Losing It

Losing it is what people in their 50’s fear most –more than an extra five pounds or a notice from the IRS or anthrax. “It” can be physical stuff like a wallet or a corkscrew or your favorite golf socks or “it” can be mental stuff like a computer password or your neighbor’s name or the reason you went into the guest bedroom.  I’ve found that, by the time you reach your 60’s, these losses and lapses are everyday occurrences and provide bonding experiences for you and most of your friends.

I have a pretty good repertoire of coping skills.  I keep lists of everything I need to remember (see my post “Getting It Together”) although when my steno pad of lists disappears, it’s a bad scene.  I eliminated the problem of lost reading glasses with a visit to Walgreen’s where they sell three pairs for $10.  Keeping multiple pairs of gloves has been helpful but not completely satisfactory- I currently own three lefts and no rights.

Locating a missing cell phone doesn’t require great detective skills if you also have a land line, and the phone is somewhere easy like the pocket of the fleece vest you’re wearing.   It’s a different story if the phone is in an unusual place like the refrigerator.  Recently I knew my errant phone was in the house but, when I dialed the number, I couldn’t seem to track down the ring.  After about eight attempts, I got a little panicky knowing that, once the phone was out of juice, I was out of luck.  Finally, in an effort worthy of Sherlock Holmes, I did find my phone in a closet, deep inside the pocket of my winter coat.

 My most challenging lost and found problem, “The Case of the Missing Golf Jackets,” lasted for an entire year.   From one spring to the next, three different golf jackets disappeared from the big side pocket of my new golf bag without a trace – no fingerprints, no bloodstains, no DNA, nothing.  I was annoyed at the thought of buying yet another golf jacket and I was also annoyed that, for some reason, it kept getting harder and harder to fit my golf clubs down inside my bag properly.  Guess what? That big side pocket opened into the center of the golf bag so the jackets I put into the pocket had quietly migrated out.  When I finally stuck my hand through the pocket and into the center of the bag, out came the missing golf jackets– first navy, then royal blue, then sea green - like colorful silk handkerchiefs pulled out of a magician’s sleeve. My golf clubs once again fit into my bag and the mystery was solved.

Of course, as with so many other things, Paul and I have different approaches to finding lost items.  I generally follow the “Mary Had a Little Lamb” school of thought – that is, leave them alone and they’ll come home.  When something is missing, I do a reasonable search but I don’t tear the house apart again and again or miss a meal or lose sleep if it doesn’t turn up right away.  Often the best thing is to stop looking and pretend you’re not even interested in the lost checkbook or can opener or DVD.  Better yet, replace it.  Next thing you know, it’s back!  This works every time and has been particularly successful with my favorite sunglasses (above left), which cost $3 at the neighborhood Exxon station about 20 years ago but are still the most comfortable shades I’ve ever owned.  Over the years, they’ve had many adventures without me; but they’re never permanently lost. Actually, they’ve been on a sabbatical for the past three months but I expect them to return any day now.

On the other hand, Paul’s approach to lost items combines the techniques of Hercule Poirot and Inspector Javert with the determination of a faithful bird dog.  When something is lost, he leaves no stone, rock, boulder, pebble or dust mote unturned until it is found.  He is relentless and he would NEVER just go and get more car keys to replace the missing set.  I must admit that he is eventually successful.  For example, the day we helped harvest vegetables at Michaela Farm, he recovered my gas station sunglasses from the middle of a big washtub of beet greens after everyone else had given up, although I also called in St. Anthony on that one.  (I’m not Catholic but a lot of my friends are. If “Tony, Tony turn around, something’s lost and must be found” works for them, it might as well work for me.)  The good news about having a professional finder in your family is that things do get found.  The bad news is that no one gets a moment’s peace until then which is why, when the boys were growing up, we only reported missing items to Paul as a very last resort.

The same two approaches can be applied to memory questions like “What am I doing here?” or “Who is that?” I’ve always been good at names, but I’ve slipped a little in the past few years. When I’m stumped, I just think about anything but the nameless person and “Voila!” the name pops into my head. Paul, on the other hand, has always had and still does have trouble remembering names. When he sees a patient at a ball game or the theater, he mentally runs through the alphabet forward and backward as many times as it takes to get the right name.  He did admit defeat, however, over the names of our growing assortment of great nieces and nephews.  “It’s too hard to remember them all.  Why can’t they have easy names?”  Like what? Maybe they should all be named Paul or Jill?  

On our recent ski trip, we had a little memory drama with a happy ending.  Willem and I were waiting for everyone else to leave for the ski slopes one morning.  David, Megan and John had on all their layers and were booted up, but Paul couldn’t find his ski claim check.
“Where’s my ski check?”  No response.

“It was right here on this table – did anyone see it?”  No response again.

“Someone must have it.  I know I left it here.”  The sound of pockets unzipping and flaps un-velcroing on his ski jacket and pants.  No luck.

I tried to help by saying, “There aren’t many skis in the ski check – they’ll probably just let you take yours without the claim check.” What WAS I thinking?  Paul could no more walk out the door without finding his ski check than he could walk out the door wearing just a bath towel.  More shuffling and re-examination of pockets, gloves, hat, etc.

Then I saw it - a little green plastic disc with the number 23 attached to a little green elastic band around his wrist. YES!!  I was happy to find it and beyond happy, all the way to ecstatic, to know that someone besides me had had a seriously forgetful moment – a moment that earned Paul a big kiss, right through his 6 layers of sunscreen.

Everyone I know has his or her favorite “Losing it” stories.  The video link below captures many of them perfectly –if nothing here is familiar to you, don’t tell me about it.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?feature=player_detailpage&v=HzSaoN2LdfU