking on the sidewalk or street.
Well, as my favorite President Reagan used to say…and in the way he said it…Well…Thanks for allowing me this trip in my imaginary wayback machine to a time that was real. If only I could remember where my Whitey Ford baseball card went to.
- I never managed to recall so the Draft must have swept it away from my brain. Never the less I remembered to come back here and splice onto it this ending. By the way, I saw today the following note.
- “When a person dies hearing is the last sense to go. The first sense lost is sight. And I always thought it was memory.
Esengo Mingi 