I love my parents.  I really love my parents, but I don’t want to be them.  I have always wanted to just be me.  It seems that inheriting some traits is unavoidable or, we look to connect certain traits to our families.

Green eyes: all of us.  Curly hair: dad and me.  Warped sense of humour: dad, one sister and me.  Blonde hair: sisters and mom(?).

Well it seems I’ve inherited a new trait and this one really disturbs me.  My mom has a bad memory.  Which is kind of like saying the Empire State Building is tall.  I have always been proud of my memory.  Although it pales in comparison to my eldest sister it has served me well.  I never needed shopping lists, if I met you once I could tell you where and when (although not the exact date).  I noticed this ability begin to leave me after the Artiste was born.  Everyone said, of course you’re forgetful you’re sleep deprived.  Then we moved away to a new city where every person I met became someone new to remember.  I no longer laughed at my husband’s constant list making.  He’ll now kindly ask me if I want him to enter something into his Blackberry along with a reminder.  I’ve learned to say thank you and appreciate this little technology.  I also keep a paper day timer in my purse as well as a calendar in the kitchen.  I am very aware that I will forget who is on what punishment.  “What do you mean I don’t get to use the computer today, what did I do?”  O.K. I get my limitations, but the other night at dinner during a heated discussion the Artiste looked at me and stated with great frustration, “You have the worst memory.  You always say things and then forget that you said them.”


I fear he’s right, but unless he reads this he’ll never hear it from me.


6 responses to “Yikes!

  1. I’ve always had a bad memory, but with age and chemo, it’s gotten even worse.

    I have learned to write EVERYTHING down in my daily calendar.

    Now I just have to remember to open it and look at it every day!!

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