THE USE-BY-DATE

 

I’m getting close to my Use-By-Date…seventy-nine on my last birthday. And no need to be a math wiz, you know what comes next. Holy crap!

I reconnected with a dear friend from my youth on Facebook, and asked John if I looked that old. He said, “Yes.” Sometimes what I like about him is his honesty. Sometimes. 

Okay. So, I look my age. So What? I’m just gonna keep wearing a mask when I go out. Covid’s still around. Also, I like the no makeup part of mask wearing.

Jievani Weerasinghe on Unsplash

Tragically, I’m also acting my age. I talk (out loud) to TV commercials. I mock them. Occasionally they deserve a yelling at. Also, I think I’m very good at an English accent when I help the woman with the voice over on the Viking Tours commercials.

Photo by Steinar Engeland on Unsplash

My memory is getting a tad slippery. I went to lunch with my daughter Sue, and I told her if I could go to a live concert from the past, I’d want to see Queen. The lead singer, umm, what’s his name. She suggested Adam Lambert. No, I said, the original lead who died. She said, Freddy Mercury. Right! Freddy. I watched the movie about him three times during the pandemic lock down. To be in that massive crowd at the Live Aid Concert, waving your arms, singing along, now that would be amazing.

 

Okay, so I’m going to remember his name. Freddy Mercury. When I can’t remember something—think “Freddy Mercury.”

 

Mostly I attempt to hide my memory lapses. Yesterday, I asked John what he was going to do for the day? I answered for him: walk the mall, get a coffee and look at cat videos on_________ on his iPad. I wanted to use the word for the App with videos, but I couldn’t remember Instagram until I checked my own iPad. The technique is called, “Filling in the Blanks,” so no one catches you forgetting. Replacing a word you can't remember, quickly with another word (whether it fits or not). It's a skill.

 

Photo by Vishnu Mohanan on Unsplash

I once mentioned to my son, Jim, that sometimes I forget a word. He suggested I take Prevagen. “Okay, sorry, Jim. You get the tirade that I give the TV commercials. Google it, Prevagen DOES NOT WORK.”

 

Some of the people on those commercials say they’ve been taking Prevagen for ten years, at $40-$90 a month, do the math: $4800-$10,800 for a product that doesn’t work. It’s apoaequorin (jellyfish protein) and vitamin D. 

 

Quincy Bioscience is making a fortune. Ads cost big bucks; I know that because I was in advertising for most of my career. And how often do you see their ads? Inundate us, why don’t you?  The actors in the ads seem so genuine. I yell at them. I know some really bad words and use them. You don’t forget fuck.

 

So what can you do for memory? The Mediterranean diet is supposed to be good. But I really like ice cream, it’s not mentioned on the food list. And cheese. 

 

I have a good brain food recipe for you.

Photo by Brian McGowan on Unsplash

BRAIN SALAD

Ingredients

No quantities are given, feel free to do as you like.

Kale: Tear into bite size pieces, soak in water, drain, put in a salad spinner, spin, add a nice dressing (I like Brianna’s Lemon Tarrigon) massage the kale with the dressing. Using your bare hands also adds a nice moisturizing effect to your skin as you soften the kale.

Quinoa: Toss some quinoa into the slippery kale. It’ll stick.

Blueberries: Add some Super BLUE brain food

Walnuts: Then go nuts with another super brain food...even better toasted in a dry frying pan.

 

Eat this, it’s good for your brain. Then eat ice cream, it’s good for your, um, what’s the word?

 

Also, __________um, there was something else I wanted to mention. Um. Ahh, wait a minute. Let me think a sec. Um…

 

Oh yeah! Freddy Mercury!!!

https://youtu.be/TkFHYODzRTs

 

PS: John just read this over. He said, “It’s good except for the kale recipe.” His main problem with kale is that it’s green.

 

PPS: If you leave a comment, PLEASE include a hint of who you are, so if Google lists you as Anonymous, I’ll be able to guess your name.

 

 

Hairy Memory

After a series of mini strokes, my grandmother's memory began a descent into oblivion. She forgot everyone's name but remembered good manners. She never forgot to say, "Thank you, Honey." 

It was ok being "Honey". I never minded sharing the name with my mother, daughter and granddaughter, or with the young black man with cornrows that was one of her caretakers. I especially liked that he was "honey", too. 

My grandmother was as prejudiced as my uncle Bubs (her brother). It covered all ethnic groups and religions that didn't match her white Presbyterian self. Once she proudly told me that an Asian couple, driving down her block, had pulled over and asked about a house that was for rent nearby. She was proud of her quick thinking, and said, "that house has already been rented".

The last ten years of her life were spent in a nursing home, primarily being cared for by black nurses and aids. There's a certain grace in this. She was treated tenderly by her caretakers. 

I think that along with forgetting all our names, she also forgot about race…mostly. Although, once when Jamal left the room she whispered, "he's colored, you know." But it seemed more  an acknowledgement rather than a condemnation. 

It's a shame to have a stereotype image of a person, especially your own dear grandmother. There are always so many fragments that don't fit into the puzzle of the whole being. 

In high school I had two boyfriends. One played bagpipes, the other was half Jewish. I was sure my Scottish descended grandmother would prefer bagpipe boy. But, No, she said that the Scot didn't show me respect. He picked me up in a ratty t-shirt and hadn't shaved. If he cared about me, he'd shave and put on a nice shirt.

The other boy, sweet and shy and half Jewish was tall, dark and handsome. Hmmm, do you think that influenced her?

One day when I visited her in the nursing home, Jamal was brushing her hair, long, long white hair. Her hair was almost to her waist. Kind of cool, but it looked like a chore. So I said, "Maybe next time I should bring scissors and give her a hair cut." 

"Oh, no," he said with a horrified tone, "I love doing Jeanie's hair. It's beautiful." He gently held out strands of fine long hair, wispy as wind, showing me it's beauty. 

A few days later I was at the nursing home at lunch time. I wheeled my 96 year-old grandmother down to the lunch room, where she immediately started singing "Take Me Out To The Ball Game," She knew every word of the song. 

She was quite surprised when I told her I was her granddaughter. Actually she didn't believe me. She giggled and said, "Noooo, you can't be my granddaughter. I'm not even married yet." 

She was sweet and giddy. I loved her. And she looked adorable in cornrows.