Alzheimer’s Watch

I am inviting everyone we know to be on our Alzheimer’s watch team.  One of us has Alzheimer’s disease, but neither of us knows which one.  What a quandary!  I’ve dreaded this day for 45 years, always assuming I’d be the one watching others for telltale signs.  That was a silly assumption, but I was young and ignorant.  I’m now on super alert, knowing my name is at the top of the list, right next to John’s.  I know they say you don’t have Alzheimer’s disease if you are concerned about it, but what exactly does that mean?  I can worry about all sorts of things, including losing my mind.  It just comes naturally!  There is one bright thought, however.  I spelled the “A” word correctly without looking it up.  That’s a vote in my favor, isn’t it?

Last night I reached for scissors in the kitchen junk drawer and came up with a bag of rotted lettuce.

“John!” I shouted.  “Look what I just found!  This bag of lettuce was in the scissors drawer!  It’s rotten!”

I wouldn’t doubt my tone was accusatory, because I certainly don’t remember putting cut up lettuce in a drawer.  Who would do such a thing?

John answered, “I was looking for that.  I wanted to make myself a salad and couldn’t find it.  That’s why I bought more at the grocery store today.”

His words implied he couldn’t have lost the lettuce, because he was actively looking for it.

We are at an impasse.  Neither will actively accuse the other of doing something stupid, but the bag of lettuce is floating in our minds like a festering sore.  There is no telling what silly thing could happen next that will make us doubt our sanity.  That’s a no brainer.

Some of you might point out that we are often alone, though not always.  Kate, David and Nate are in our kitchen on a biweekly schedule.  Given their young ages, it would be a bit unreasonable to attach the “A” stigma to one of them.  The other alternative is to label the lousy lettuce an accident.  I can’t quite imagine sweeping a bag of produce into a drawer with scissors, but it is humanly possible.  I hope you don’t mind, but if any of you witness us in a mindless action, please let both of us know in writing and keep a copy yourself.  Thank you.

Post Script   It was just about 24 hours after I threw out the rotten lettuce that John and I were standing in the kitchen when Nate came in.  He opened the refrigerator door, shut it quickly and turned toward the junk drawer.

He said, “That’silly!  I started to put the scissors in the refrigerator!”

John laughed out loud, while I exaggeratedly held my hand over Nate’s head and pointed down.  We had to tell him the whole lettuce story.  He found it amusing, but I’m not sure he understands that he will now be on the “A” list as a prime suspect when something goes missing.  No, maybe not.  Eleven would be a preposterous age to get “Old Timer’s Disease.”