Have We Met?

I could not remember the word "table" the other day. This is the second time I have forgotten that particular word. This can't be good.

In general, I am not unduly freaked by what my brain does in this post-menopausal veil of tears. I have managed to get by for the past 57 years on what the Lord gave me to fill my noggin. True, I cannot calculate gratuities in restaurants (or even see the bill in a poorly lit joint) and so I pretty much just give the waitperson ten dollars, walk into a wall and say goodbye to the coat rack. And true, when I am standing in my bedroom wearing only my pajama bottoms I often cannot remember if I am in the middle of taking them off or putting them on, oh, and I often introduce myself to people I have met only moments earlier, sometimes introducing myself to them over and over again at one event, but, you know, whatev.  That kind of shit happens to me every day. You deal with it. No big whoop.

Still, not being able to retrieve the word "table" was troubling. Especially since I was at a restaurant and my friends were waiting for met at a corner table and I was trying to tell the person seating me that my friends were already there, waiting for me over there, at that...uh....er....shit...fuck...

Thankfully, the word did come to me. On my drive home. TABLE! Fuck. I wanted to call my friends to tell them that I finally remembered the word but I couldn't remember where I put my phone. Fuck. (It was in my hand. Fuuuuck.)

Maybe the brain has a limit of words it can retain. I have been endeavoring to increase my vocabulary lately; perhaps my brain had to delete some words that have been in there since 1954. "Table" would certainly be one of them. As in kitchen table. The words "more" and "more food!" and "are you going to finish that?" have probably been in my rotation since my verbal beginning, as well. Food words. Learned them early, used them often. Served me well.

I grew up with a mother who took after her mother who ate lunch from the backyard garden. Nasturtiums, herbs, whatever was edible and grown in the soil of her West LA apartment, that's what was for lunch. No Fritos or Wonder Bread for the Browns. I foraged and sowed my meals there, managing still to eat myself sick. Truly, the tastiest thing in Grandma Esther's house was the box of Aspirgum, which Karen and I devoured each time we were there. If you were born after 1954, you will not know what this is, so I will tell you: aspirin in chewing gum form with a candy coating. I know, right? Why, you ask? And, delicious, is my answer. Also, I never had even one headache as a child. Although I have about a gajillion stomach ulcers.

My point is, I will eat anything, evidently. Also, on an unrelated topic, all my underpants are shrinking. Cheap cotton is my guess.

Wait, no. My point is, why can't I remember the word "table"?

Well, as the old words leave my brain, leaving room for the new arrivals ("osteoarthritis", "thinning vaginal wall" and "Xanax refill"), I suppose I will have to make do with hand gestures, nodding and a smattering of Esperanto.

I better hold on to "nice to meet you", however.  You know, for when I say hello to the coat rack for the third time.

 

 

 

Comments

[Debbie]

My friend, who is an acupuncturist (and our age), tells me that the menopausal flight of words always starts with nouns. She put it this way: "During menopause, women lose nouns."

Basically we will be able to describe walking towards, hiking sweatily up, pushing full bellies away from, flinging ourselves onto, and collapsing in a hot-flash-fueled faint down on...but we won't be able to name the thing to which we are referring.

Just something to keep us (and our partners) amused in our dotage.

[Madgew]

When they test for dementia or Alzheimers they ask you to remember three words. I think one is table so be ready. :) My mom went years ago at the beginning of her dementia/alzheimers and the three objects were screwdriver, match and I can't remember the third. This was 10 years ago. I felt good for many years as I remembered them but just now that third one escapes me (maybe it was table).

[dick wolfson]

I recently had a conversation with a childhood friend, Gary Small M.D. ( director of the UCLA Center on Aging and the real life Doogie Howser-the guy is absolutely brilliant). Commenting on Paul McCartney recently forgetting a lyric, Gary opines as follows:
But for the average aging Baby Boomer like Sir Paul, middle-aged pauses and senior moments do not necessarily mean that rapid mental decline is inevitable. The risk for Alzheimer's disease is only about 10 percent for people age 65 or older. Misplacing keys or struggling to find a word is what we all joke about as we age. Sure, our memory abilities are not quite what they were when we were in our 20s, but age-associated memory impairment is an expected and quite common experience of aging. Approximately 85 percent of people 65 years or older complain that they often recognize a face but can't recall the name that goes with it.

As the conversation progressed,I was relieved when Gary couldn't remember all of the cute girls I recalled from Grant and Van Nuys. He laughed,"and I'm the memory guy". So rest easy, enjoy the restaurant and only eat in places that have stand up dining, no tables.

alanrw

[Claire]

It's titles that kill me. I haven't gotten a book or movie title right in five years. And my kids are merciless about it. I remember thinking old people were so lame because they always called movies and TV shows by the wrong name--and here I am doing it. And I am, indeed, lame.

[annie]

God I love you.