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.