“Am I losing my mind?”
I’ve heard that phrase numerous times over the years but it never really hit me until a few days ago. I called a friend because I know that she is sane and reasonable and I asked her if she suddenly found herself playing charades with people because her words were gone. She immediately told me that she “indeed lost her words, and on a fairly regular basis”.
“Thank God!” I said to her and to myself. She explained that she felt we had so much information in our brain over time, that sometimes the brain cleared space on the shelves for more information. That probably explains it, but why do I feel that when my brain is clearing space, it seems to have thrown out my coffee, the cups, cooking utensils, sacks of flour, salt, baking soda and left me with several unopened bottles of powdered Alum and a half eaten jar of refrigerated pickles way past their expiration? I can remember the vocation of a person I met once three months ago, but I can’t remember the name of my friend who I have known for years when I’m called to introduce them.
I’m going to say it’s menopause, or maybe it really is the amount of information I’ve stuffed into my brain over a lifetime.
I’m the keeper of memories. My mother calls me when someone has a question about Grandma’s house. “Where were the Fig Newtons in Grandma’s kitchen?”
“In the lower cupboard, on the left, by the stove.”, I say
“Where did she keep the family photo albums?”
“In the pink bedroom, at the top of the clothes closet.” I close my eyes as I conjure up people and places from long gone.
I seem to be able to remember everything that doesn’t matter. Tidbits of information that are nailed down in the cupboards of my mind and I wonder if I should let them go. I can’t be the only person with this problem. I fume when it happens to me, so much so that I refuse to stop my thoughts to find the word I’ve forgotten. I will pursue other words, similar but not the same. I have acted out a sentence because the words will not come to me, and for all of this, words are the one thing I’ve always counted on and loved. They make a great argument and describe the world I live in. They tell the ones I love how much they mean to me. I read Dickens because no one could describe the world in such color and description as he could.
When I was a child, my dad would pull out the encyclopedia and pick out words that would challenge our knowledge. Now that my parents are in their 80’s, my mom insists that when we visit we pick out things we want around the house. Of all the items, the only thing I really wanted was four large books entitled, “Universal Dictionary Of The English Language” that I tagged. They had been in the lower part of the curio cabinet in my Grandma and Grandpa’s house, and as a child I would sit for hours reading the books. The person that understood my obsession with words was my Aunt Nancy, or my Dear Miss Tulip, as I called her for nearly 20 years. I wrote to her that I had landed the treasured Universal Dictionaries and she immediately emailed back that she had loved those same books! She said that a few boys on the school bus teased her about her red hair, and in figuring out her perfect revenge, found the perfect word in the Universal Dictionary Of The English Language. Her sentence stunned them into silence, not sure what to make of the magnificent word, they turned around and fell silent. Such a feeling of satisfaction.
When looking back at our correspondence, I found a part of a letter that perfectly explains why we were so similar at times. From my Aunt Nancy, written April of 2022.
“There are a few poems by the Bronte sisters and then a short article by George Eliot, "Silly Novels by Lady Novelists", which was published in October 1856. This is not a long essay - perhaps twenty pages, but it has brought me to attention. I have read it, and come out of the chair... I will read it again, and maybe again. But not today. I had forgotten what it is to be really challenged. For many years I have sustained the faint thought that I have an above average vocabulary- at least where reading is concerned. Not today. Today I have been reminded that we do not really read anymore... at least not anything challenging. We sip at the written word - rather than taking in great gulps of the ideas and descriptions we used to savor. When I tell you I came out of my chair, put my covering afghan into the washer, straightened my robe and marched to the desk... you can realize that I am fired up. I am energized by the written word. WOW!!! George Eliot is magnificent. It is thrilling to see someone master the English language so beautifully.”
Oh how I loved her reply! This is why I love the English language and the reason for my angst and frustration when I can’t pluck that perfect word from the overstuffed recesses of my mind.
There is beauty in the perfectly placed sentence and I feel that I’ve neglected my writing since Tulip passed away. I suppose it’s time to get started again.
As I read through our old emails, I found these words written near the end of her life.
With you I have laughed
and wept
and worried
and planned and dreamed.
With you I have lived and not been sorry
and looked backwards with thanksgiving
and forward with hope.
It is still snowing.... large feathery flakes and quite beautiful. I may watch the garden disappear under its white blanket and then go back to bed. I think I will be glad to start the next round of meds, and hope they will help with the breathing. Funny, how something we do all our lives and never think about can become such a top of the list, worrisome thing when we have to work at it.
I LOVE YOU.
Miss Tulip