Thursday, December 19, 2013


                                  
                                                      Memories Are Made of This


     When we were seven, and we forgot our lunch on the kitchen counter, no one called us “forgetful,” they just said, “That’s what kids do.” When we forgot to call our best friend back after cheerleading practice, they just labeled us “ditzy.” When we forgot to bring an extra bottle of formula to the Christmas Eve celebration, our family just rolled their eyes and said, “Busy Mom.” But when I was upstairs in my woman cave meditating when our company showed up at the front door in their formal attire ready for the country club gala cocktail party, I am now “senile.” How can this be? How can I have forgotten my own party? Hmmm. Let me meditate on this for a few minutes. Hmmmm. 

     Yup, I’m senile.

     I am sitting at my Toastmaster meeting site waiting for the president of our organization to show up for a pre-meeting conference. He is not here, and it’s 35 minutes past when I thought we had scheduled our talk. Hmmm. “Forgetful?” Ditzy?” “Senile?” Hmmmm.

     When we have such busy lives that three calendars do not suffice to keep us on track, it appears that the meditation is not all it’s cracked up to be. Yeah, right. I am not that busy. Due to the four and a half hours of sleep I got last night, I took a late afternoon nap. Big mistake. The coma out of which I staggered apparently left some sleep residue in my cerabellum, and I seem to be losing my mind. Hmmmm.

     I’m sure he forgot. He’s a busy businessman, and he said he had to drop his daughter off at ballet. Maybe he got stuck in traffic. Maybe she forgot her ballet slippers, and they had to turn around and go home to get them. Maybe he wrote the wrong date down on his calendar, and he is sitting in some pub munching on a juicy hamburger waiting for the meeting. Hmmm. A juicy hamburger sounds yummy. I grabbed a senior coffee and a yogurt parfait and slurped them down before I got here. Guess I could have taken my time or, better yet, joined him for a burger. Hmmmm.

     I guess the bottom line here is that we are never too old to be stood up, and never too mature to be “ditzy.” Hmmmm.

P.S. As I was finishing this essay, I got a call from the president. He reminded me that we had changed the date. Oops. “Not a problem,” I said embarrassed. Then the phone rang again. A fellow member of the organization asked, “Are you in the meeting room?” I said, “Yes, where are you?” She said, “We’re outside. We’re locked out. Can you come open the door?” I did. Then it dawned on me. If I had not screwed up my meeting with Mr. President, the entire club would have been locked out of the building, and we could not have had the meeting. Boy, am I smart!