Open Writing

Drat! I’ve just been upstairs to put my watch on and came down without it.

What else did I go upstairs for? I can’t remember. I must get ready; I have an appointment at 10.30 a.m. Thank goodness I haven’t forgotten that.

I must change my shoes. One thing ¾ I always know where they are because I have a shoe rack. I’ve put the black one on, but where’s the other? Oh hang! I can’t find it. My rack doesn’t hold all my shoes, so I must have mislaid one. Oh dear, where is the wretched thing? What’s it doing under the sideboard? I’ll never be ready at this rate.

While I’m out I’ll take my library books back. I did those up last night, so I know where they are.

Now, have I got everything: house keys, scooter keys, necessary documents and, yes, means of identification? These days one wonders if this is still England.

So I am on my way. I reach the bank and keep my appointment, only to find I need my great grandson’s birth certificate, which I don’t have. Oh, well, we can make another appointment, and I can go ahead to the library.

Almost dreamily I cruise along Lidget Street, and when I reach the Infirmary, I am passing a long queue. At the same time it dawns on my addled wits that it is Wednesday and the library is closed all day.

So I say out loud, “You chump, you can’t take four books back today,” at the risk of being thought an idiot for talking to myself.

I hear a raucous voice shout, “Mind her on the scooter; some of them are bonkers.”

I feel indignant but say nothing, the better part of valour and all that, but I think of all the times I make a point of thanking by signal motorists who show me great kindness, and pedestrians too, and how profuse are my thanks when I am helped in any way. But bonkers! I turn this over in my mind all the way home.

Whether I am bonkers continues to occupy my thoughts. Yes, I talk to myself. Yes, I mislay things. Yes, I have to write things down, but bonkers? Well, if I am, I’m enjoying it.

So I reach home and put the books back. I need to make some essential phone calls. Now I know I put the cards with their numbers on in this drawer. Oh hang! They aren’t there. What the heck have I done with them? I know I put them in here.

I’ll look in the cupboard. Oh yes, they are here. I wonder why I put them in there? Why do things turn up in such unlikely places?

One great consolation is that it isn’t just older people who mislay things. The young do it too, and I know that because I’ve heard younger people say so.

Luckily I can find my keys easily. I learned a long time ago the necessity of always being able to locate one’s keys. Keys and purse always at the ready.

Oh no. Staring at me are the letters I forgot to post. They should go today. Muttering, “My head will never save my legs,” I get my scooter out again to go and post them.

I meet a friend, and we sympathise with each other. She doesn’t always remember things either. We agree we are both work-shy and don’t do a great deal (of work, I mean). We can both of us socialise, and we can both talk. It’s strange how those two skills never leave you.

I’m sure there was something else I’d forgotten. Oh yes, I need some fresh bread. I’d better go for some while I am out.

Oh goodness! There’s a lady coming towards me. I can’t remember her name. Oh, what is it? I’m going through all the letters in the alphabet. I can’t think. Oh dear! Fortunately, she speaks first, and we become involved in conversation. As we talk I begin to realise how I know her.

Finally I go for my bread and then make for home again. By that time I am fully convinced I am bonkers. It’s a good word, isn’t it? Really descriptive, but on reflection I’m not so sure. Isn’t it perhaps just that faculties slow down somewhat, energy levels drop and will power is not in great supply. Isn’t it comforting that nearly everyone you speak to says it’s like that for them too?

So let’s accept our senior moments and thank the Good Lord we are still here.