Where Are My Shoes? Where’s Waldo? Where’s My Mind?

I am getting a revolving door installed for my bedroom. The ‘I’m leaving for work’ ritual is like a scene from Everybody Loves Raymond. Yesterday the final key to departure…shoes. I kissed my wife Barbara goodbye and then the games began. The minimum returns to bedroom base camp are three. Every morning I forget phone or man purse or pen or that I kissed Barbara already.

This time my Ecco leather Gore-Tex work shoes walked off somewhere. I thought I heard my wife say, “Did you check your feet?” It’s a valid question after feeling my glasses on my scalp after a twenty minute search and rescue a few weeks ago. I looked down again and the white toed wool socks let me know they were ready for shoes.

Within ten minutes I had Barbara and two kids helping me.

“Did Lisien do any picking up yesterday Barbara?”

Lisien often puts stuff away. Even after being told a thousand times to ask for permission to do so she still takes “liberties” to pick up…i.e. she puts one glove in the crisper of the fridge or Barbara’s unmentionables in my unmentionable drawer. Let’s just say that I don’t get dressed in the dark anymore.

“No Jerry, she was under surveillance for taking those kinds of ‘liberties.’”

Yes, Barbara used the word surveillance.

“I found them!” one of the kids cheered.

With pursed lips and a squint…”That’s an old pair.”

I don’t throw out this brand of shoe. When a hole erupts in the seam and the soul thins out in the heal I save them to be bronzed or something. I have an old pair in my closet, a pair in the shoe rack in the garage, and a pair and a half in the barn. The kids kept finding and I kept pursing my lips.

Then the question of all questions…

“Have you looked everywhere?”

I have asked it. You have asked it. A Tibetan monk has asked it.

“Have you looked everywhere?” Come on now. Is that a nice question to ask a frustrated borderline Alzheimer old timer? The noive!

I did find my shoes…right where I left them, except the closet door was open and blocked my view. Sheesh. I told everyone to stand down and saluted them for their help. I picked up my cell phone.

“Deanna? Hey I’m gonna be a bit late for work.”

“Again?”

“Yes, shoes this time.”

“Understood.”

Advertisements

8 thoughts on “Where Are My Shoes? Where’s Waldo? Where’s My Mind?

  1. You are too funny, Jerry! Unfortunately, I can relate totally to getting ready to leave. A friend used to remark, I’m leaving at noon even if it takes me until 5 p.m.! From one trustrated borderline old timer to another: I feel your pain, brother.

Thanks for your time and thoughts.

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s