I Forget ...

... too often these days.

I wasn't always forgetful, though one time in my youth--I was in high school--it was beyond egregious. I agreed to go to a Tribe doubleheader with a friend, then realized, up at the old Cleveland Stadium, that it was Mother's Day.

Oops.

Mom, 96, doesn't remember a lot, but she does remember that. (Don't blame her.)

Lately, though, I find the benefits of dotage (retirement, Medicare, etc.) are far outweighed by the curses. The other day--I couldn't find my key ring (house key, cars). And then I did: Sticking in the side door lock. Right where I'd left it earlier in the day.

Just two days ago, making my weekly scone batter, I forgot to add the egg. (I'd thought the dough felt different; the result certainly looked different. I ate one this morning, just to see ... not bad. But not at all good, either.)

I frequently get to the store and forget what I intended to buy.

I've read a book, realizing near the end that I've already read it.

I used to have a quick recall (books, authors, movies, actors, athletes, etc.). Now I have an iPhone and Google.

Let's just skip the things I've forgotten to pack on a trip. Okay--here's one (which I mentioned a year or so ago (I forget) in another blog post (just looked it up: 2014)): Joyce and I set out for our annual August trek to Stratford, Ont., for the theater festival; a mile or so away, I realized I'd forgotten the tickets.

Last year I forgot a car appointment at the Toyota dealer--even though I'd written it in my appointment book. (I'd forgotten to look in the book that morning.)

And, yes, I've walked into a room in the house so that I could ... damn if I could remember!

I could go on and on, but I forget many of the things I've forgotten.