Am I the only one who forgets things?  If you ask my daughter and husband, you’d think I am.  But, slowly I’m beginning to realize that it’s probably most people over the age of 40.

I always prided myself on being able to give quick, witty responses, but over the years, I realize that although my mouth starts the reply, my brain forgets the ending or the most important word in my now not so quick and unwitty responses.  Recently I’ve begun keeping my mouth shut for fear that I’ll sound foolish.

My daughter cuts me no slack.  “Gee Mom, way to kill a funny moment,” she’ll declare when I stop half way through a funny story to remember the elusive word.  The silence can go on for 30 to 40 seconds before I remember or just substitute another word which makes no sense at all.

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“Watch it Kim.  You’ll be there soon enough.  Forgetfulness doesn’t skip a generation.”

Ken is pretty good at helping me out when I get stuck, but when father and daughter get together, they are brutal with the teasing.  I’m grateful we all have a good sense of humor.  If truth be known, Ken is actually in the same boat, he just doesn’t realize it yet.

After reading the Sunday paper last week Ken announced, “Looks like your boy is making another movie.”

“My boy?  Who’s my boy?” I asked.

“You know who I mean, the one you really like.  Don’t you know who I mean?”

“Of course I don’t know who you mean.  You don’t even know who you mean!”

So, I quickly ran through all the celebrities I would run away with and began the list.

“Brad Pitt?”

“No, not him.”

“Johnny Depp?”

“No, the one you really like.”

“Leonardo DiCaprio?”


“Brad Pitt?”

“You mentioned him already.”

“I thought he was worth a repeat.  Okay, I’m through with the twenty questions.  Take a few minutes to gather your thoughts and

I’ll be right here waiting.  I shouldn’t be expected to read your mind and complete your thoughts when I can barely remember my own name these days.”

Most times we usually just forget the whole conversation and go on like it never happened.  On this particular occasion it took a week for him to blurt out, Brad Pitt.

Days later, I was mindlessly washing dishes and I began thinking of the holiday movies I love to watch starting in mid-October up until January 1.  My all-time favorite is an old Christmas movie, but for the life of me I could not remember the name of it.

“Hon, do you remember the name of my favorite Christmas movie from 1938, the one with Reginald Owen as Scrooge, Leo G. Carroll as Marley, Gene Lockhart and his wife and their daughter June Lockhart as one of the Cratchit children?

“You remember all that and you can’t remember the name of the movie?”

“No, I keep thinking of A Christmas Story, but that’s the one with Peter Billingsley as Ralphy, but that’s my other favorite and not my very favorite.”

“Then you must mean A Christmas Carol.”

“How did you think of it so quickly?”

“I had a moment of lucidity.”

“Ah yes, the rare and marvelous moments of lucidity.  I haven’t had one of those since the late 1900’s.  Thanks for helping me out.  I owe you one; after all, misery loves company.”