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 
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This is so great! I have these moments at times now…I blame it on Mommy Brain! I love that you and your friends make that time for each other as well…I have a group of girlfriends that I can see having these exact moments in a few years! Great Slice!
I am 45 and my nights out with girlfriends have recently been more complaining about the lighting, the noise and how no one can read the menu!!!
In your eighties and nineties, it will be all about medication and ailments. 🙂 Isn’t it great to have friends that get you?
I’m not sure what we’ll be talking about then (if we are so lucky), but we’ll definitely all be wearing name tags!
Heard that Billy Collins’ poem read by a student as part of a Poetry Out Loud competition. It’s priceless, and I’m a little sad we eventually won’t remember it.
It doesn’t matter what you talk about. It is the friendships that are priceless. Thank you for that reminder.
I figure by 80 or 90 we will most likely have hearing problems so it doesn’t matter what we talk about because we probably won’t be able to hear each other anyway.
I figure that by the time we are in our 80s and 90s, we will have forgotten all the stories we told each other, so everything will feel wonderfully new!
This post made me laugh because the internal dialogue is way too familiar… I blame mine on tired teacher/manic mommy brain. My husband is my memory…