The Age of Slippage

1969 – Sydney and Paul (before slippage)

More and more frequently there are pauses in conversations with friends that are punctuated by their irritated comment, “Right now the name escapes me…”

“Welcome to my world!” say I.  In our house we call it the “age of slippage.”  We stick our tongues out at each other for corroboration that there is something right on the tip of it.  We blurt things out hours later when it’s no longer appropriate but… you have to capture the thought when you can.  And, we often say things like, “I told you about that just this morning.”  But, did we?  You couldn’t prove it by me say I.

More frequently than we’d like to remember (even if we could) we head from one end of the house to the other but by the time we get there we can’t remember the why of it.  Sometimes, the easiest path to total recall is to go back to the beginning.  Fine for me.  Harder for Nyel as long as he’s in this wheelchair.

Nyel and Sydney, Summer 2018 (Mid- Slippage?)

And there’s that whole piece of “losing” things.  Mostly, it’s a simple case of misplacing or of not putting something back where it “belongs.”  Usually, we find whatever it is…  eventually.  However, we never have found Nyel’s car keys.  It’s been almost a year now since they disappeared.  But as son Charlie says, “It’s not losing the keys that matters.  It’s when you find them and you don’t know what they’re for that you have a problem.”  I hope they’ll turn up before we enter that stage in our slippage.

On the plus side, though, my memory usually works pretty well in past tense. I remember the names of my childhood friends (Jackie, Joyce, and Robert)  and the name I gave my bike (Faster) and the name of my dog (Zipper) and the name of our 150-year-old desert tortoise (Nebuchadnezzar.)  Closer to recent times – like in Charlie’s childhood – I sometimes need a little memory jog.

“Happy 96th!” Sydney and Mom, 2007 (Learning from the Queen of Slippage!)

Like with all those cats we had. I remembered the one who gave birth to four kittens without a pause as she walked down the hallway.  That was Sadie.  But Charlie had to remind me that the quintessential mother cat, who nursed 13 kittens one spring without comment, was named Zorba.  And right around the same time, we had a cat named Hecate.

And speaking of slippage – I thought I started out with a point to this blog.  It sort of escapes me now…

One Response to “The Age of Slippage”

  1. Dian Schroeder says:

    Richard and I have a name for that going from one end of the house to other, or in our case upstairs (or down) and losing the thread along the way … we call it the ”Hearafter Syndrome”, as in “WHAT AM I HERE AFTER?” :-)

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