August 26, 2007......If I could forget it, I have, would, will, shall, and can. I know in the back of my crumbling mind that I am easing into Alzheimers when it’s only more mini strokes taking away my now. The reality of my forgetting everything not in front of me is good only because I remember that I am forgetting it.
Why can I not remember what I wore this summer and can remember what I wore last winter? The realities of cleaning out a closet. A pile of discards grows on the stairs. Pants too short. Volumes of shirts too big or too out of style. I keep only what I wear now but for one Jones of NY white dress shirt. I hold it up and eye it carefully.
“Dianna wore shirts just like this ten years ago,” I intone to G who really isn’t paying attention to me. Her magic and confusions died ten years ago today. I keep the shirt.
I moved on to the dresser and was confronted with tons of loose, unfolded messy underwear……..does it fit or not. I cannot remember which item slides off after half an hour wear and am unwilling to wear each pair for half an hour to find out. The discovery of holes in bras requires no thinking at all. Out they go. Socks…..theses extra soft, extra thick sox are so expensive they’ll stay for the remaining two homestands. Thread bare, most lurk in my unconsciousness until I need the missing extra padding toward the end of a particularly long game. I remember when my feet hurt.
One hat I do not wear goes to Michelle at the nursing home. She asked for one. She’s younger than I and speaks with the deep croak of the heavy smoker. She’s on O2 yet still sneaks a cigarette. She’s often angry. There too is a card for 97 year old Amanda. What a dear she is dozing in her wheel chair after telling us her legs wore out. She was a waitress for her whole life dawn to midnight, and she has few visitors. She never married. She had no family.
I’m glad these little things pop out of the corners of my closet and drawers as I get ready for the next long homestand. My odds and ends are done, done, and done at last. My bag is packed. I poke and repoke my sense of humor to wake it up. It will be a seven day homestand this time. If I think about any of this, I’ll go downhill. This was a good break….I admit to doing nothing at all, shame on me, but we are all tired of baseball. It’s time to go home again….and that doesn’t mean football.
Me: Getting ready to go back to work. I saw my favorite pitcher pitch last night….no wonder he made the majors at such a young age. A few other things too.
G: Laundry and space computer games. A few other things too.
Duck: Happily demented yesterday.
All contents copyright 1974 - 2007.
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