There are things, which, once we start them, just roll away from our memory. There are things I love remembering, and things I can’t stand forgetting. Now, during a 5:22 morning thunderstorm, I’m tapping into some of them:
I can’t stand forgetting
To take in something important before a big rain. Or cover bikes, specifically, the kid seats. Even though we have a dryer, this is a big clothes-line culture. A couple times a month it’s, “Aww, grrr?! I forgot to bring in the clothes/blankets/sheets!”
Someone’s name. The world wearing name tags, or more subtle embroidered labels of names, would be so peaceable, so civil. We’d all lace names into every sentence, every utterance. It would be so polite and we’d never call someone by their wrong name, or freak out that we are past the point of asking!
It happens pretty frequently to me. Now that I have announced that I will not be teaching at a certain school next year, it is NOW that I’ve learned everyone’s names. I’ll probably wake with a sudden knowledge of their maiden names and the name of their childhood friends and pets. Yes, now that I’m leaving.
Coffee or the little filters.
I am an addict. I will be a weak and whiny grouchy pants without a morning cup or three. And yet. I can go for long stretches, forgetting to pick-up more filters or beans. I do not understand this. It is like a stoner forgetting and forgetting to buy a fargin’ pipe already. Or a baking enthusiast continuing to not pick up the sugar.
I have been using paper towels as filters for …maybe three days, now?
Yes, I know.
Getting cards to the post.
Living abroad means that much more planning ahead. You cannot just stick a card in the mail two or three days before. We’re talking two weeks to be safe, 1-2 to feel good, 1 week for a quick-hope-it-gets-there, and two days prior to feel quite badly, but at least you paid homage to your loved one’s birth. So. It’s tough. Chanukkah, Mom’s Day, Father’s Day, Birthdays, you know. Forget doing the whole Jewish New Year card thing. This year e-invites and Paperless Press became my good friends.
When I feel like a forgetful slouch, like I could play Drew Barrymore’s double on 50 First Dates, I calm myself by remembering my great gift:
I know when you, the man who sells fish five block from here, your aunt, the three year old I teach on Wednesdays, the teacher nine desks over, gets a haircut. I know when one hair is in a new place. It is my joy to remark and know, yes, I am right.
So what if I don’t even know your name?! You’ve gotten a haircut, my friend. Ahhh. This feels completing.
Gee. What else do I love remembering?
My kids’ birthdays. I’ve yet to forget one.
PS I did not sleep enough. The dogs probably woke the whole neighborhood at 4:34.
I have a long day ahead and my son with his hard head crashed into my right cheekbone. I’m pretty sure I heard something crack. Goodbye, high cheekbone.
Let’s see what I remember. Ten bucks says there will be another ridiculous paper towel in the coffee maker tomorrow.