Yes, it's true. Perversity all too often footprints aging. Not that everything goes right when young, but youth represents the beginning of the learning curve whereas we at the far swing of the pendulum often misplace or totally forget much of what we took for granted in our earlier years. For those of us surviving into our eighties and beyond, fruitless hours saturate our struggles to rebound from the Follies of Forgetfulness (FOF).
Allow me to describe one such FOF, a most humbling experience. My son, "Rick," lives in San Luis Obispo. Every Sunday I drive to his home and pick him up for his ritual breakfast out: Eggs Benedict. My friend, Ron, now back in California, accompanies me for this venture. Therefore, I begin by picking him up first in Paso Robles.
Some of you readers, current with events relating to my friendship with Ron, know that he uses a four-wheeled, seated walker. When I transport Ron somewhere, I put the walker in the rear seat of my four-door sedan. And that's what I did the first Sunday morning in July, 2012.
When entering the parking area of my son's apartment complex, he stood waiting. I pulled into an empty space beside him. But, when he opened the right rear door, Ron's walker filled most of the seating space. I had failed to look ahead and put the contraption in the trunk. Plus, I had a pile of stuff on the left side of the rear passenger seat.
I turned off the motor and stepped out to take the walker out of the back seat and place it in the rear of my car without first opening the trunk. My reason for not storing it there immediately relates to my having to return to the rear passenger seat to make sure my son had enough room to sit. For, in addition to the walker, I also had a sleeping bag and a small cardboard box of stuff to put in the trunk. Are you still with me?
With my arms full, I returned to the car rear and set the bag and box on the ground, thus allowing me to push the key button that popped the trunk. I placed the two items inside and then slammed the trunk lid closed. In that instant, I had the misgiving that I had forgotten something. But what? My mind had detoured at some point, and entered a new time warp. After a few seconds of pondering, I knew that Ron's walker was the key. But, where the walker? Had I imagined taking Ron's walker? Certainly my imagining it to be in the car didn't make such to be the case.
I reopened the trunk. No walker. What? Why not? I tried to retrace my steps beginning with putting Ron in the car at his Paso Robles home, but each step back in time took me into one confusing path after another. I had to ask myself more than once, "Did I really have the walker at all; or, had I left it in Ron's garage back in Paso?"
I went to the front passenger side, and spoke to Ron: "I'm totally confused. I thought I had your walker in the car. Did you see me put it inside?"
"No. I left it just outside the car door when I stepped into the front passenger side. You don't have the walker?"
"No, even though I feel like I put it in the car, for some reason it's not in the car. That means it's in the garage back in Paso." (Dear Reader, in that you might be sensitive to profanity, know that parts of the dialogue to follow have been excised.) "I sure don't want to drive all the way back, but that ___ ____ walker is not in the car. I'm ____ going crazy. ___ _ _ ____!"
Ron sat without making comment one. In that he didn't offer an alternative, I explained to my son why we had to return to Paso and there have breakfast. He too sat mute. Their silence validated my decision to drive back to Ron's garage and there recover his walker. For some reason fickle fates had teleported me into a parallel universe. I kind of sensed that the trip back had futility written on the effort, yet, how to explain the missing walker?
Shaking my head while gritting my teeth, I entered the driver's side, put the key in the ignition, and shifted into reverse to exit the parking lot. While backing up, first checking my side view mirror, I dropped my jaw in disbelief. There, clear on the other side of the apartment's parking lot — fully 30 feet distant — the walker had obviously coasted after I had sat it down to return to the rear seat for the sleeping bag and box.
In that moment, full clarity returned to my befogged mind. Yes, the walker had been in the car's rear seat. No, the walker had not been put into the trunk as it should have been first thing before going back to make room for my son. Yes, I was a damned fool for letting a moment of confusion snowball, albeit I now place some blame on my friend Ron. After all, it's his walker. Sheez, I can't do everything!
Ah well, it's all after the fact now. Enough time has passed. The two of us can renew our commitment to guffawing at our foibles and shortcomings. I gotta stop laughing for a bit, however, because I can't find my checkbook, and I know I left it on the dining table.
