Journal of a Sabbatical

September 27, 1999

more evidence of dementia

Today's Starting Pitcher: Pedro Martinez

Pedro's Strikeouts: 12

Red Sox clinched a tie for the wildcard.

Today's Reading: Danube by Claudio Magris, A History of the Game Birds, Wild-Fowl and Shore Birds of Massachusetts and Adjacent States by Edward Forbush

No, the photo isn't the evidence of dementia. Nor is the fact that I carefully labeled everybody in the picture and then shrunk it down so no one can possibly read it. Back row: me, Auntie Ruthie, Andrea, Bobby, Lizzy, Tim. Front row: two thirds of Donald, Kevin, La Madre, Billy, Thomas. No animals were harmed in the filming of this family gathering. The tiger did not consume plastic wrap. Had this been an actual emergency you would have received emergency instructions. Proceed single file to the nearest exit. Do not pass go. Do not collect $200. Above all, to thine own self be true.

I went to the bank this morning. That would be a brick and mortar bank with glass doors and smiling middle aged women. I reached into my pocket for some ID so they could guarantee my signature on a form to transfer some money into my checking account from an investment fund I have. There was no ID in my pocket. There was no wallet. The smiling middle aged women indulged me. I retraced my steps to the Land Yacht (the rented Buick LeSabre). No wallet in or around the Land Yacht. I drove home. There on my desk in my silly office overlooking the silly parking lot where once my silly car was parked, was the wallet. The wallet contained ID. I drove back to the bank, displayed ID, signed the requisite forms, left shaking my head and muttering. Does car theft always induce this level of dementia?

Next stop is MBE to get the insurance forms notarized and make a photocopy of my license, which they need for the claim. The insurance forms mystify and entertain me. They want to know where the car was parked (my parking space) and for what reason. What reason would I park my car at my house? Umm, 'cause I live here? Because it was night time and I needed to go to bed? Because I have to park it somewhere? Do I need a reason to be at my house or just to park my car there? They want to know the names of others present at my parking space. Umm, the thieves didn't wake me up and tell me their names.

After some coffee and failure to find any of my coffee buddies, next stop is The Birdwatcher of Newburyport to see about replacing my binoculars. Oops. Bausch & Lomb doesn't make the 10x50 GlassesOn model anymore. I am not happy. This is like a chef losing his knives or a mechanic losing his tools. Those were the perfect binoculars for me. They fit my hands comfortably. They eye relief was perfect. Using them had become second nature to me. The shop owner offers to call around to other retailers to locate a set of GlassesOn. Somehow I thought I would just walk in and get exactly the same model and be back in business. Now I have to wait.

Between the family reunion and having my car stolen, I have completely forgotten to buy a ticket in advance for the MRFRS annual dinner tomorrow night. The guest speaker is Jeffery Masson, author of When Elephants Weep and Dogs Don't Lie About Love. I normally hate social events like this but I really want to hear Masson. He's really the only one writing about animal emotions and cognition. I've been looking forward to this and can't believe I forgot to buy a ticket.

I stop at the cat shelter on my way home to ask Kendra if I can still get a ticket. She's on the phone so I start folding laundry. Benjia is being very affectionate and playful rubbing up against me and chasing the towels. When I'm finished folding I play with Benjia some more, petting her and playing with cat toys. Suddenly she spins around and sinks her claws into my right hand. Ouch. I wash the scratches and get a Band-Aid from the first aid kit. Finally, it is determined that I can pay for the ticket at the door even though tickets are not being sold at the door.

So, it's taken me the entire day to do a couple of simple tasks. I tried to do one thing to cheer myself up, a little indulgence on bibliofind.com. I found a book entitled Food Habits of North American Diving Ducks. I must have this book. I cannot go on a moment longer without knowing what buffleheads eat - in detail. But the Internet becomes a slow as cold molasses if not slower when I try to order it. I become increasingly frustrated. After about 20 minutes, I give up. Several times during the afternoon I dial up again and the net is so slow I'd connect to one link and then be unable to do anything else. It didn't mater what link.

Tonight is the final night of the Auntie Ruthie visit and the BiB visit, so Thomas is cooking a big family dinner at La Madre's house. Ratatouille, sole stuffed with spinach, roast beast, couscous, chocolate pie.

Route 128, or as my Dad used to call it, Route One Plenty Late, is no fun at this time of night. I've noticed that getting from my house in North Andover to La Madre's in Newton is taking longer every year even at low traffic times, and tonight it takes way longer. I'm the last one to arrive. Madre has been worried because I'm never late. I think that was the old me who's never late. The new demented me seems to be late for everything. At least I wasn't tasked with bringing any food or chairs.

The kids are all over BiB. He's the exotic uncle who has foreign adventures and brings them cool stuff with NATO and SFOR logos and they don't see very often. Sort of the "Auntie Mame" character. In this day and age they ought to remake Auntie Mame with a twice-divorced expat uncle. :-)

Andrea orders me to take a good picture of her with Uncle Bobby because Lizzy has the one I took of her with Bobby on Sunday hanging on her wall. Andrea requires the same thing. It'll be a little hard to fake Salisbury Beach in La Madre's living room, but I do finally get a good shot of the two of them. Andrea borrows the camera but I don't think she took any pictures.

I really want a picture of all of my brothers, which somehow I didn't think of on Sunday until after Thomas had left. I try to organize them in front of the fireplace but then Hilma (Madre's friend) offers to take a picture of the whole family. She has a lot of trouble using the Mavica, not to mention composing a shot with everybody in it. Then Andrea notices that there is a big blur in the picture so we try again. Still blurred. Every picture after the ones of BiB holding Andrea is blurred, which leads me to believe some little fingers or big fingers have been on the lens. The lighting in Madre's living room is insufficient for me to examine this, so I just stop taking pictures until manana.

I'm so tired by the end of the evening that I mistake BiB's rented Buick Land Yacht for my rented Buick Land Yacht. Once I locate the correct Land Yacht, all I can think of is getting home to bed. Fortunately the end of the Red Sox game keeps me awake long enough.