Charlie at the Lido in Venice, 1958
In our household, we’ve come to the place in life where making lists is a necessity. No longer can we rely on those mental notes of our youth. Our heads, filled as they are with cotton wool or maybe visions of sugarplums, are not reliable anymore. Even when we say to one another, “Remind me to…” the thoughts don’t come around again until the raison d’être is over.
We’ve passed through the stage of reassuring ourselves that those forgotten essentials “weren’t that important.” That worked for awhile when it was the smaller details that got left by the wayside. But it has become increasingly apparent that our forgetters are nondiscriminatory and, if we don’t write it down, no matter how basic or important, it won’t happen. It’s right up there with “out of sight, out of mind.”
The logical next steps in this process are a) to keep track of the list as in keep it in your hand – even pockets are unreliable – and b) to remember to check it periodically. I have friends for whom this is all second nature; they have been making lists for years. I’ve always taken a rather superior attitude that it’s because they aren’t, by nature, highly organized…
Today we are preparing for a Holiday Hoop-di-doo at our house. You can be sure that we have lists everywhere. In fact, last evening when we should have been reveling in Charlie’s first visit to Oysterville in nearly three years, we had pencils in hand preparing for the morrow.
I’m exceedingly pleased to report that it was at the suggestion of Charlie, himself, that we “Make a list.” He’s not only young(er) but, as far as I can remember, has had his ducks in a row since birth. I’ve put him in charge of checking twice…
Lists and Post-It notes, two items that save those of us over a certain age (don’t get too smug about Charlie, Sydney, he’ll get there soon enough). There’s also the disease that in my family we call the Winebush Disease. The main symptom is forgetting a word right when you need it and coming up with a rather odd substitute. My mother had just passed that “certain age” when her lapse ended up naming this disease. She was attempting to describe the autumnal beauty of the vineyards she had lived around for many years in Northern California by stating how the leaves on the, the, um, the, you know, the…winebushes!!! turned pretty colors in the fall. I laughed and teased my elders heartlessly for years until I found myself referring to Cooper Minis as Morris Minors, right after passing that certain age…
“The Winebush Disease”! Perfect! Mind if I adopt that one? (Not the disease — we already have that going strong. It’s the name that’s perfect!)
Wish we could meet Charlie and help celebrate the holiday with the list makers.
We call it CRS, but here’s the thing–sometimes I forget the list… Sigh. The Hoop-di-doo was delightful and I thank you so much for including us. I’ve posted a picture of Dave and the President.
Winebush Disease. I love it! (I’ve got it too…have had it for years.) Now I know what it’s called. Let’s pass this around…it needs to be in the OED.