At 53, I was the youngest of the three women who met for lunch yesterday. We meet a couple of times a year for lunch and it is always a fun time for catching up but yesterday’s get together could have been a stanza from Billy Collins’ poem “Forgetfulness”.
“Wait,” I interrupted at one point. “When did they get a divorce?” About 10 years ago apparently. Did I forget that, or did I never know? I have no idea.
The whole meal was punctuated with expressions of forgetfulness.
“It’s on the tip of my tongue.”
“I don’t remember the name…”
“Oh, what’s that word?”
“It just slipped my mind,”
“My mind just went blank. What was I saying?”
What will we have to talk about when we are all in our 80s and 90s? I have no idea.
booksandbassets 