Memory is odd.

In a way, it’s kind of funny when you hear about people “losing” their glasses, only to realize that they’ve been wearing them all along. “Chuckle, chuckle, yeah, I’ve been there.”

It’s not as funny when you get to a certain age and it starts happening to you.

Alas, I am of such age. Lately, I’m finding myself more scatterbrained. Words don’t come to mind as quickly; I feel like my hard drive is buffering all the time. That’s annoying for anyone, but when you’re standing in front of a room full of people doing a presentation and you go blank, it’s embarrassing.

I find myself using the “find my phone” website more often than I post on social media.

Tablet in hand one moment, and the next second, it’s vanished like a snowflake in the Sahara. Not a trace, nowhere to be found. Rummaging through files, checking my backpack, inspecting bedding; I find squat; zilch, a big zero. Swearing like a drunken sailor, I pull up my computer and impatiently wait for the compass icon to stop swinging, eventually referencing that the tablet is here in my house.

“Where? I’ve looked all over,” I mutter impatiently, as if the computer will patiently reply. Clicking the button, “play sound,” a sonar-like beep reverberates through my office. My treasure was laying on my desk, next to my hard drive, clear as day. As they say, “If it was a snake, it would have bit me.”

It’s not just my iPad; if I don’t put my keys or wallet in the exact same location each time I come home, I can count on the fact that I’ll be searching for hours tomorrow. Since I wear my glasses all the time, I don’t have to worry about losing them – but my wife handles that frustration from her end.

“Have you seen my glasses?” She’ll ask.

“No,” I reply, “But I bet they’re next to my iPad. Find that and you’ll find both.”

Worried about what this portended, I checked out an AARP article: “Warning Signs of Dementia.”

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