Us elderly people can still ... I forget

David Sherman

I’m sick of us older people being maligned, getting the short end of the stick or the straw or whatever we’re getting shorted on. My shorts do seem kind of short but that’s another story.

There’s nothing wrong with the memories of those of us over a certain age.

We’re not senile, forgetful, suffering from early-onset dementia or whatever it is they say we suffer from.

Yes, sometimes I forget why I go into the kitchen and open the fridge. But the house is big and the fridge is too stupid to tell me what’s in it. How am I supposed to know the mayonnaise is behind the mustard? And, if I can’t remember why I wanted the mayonnaise once I find it, who wouldn’t? It takes a day or two to find the damn jar and by then I’ve already eaten and there’s nothing wrong with a dry tuna sandwich. Who cares if I don’t remember the sliced thingies the canned fish stuff is supposed to be spread between. Who needs all those carbs anyway?

And, yeah, I may’ve forgotten the plate but I saved hot water and soap and work. Age has taught me efficiency. I think. Least I used to. Think. I think.

Young people like to make fun of us. Even my son What’s-His-Name thinks it’s funny I can’t remember his name. He doesn’t realize I started forgetting him once he became a full-fledged teenager and computer junkie and spent his life behind closed doors worshipping whatever computer company that’s named after a crunchy fruit that grows on trees.

It's pretty close to the fruit we talked about when a girl was the pineapple or pear of your eye back in the day when I believe the only thing we cared about was giving the girls the eye. Curious that. I gave more girls the eye than I had hair but I still have eyes.

I’m not sure why but it seemed imperative back then, whenever back then was. When you reach a certain age, you realize life makes no sense at all, so why think at all. And now, well, I can’t give women the eye anymore because I can’t see for shit without my glasses.

Of course, it would help if I could find my glasses but how can you find glasses when you can’t see without them? Why don’t they buzz or ring or whistle? If I have my hearing aid in at least I’d be able to find them. Sometimes. On the days I remember I need a hearing aid. The days I can find my hearing aid. The days when the world seems eerily quiet and, for some reason, I mind the silence. Usually when it’s Hockey Night in … some land of ice, snow and poutine.

No, us elderly folks have no senility or dementia memory problems. We just have overflowed our memory banks. Live a good life and who the hell can remember it all.

Forgetting the mundane and irrelevant is the sign of … I can’t  remember … but I think it’s fun.

By 70 years old, we’ve probably eaten about 70,000 meals. Excuse me if I don’t remember the hamburger, wherever I had it, whoever I had it with, 37 years ago.

Now, most of us have had a romance or three by the time we hit the big time so how can we be expected to remember every object of our lust, especially since lust enraptured us every time we met a member of the opposite sex. When there was an opposite sex. Now there are too many genders to remember so we’re just like everyone else. An initial, part of LGBQ … I forget the rest but I think there’s a number in there somewhere, kind of like a lottery ticket. I have one in my wallet. Bought in 1986 but I keep forgetting to check it.

As long as I remember the name of the beautiful woman I share my life with, the love of my life, there’s no problem. She’s a remarkable woman and as far as I remember, I’ve never forgotten her name. It’s Darlin’. Or Sweetheart. … She’s a hell of a woman whatever she’s called.

How many songs have you listened to? Every year there are more and more. Like books. There’s a Niagara … Something of books and music flowing every year on top of the Niagara … Whatever of movies and TV shows and games we’ve listened to or watched or read.

Who has used their brain for seven or eight decades, some of them sober, and not filled it up until the info starts floating out your ears? And when it comes to some of the music that beamed from our radios, how much of it is worth remembering? I can’t remember.

And, let’s not even talk about … whatever you call putting food on the table. I can still make a mean … something to with Foghorn Leghorn who punted enraged dogs on TV … and do it from memory. Put it on a grill pan, slice and squeeze one of those yellow things the size of a tennis ball all over it and shove it in the oven. And in 20 or 30 or 40 minutes you’ll have a chunk of cooked … Got it! Egg! Uh, chicken. Hen. Whatever, It cockadoodledos until roasted.

The important thing to remember is turn on the gas and not leave your head in the oven. I also learned it’s best if you turn on the … it’s a thingy that hangs over the stove that drones and seems to suck up the smoke. If you don’t you and the thing that lays eggs before it’s turned into dinner will both be gassed.

These malicious attacks on the memory of older folks are simply a ploy by younger people to take our jobs, our homes, our money and put us in tiny rooms where underpaid strangers from foreign lands will spoon feed us multi-coloured plastic that dissolves in your mouth and take us to the little room where we sit on top of a small pool of water and wait for something messy to happen.

I understand it’s easiest on us to suck on ground cow bone or gelathingamabob when we forget where we’ve left our dentures, but they, too, should have alarms or flashing lights so we can find … uhh … I forgot. I know it has something to do with … I forget. I could check behind the mustard, wherever it is, but it’s been a long day and I need to lie down and ... it’ll come to me.

Have you seen my bedroom?