On Losing It (or Not)

I’m always on the alert for any proof I can muster that my missteps, mistakes, misunderstandings and failures of memory are just the stuff of normal human-being-ness — and not the signs of mental decline as I age.

Toward this end I’ve become an avid collector of examples of the memory foibles and confusions of my children, their friends and anyone who has not accumulated as many years as I have. If these capable young people can misplace their glasses or lose their keys without fear of being institutionalized, well then, so can I.

But sometimes, the evidence is a little blurry. A case in point: Recently, on a sunny southern California afternoon, I headed for a round of errands on my bike, my primary mode of transport these days.

The instructions accompanying my new latte foamer suggested using no-fat milk and there was none in the fridge. So I headed off to the 99-cent store a half-mile away.

En route I stopped at my favorite taco truck for a ceviche tostada — and then on to the grocery where in addition to the milk, I picked up several other items, including brown sugar, asparagus and brussels sprouts. But when I began organizing my purchases in several bags, I couldn’t find the pink zipper purse where I keep the dollar bills. Although I try to simplify my life, I do have a tripartite system for my funds. My credit card is with my driver’s license in a little leather case. Another little leather case holds my change. I had both of these, but the pink woven purse which I had used for my tostada purchase was nowhere in sight.

I didn’t think I was carrying many dollars: $20? $40? $60? I couldn’t remember.

I paid with a credit card.