If I’m lucky, I might still have a third of my life left in the tank, so I’m annoyed that I squander so much of this time searching for my keys. Whenever I can’t find them, I have painfully memories of laughing at my mother, whose every sortie from wherever she was started with a hunt for her handbag. I was sure this would never happen to me, but if it’s not my keys that are MIA, it’s my wallet or phone. If only I kept the three together, I could just call them up – unless I forgot to charge the phone.
My mother died of complications of vascular dementia, one of the many types of Old Timers’ Disease of which Alzheimer’s is the most famous. She was a tall, slender woman who was disappointed I inherited my dad’s sturdy frame. But luck of the draw, my dad’s in good health as he turns ninety; I’m starting to think short and stout may have some advantages if they come with a longer-lived brain. But I’m not taking any chances, and I’m doing what I can to remain sharp. [Read More…]