Lost in the Closet

I’ve not read a blog, so we’ll have to wing it here. Just relax and follow me into my closet. I can’t remember why I need to be here, but that sort of thing happens as I grow older. We’ll just sit down, lean against the wall, and wait for the answer.

Would you like a glass of wine? A cookie? An apple? Your choice. I have a nice selection in here, because we won’t leave until I remember why we are in my closet, and it’s silly to be hungry while waiting for the answer. That Pinot Noir is particularly nice, by the way.

Here’s how it works. The brains of antique people like me are stuffed with facts and vivid pictures, memories of their first cars, first loves, the taste of peanut butter, the smell of baking bread, the itch of poison ivy…well, you get the idea. It’s all there in the over-crowded attics that we call our brains. And that’s why it takes so long to find one weenie little piece of information such as, Whynhell did I come to this closet? Am I supposed to fetch something, or did I just want a cookie?

The answer will come; depend on it. Meanwhile, I can comfort myself with all of the things I DO remember, such as the opening to Virgil’s AENEID. “Arma virumque cano Troiae qui primus ab oris”…”I sing of arms and the man/ who first from the shores of Troy”--or something close to that.

How about Longfellow’s Village Blacksmith: “Under the spreading chestnut tree/ The village smithy stands;/ The smith a mighty man is he/With large and sinewy hands/And the muscles of his brawny arms/Are strong as iron bands.”

And more Longfellow: “By the shores of Gitchee Gumee/ By the shining Big-Sea Water—” Aha! Water! Rain. I need my raincoat to go out to the mailbox.

So that’s how it works. Relax and trust your brain. Often, wine helps.