February 6, 2022: Off the Path -

I was in the shower yesterday, and I had an unexpected moment of gratitude. I thought: Before I get any older, I really need to appreciate the fact that at this moment, I am still allowed to have and use a razor.

Straight out of left field! But okay. I’ll start a Left Field Gratitude Journal, one of these days.  

I got through the recent anniversary of my mother’s death (four years ago, Alzheimer’s) pretty well. As it happened, one of my best pals lost his brother that very same day – his brother died in the morning, and my mom died at night. We two get together every year on the day, and raise a glass to both of them. This year was the easiest yet.

But sometimes I worry that dementia may be coming for me, and I think I worry more when that anniversary recurs. This despite my doctor giving me the relatively calming stats: being the child of someone who had it only raises my chances by 10% of what they were already. Meaning: If most women of my age and ethnicity and health status have a 10% chance (I made that number up), then I have an 11% chance. (Ten per cent of ten is one….)

And yes, I know that worry is not a preventative, nor is anything else. And I know that worrying prematurely is worrying twice, and just spoils the good times. I do know. Still, when you’ve watched the decline, it marks you. One of my not-left-field reasons for gratitude, throughout the pandemic, has been At Least Mom Didn’t Have to Endure Lockdown and Isolation in Her Years of Profound Confusion. Phew!

“This Is Us” has a character in the early stages of Alzheimer’s, and it’s sad, but in the most photogenic and mild way. She spent one episode trying to remember the word “caboose,” and it really bothered her that she couldn’t call it up. Nice camera work, nice scene where she gets angry. And SO mild.  Her daughter won’t let her babysit the grandkids any more. It’s not safe.  

LISTEN. Being unable to remember “caboose “ is small potatoes, and it’s normal. Geez.

The other day, I was driving home, sunk in thought about a book I just finished, and disliked. It featured so much violence that I described it to a couple of friends as “pornographic.”  I started to wonder what exactly I meant by that, other than “this makes me squirm.”  Then I started to wonder what pornography was, exactly (don’t tell me you know it when you see it). Then I made a left turn and  started to drive the wrong way around Ladd Circle. Then I yelped SHIT!, and took an exit.

I only drove one eighth of the way around. No one was there; no one got hurt. But I have driven Ladd Circle for 37 years now. I’ve never turned left before. (In fairness, it IS the shorter way home – only three-eighths of the way around the circle to my exit if you go left, five-eighths if you go right. Maybe my preoccupied mind chose the quick  route?)

It threw me.

Fortunately, it was online Trivia night, and I remembered weird stuff. I also pulled up helpful tidbits that weren’t the actual answer, but that I could spit out as clues for my more-hip teammate. (“Her name has Z’s in it! It’s Jazzy, or Frizzy, or something!”) Also, I’m good at Wordle, and its adversarial twin, Absurdle, and I get the Spelling Bee pangrams. And no one has tried to hide my razor.

Yet.

So I’m taking the Circle incident as a cautionary tale, for now. In fact, I had another moment of Left Field Gratitude, once I calmed down from the wrong turn. Apparently, I now have enough psychic space to go back to being a little twitchy about dementia, and not just about COVID.