I can picture our then-eighteen-year-old-son Seth standing in front of the open refrigerator door in our kitchen saying, “What did I come in here for?” That sentence has comforted me for over thirty years when I have had similar occurrences.
Is forgetting what I was about to say or what I came into a room for happening more often lately? Am I knocking over things or dropping things more these days? There is no doubt that my handwriting is deteriorating. Are all these age-related failings?
Perhaps worst of all, was the morning a few weeks ago when I started our 12-cup coffee maker and headed upstairs to get dressed. I came downstairs to find that I had forgotten to put the carafe in place, and the whole kitchen was a sea of coffee—the floor, the inside of cabinets under the counter, and in a bunch of pots and pans.
Worst of all, I had to clean it all up before I had my coffee.