Dayton or Indianapolis?

02/10/2009

My first official Senior Moment has eventuated, and I can only thank God, it is behind me.

I have planned two business trips for February, the first to Indianapolis and the second to Dayton.  Trip number one is for today and the other is in two weeks on the 24th. 

I am not sure what the issue may be, other than Old Fartism, but some inexplicable reason, other than the obvious, I can not keep them straight.  All last night I kept referring to my trip to Dayton.  The Nancy corrected me no less than five or six times.  Even this morning I was confusing the Indianapolis trip with the Dayton trip, and causing myself a little concern, given my family history with dementia. 

In fact, halfway to the airport this morning I had a gut wrenching epiphany.  I realized that as I had put my clothing together I had packed for Dayton and not Indianapolis.  The difference is in my traveling clothes.  I have planned to go into Dayton a little later in the day, thereby being assured I would not have to dress in shirt and tie array, but I wasn’t too sure about Indianapolis.  My attire today is about 10 degrees below business casual, let alone business dress.  I timidly called the sales rep to ask her what the plan is for us after I get to Dayton, I mean Indianapolis.  Fortunately for me we have to make a three-hour drive once I hit the ground.  I am saved by a car ride.  Whew!!!

It is a little disconcerting to get mixed up.  There is a commercial on TV for some dementia meds where a lady who has been diagnosed with Alzheimer’s wanders off at a bowling alley where her husband is competing.  An employee of the alley brings her back saying “She seems a little confused.” Allow me to be totally unkind and say, Doris looked a little more than confused, and this same descriptor could have been used by The Nancy to describe me. 

Just before I got to the airport The Nancy called me and told me to have someone pin a note on me to make sure I got to Indianapolis and not Dayton.  I should take a picture of the note that prominently resides on my chest and send it to her.  She could then see I am protected against my self.  The note reads: “Please put this old man on a plane to Indianapolis, not Dayton. Should he arrive in Dayton, please, call The Nancy.”

God, help us.  I am sixty five.

And that is all I have to say about that…