Getting Stoned

I had a friend that was fond of saying “there are two ways to tell you are getting old.  First, you begin to lose your memory, and I can’t remember the second one”.  I used to think that was funny, but now I am not so sure.  It seems that my “momentary lapses” seem to be coming more frequently.  The other day I was going out and my wife asked me to stop and pick up two items at the grocery store.  Before I left the house, I had to ask her again what the second item was.  Then, when I finally arrived at the grocery and after wandering the aisles aimlessly for a while, I gave in and called home to  ask again what the second item was.  Oh, that hurt.

I like to think that I have finally acquired sooooo much knowledge, that I have run out of storage space.  If the new data that is being introduced outpaces the old data that is being discarded (archived), I cannot absorb it all.  It’s just a fact of life.

It is normally nothing huge.  More irritating then problematic.  But it does result in strong looks and extended periods of silence.  I had such an experience the other day.  Not having children of our own to take care of us as we age (Ha Ha Chuckle…..sorry, I lost myself there for a minute), a couple of years ago we picked out and purchased our cemetery lot.  Since then we have talked about also selecting a headstone and, in fact, purchased one a few weeks ago.  Last week, we received a letter in the mail advising that it had been completed and delivered, so we decided to go over and visit it to assure it looked as expected.

Last Saturday, we made our visit to the cemetery and lo and behold, there was no stone.  Since we had just received the letter, we assumed that it was in the shed and wouldn’t be set until the following week.  However, being the anal person I am, I decided to call the monument company the following Monday and confirm where they had delivered it.  They said it had been delivered to the cemetery a week prior.  Hummmm.  Something is clearly amiss I surmised.  Further action was clearly in order.  I then acquired the telephone number of the caretaker and called his office.  They in turn called the caretaker (who was working at the cemetery) and was advised the stone was right there, and had been for several days.

Suddenly, I got this foreboding feeling creeping into my head.  It was obvious.  They had set the stone on the wrong grave site.  So I jumped into my car and drove over to the cemetery and again surveyed my grave site and again, it was untouched.  Then I noticed the caretaker down by his shed and drove down to meet him.

Upon exiting my car he greeted me and I said “I’m looking for a monument”.  Before I could say any more, or even give him my name, he said “Drive over one lane, then up the lane to your right to the section with the maple tree and the water spigot on the corner”.   I said “I was just there and there wasn’t anything there but a maple tree and a water spigot”.  He said “you must have gone to the first one.  Your plot is one section up.  You’ll see it.

Well, I did, and he was right.  It was sitting there in all it’s splendor.  I thanked him and told him that I now had to go home and admit to my wife that I had forgotten where we were going to be buried.  He said “Oh no.  Don’t tell her that.  Tell her we just set it today or you’ll never hear the end of it”.  However, I knew I would have to fess up, so I told him he may want to dig my side as I would probably be needing it sooner then I thought.  As I drove home and considered my alternatives, it occurred to me that if she were to go first, I may never find her.  I guess I had better tell a few people where it is.

So here I am.  Working on my blog.  Seemed like a good thing to do, since it is one of those times there is no one to talk to.

About oldmainer

I am a retired manager living in Southern Maine and a would be writer of poetry, narratives, short stories, and random opinions, and that's how Oldmainer was born. Recently, I decided to try an experiment. I added photography to the mix, using only a cheap cell phone with a limited camera and the editing software that came with it, and added the blog site Inklings at poormanspoet.wordpress.com to showcase the results. So, feel free to use whatever you find interesting or worthy, but please honor the terms of my copyright when and if you do. They may not be much, but they are still a piece of me. I appreciate your checking me out and hope that you find something that will encourage a return visit. Thanks for stopping by.
This entry was posted in Humor, Life, Reflection and tagged , , . Bookmark the permalink.

12 Responses to Getting Stoned

  1. witty and wise, as always – me? – I’d need to draw a map

    Like

  2. Cousin Dave Harlow tells me Henry Harvey Quigley et al are buried in N.Reading cemetary AND
    there are 2 plots up for grabs. I think I’ll opt for a freebie in Arlington with all those men.

    Like

  3. karry padu says:

    Oh don’t worry loosing your memory is OK… but never loose your story… that would end it.😃

    Like

  4. George says:

    That’s funny in a morbid sort of way..:) we have a plot but have not purchased a headstone. It must be strange seeing it set up.
    The memory loss? That’s just part of the territory, I suppose..:)

    Like

    • oldmainer says:

      It is a little strange, but never realized how many plots are empty or half full until now. The cemetery is on a hill overlooking a boat yard. I have started telling people that we own a brownstone overlooking the yacht club.

      Liked by 1 person

  5. splitspeak says:

    Hello Bob…does your memory stretch far back as to remember me?
    🙂

    Like

  6. Kind of a scary story in a couple of ways. :/

    Like

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