WRITE EVERYTHING DOWN

Or Look Like A Crazy Person

Lately, I spend a great deal of time just trying to remember things.

Take last week, for example. We went out for dinner. I can remember every detail about the restaurant and the fabulous dinner we had. Our waitress, Sophie, sat down in the booth with us to take our order. And why is that okay? This wasn’t the first time this has happened, which leads me to wonder if sitting with patrons to take their orders is now part of restaurant training. If I wanted to have dinner with someone I barely knew, I’d have dinner with my in-laws.

So Sophie sat down with us. I had the pecan-encrusted salmon with garlic mashed potatoes and steamed mixed vegetables—NO butter. My husband had the Chilean sea bass with jasmine rice and broccoli—NO butter. I don’t know why we bother ordering veggies with NO butter; we use every bit of butter in the little dish that arrives with the hot fresh bread. Both dinners were cooked to perfection. Forgetting the bad start, Sophie was delightful. The ambiance in the restaurant was like a movie … low romantic light, but not so dark that you can’t see your food … it was just the perfect amber shade. The music was streaming at just the right level for jazz piano, and there were no screaming children to interrupt the mood. We even had a lovely view of the sunset to round out our dining perfection. The trouble is—I can’t tell you the name of the restaurant!

Doesn’t it seem like names are unusually difficult to remember? My grandma used to go through all my aunts’ and uncles’ names to get to mine: Crista, Billy, Bobby, Johnny, Summer … Stephie!

And then, forgetting names can sometimes be selective. Isn’t it puzzling when you can remember the name of the obscure actress in the movie you’re watching or the name of the lead singer from a band you haven’t listened to in years, but you can’t remember the name of your coworker that you sit next to every day?

Unfortunately, it’s not just names that I can’t remember. How about walking into a room with the intention of doing something, but somewhere along the trip through the kitchen, you arrive with no idea of what you went for? This happens to me all the time. I’ve given up retracing my steps in an attempt to force myself to remember. It never works. I always remember eventually … it can come suddenly and without warning. You may be in mid-sentence about something completely unrelated and—wham! It hits you. I’m sure I look like a crazy person when I’m so thrilled that I’ve remembered. I shout it out … “Tiny scissors!”  “Plant sprayer!”

I suggest that you don’t try to explain yourself. I can tell you that there’s no explanation that will leave you seeming normal. Maybe if you don’t try to explain yourself, people will think you’re some sort of mysterious genius. Doubtful … but maybe. I’ve resorted to keeping multiple sets of frequently used items throughout the house. One pair of magnifying readers in the bedroom, another in the kitchen, and yet another in the bathroom.

The times I find most irritating and embarrassing are when I forget to do something I’ve said I would do. Like sharing a favorite recipe or book with a friend. Or when I forget to mail a birthday or thank you card or respond to an RSVP. The worst is borrowing something and forgetting to return it. I’ve never been flaky, but any one of those slipups can make me seem that way.

So I’ve resorted to always carrying a pad and pen. And I have sets of them strategically placed around the house—right next to the reading glasses. Rather than admit that my brain sometimes resembles a low-hanging cloud, I whip out my pad and pen.

I’ve been asked if I’m taking notes for my next story, to which I just smile. Nobody needs to know my secret.

Lately, I’m writing everything down. All I need now is to remember which pad I wrote it in.