In the recent past, I have thrice found myself being confronted with the fact that that which I would swear on Amos' life that some experience did not happen, only to learn that it had. Attempting pita. Reading a manuscript. Picking up a prescription. I am forgetting more than I realize. More than I fear.
Today, I got a letter from Gitte. Even though it is easier for her to just write an email, Gitte responds to my letters, mailing back missives from Canada. I noticed something in her letter that, intentional or not, was merciful and kind.
You see, Gitte had this pattern of telling me what I wrote her back at the end of May and then responding to it. But the way she responded was the merciful part. By this I mean, the way she wrote was letting me know that she heard my words (mostly fears) and then acknowledged their difficulty. For example, she wrote that I mentioned how much more I am forgetting and knew that that was hard on me. She then wrote about how, when she moved, she struggled for a long time to orient herself in her new home, but her disorientation was thankfully temporary. Then, she wrote that having lots of stuff makes it harder to remember where things are and noted that all of my downsizing and recycling and donating and such was surely good now that remembering is harder.
The whole letter was like that. A bit of my life and understanding (none of this ... oh, but you're still so smart stuff ... or ... we all forget things) and a bit of her life and knowing the things I would have enjoyed sharing with her. Her letter was such a balm, after having melted down at Target trying to pick up prescriptions that I fetched on Sunday.
I didn't remember fetching them. Complicating matters was the fact that, when I brought them home, I did not put them in the right place. Plus, I failed to get out the Wednesday medication holder yesterday, concentrating too much on making sure I did not miss any erythromycin doses because I have been doing that for several days and have had continual innards misery. I got all four doses of medication in yesterday, but not a single dose of anything else. Usually, I put the next day's container by my bed before I drop off to sleep. But I didn't. It didn't help matters that I used Wednesday's container on Tuesday and so it was empty. Monday and Wednesday (this week's Tuesday) were also not back in the weekly holder. Basically, I was so confused I couldn't straighten myself out. All I knew was that the containers for my medication were empty. They shouldn't have been.
The pharmacist that I usually see was not there today, since her "weekend" is in the middle of the week. Plus, there was a substitute associate. So, I did not recognize the staff. The staff did not recognize me. They were insisting that I picked up my medication. I was insisting that I hadn't. Weeping. Shaking. Terrified. Finally, the pharmacist I know called in and talked to me and reminded me that I was there with my neighbor and that we had discussed that she is due in three weeks so I will be seeing the other pharmacist for a few months.
Mortified, I hung up the phone and practically crawled my way out of the store. My upsettedness was not assuaged in the least at realizing that I did need to fetch the erythromycin (and so did). Nor did I feel any better, when getting the beer I use for cooking, discovering that if I buy a 12 pack at Walmart (I usually by it at Target), I can get double the beer for only $2 more. Since my last guests drank my cooking beer, that was good news. Only I was still back in the chaos of standing at the pharmacy counter and not getting the medication that I was certain that I needed.
When I came home, I put the erythromycin in the refrigerator and then crawled into the back of the closet. Amos joined me. Then he left and brought back two babies he managed to stuff in his mouth. One for me and one for him, I guess. Sitting there with my puppy dog washing away my tears, I realized that I have not been playing with him regularly. So, I added another daily alarm to my phone: Play with Amos.
It didn't help that, at Walmart, I was accused of having a fake driver's license. The clerk was certain that I could not possibly be 47. I am. But, even if I was not, surely I look older than 21?? Already agitated, I was not pleasant at all whilst waiting for the store manager to come assess the situation. My argument that the Indiana driver's license is a secure ID (something more than a driver's license and less than a passport) and was not something easily duplicated and mine had no scratches or marks indicating the photo was altered held sway. I wanted to just walked out the door, leaving my few purchases at the register, but I had already spent the gas driving to the south Walmart instead of going to the one next to Target.
Mentally, I added another item to my bucket list: buying alcohol without being carded. SIGH.
When I finally crawled out of the closet, I went to put away the additional mason jars that I purchased. I wanted two sizes, since I was using gift cards, but settled for pint size that I use for main meals. I could use another half-pint box, truly, because right now most of the containers of buttermilk have been thawed out. But the half-pint purchase means that I can make the black bean soup tomorrow, instead of waiting until I eat through a few more meals ... or using the colored jars. [I really want to keep those for pasta dishes.]
Putting away the mason jars meant organizing three of the six drawers of the dining room built-in. Actually, the jars had to do with two drawers, but whilst I was working there, the monthly alarm for Amos' heart worm medication went off. In getting out his pill, I used the opportunity to straighten reduce and reorganize that drawer. The two larger drawers took longer, but now everything is all back in its place and/or in a more logical place.
[The key to organizing drawers and closets and such is to take everything out and then start from scratch. Often, you will realize you don't need this or that when going to put things back inside the location which you are organizing.]
Then, I did some cooking.
I actually quartered this recipe (used just one squash), because I am not sure it is a good left-over recipe. Plus, I was so very exhausted from my day and just wanted to cook and eat. In my opinion, Sage Butter Summer Squash with Dill Garnish needs to become a staple in my larder.
I did make some changes, the most significant being that I minced the sage instead of using whole leaves to "infuse the butter." I thought there would be more flavor with mincing. To see how the freezing of sage went, I thawed out two frozen leaves (a large and a small) and used them. Of course I opted for the lemon. Who would have thought that garlic, sage, dill, and lemon would all go well together in a summer squash dish??
Not me.
I do now.
So does Amos.
What fiscal responsibilities can be automated are automated. I have signs about the house. I have alarms going off daily and weekly. I have a tracking board on the refrigerator for the erythromycin doses. I now have a reminder board on my coffee table about the things I want to accomplish. Yet it is not enough.
I am thankful for the main staff at my Target Pharmacy.
I am not thankful for the need for their kindness today.
It's been devastating to know what I have lost ... am losing. To be alone with that. It's worse to realize that I do not always know that I forgotten. It's ineffable agony to be certain that you have not forgotten something—that there was no possible way such a thing could be true—only to learn that you have, indeed, forgotten ... in just four days.
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