Selective Memory Loss
Making a lot of lists will fix that ...
Something funny, (ha ha, not ironic) about getting older is what Robert and I call our ‘Selective Memory Loss’. We get around it every day by making lists for important things: appointments, what to bring to appointments, when to renew a prescription, when to change the furnace filter, or give Ree-Ree, our chihuahua, her monthly flea, tick, and heartworm chewable tab, etc.
We know we can’t blame it on dementia. Robert’s mother had it so he’s familiar with the signs. He also worked for a lot of years as a CNA in several facilities. One was for Alzheimers and memory care.
Our memory loss is the ha-ha-funny kind. It skips around: What did I have for lunch today? Did I have lunch today? We like to blame it on being writers. We get so lost in our writing zone that we lose all track of time —but never where we left our lists!
I had a roommate over fifty years ago, Christine —worst roommate I ever had, by the way, but I remembered something today. This is her birthday. Christine was one of three roommates I shared an apartment with in Burlingame, a suburb of San Francisco and close to the airport. (Chris and I are in the above picture) She was nice and easy to get along with. Her personality was never the issue —her incessant laziness was.
The four of us were TWA flight attendants in the 70s, when airlines still had stringent rules. TWA decided how we wore our hair, how big our earrings could be, and how much we should weigh, according to our height and bone structure. To make sure we didn’t violate the overly stringent rules, supervisors often met planes when they landed for surprise weigh-ins.
If you exceeded your weight allowance, you were grounded. How long depended on how much over limit you were and the length of time it took you to make weight again. That being said, three of us obsessively watched our weight. Salads and low fat yogurt were popular mainstays at our table.
Christine, on the other hand, either had hyperthyroidism, or was one of the lucky ones with a fast metabolism. She could eat whenever, whatever she wanted AND how much.
Anyway, Chris had a habit of cooking a huge meal, eating, and then leaving pots, pans, and dishes piled in the sink.
“I’ll do them later. I have a date, or a flight, or I have to go the bathroom, or I have to go to confession.” She always had an excuse.
After several weeks of this, we finally wised up. We might have come to the decision sooner, but with different flight schedules, we were rarely all there at the same time, so it took us a while to compare notes.
There would be no more washing her dishes for her like we had been. The next evening, after she went out, we took the dirty pots, pans, dishes, and silverware she used for dinner and piled everything neatly on her bed.
She took the hint. Problem solved …
Happy Birthday, Christine.
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Thank you, C.J. I still have dreams of her about once a year. She's the only person in my life who has died that I have regular dreams about. She was the closest thing I had to a sister growing up. Thank you again for your kindness and empathy, my dear.
Rosie was caught in the crosshairs of the 50's love of alcohol and the 60's love of drugs. She did too much of both at one time and never woke up. There was a song back then, "She's Come Undone." You don't hear it much on oldies radio. But every time I heard it, I'd think of her.