Having Coffee, Destineesia and Brain Farts: Assorted Senior Moments
With a hot cup of freshly brewed coffee my mother and I sat facing each other at my kitchen table overlooking the sunny Silicon Valley for an afternoon tête-à-tête. The coffee was delicious. The view was spectacular. The company was warm and friendly. And the conversation soon went from smooth, easy talking to, well, her experiencing senior moments and me dealing with obvious gaps from destineesia. “...So where was I going with this...?”
We made a comical pair, my mother and I; a perfect setting for a comedy. We talked about old movies, a favorite past-time; we named actors of today and those now gone, until we began drawing a blank that is. We gave each other clues and suggestions, hoping to jog our memories. After knocking our noggins around a bit, I had to stop and ask: What got us talking about this movie in the first place? And neither one could remember. So we chuckled a bit.
We continue to sip our coffee, smiling at each other, and then she asks me if I’ve seen the movie something or other Button?
Button...Button...? I wonder. And the seconds begin to tick.
He was married to that girl he left for... She draws another blank, and so do I.
Aniston! I say, happy to remember. Jennifer Anniston. He left her for Angelina Jolie.
Yes! My mom yells with triumph, That’s her.
And then I had to ask again: But, why were we talking about her?
We look at each other, and then look to the ceiling, and start laughing. We can’t remember!
Suddenly, as if a light bulb was turned on, I screech, Brad Pitt! Brad Pitt was Benjamin Button! And that’s the name of the movie, too. Duh!
And so our conversation and time continued in this manner: laughing at senior moments, laughing at gaps from destineesia, and uncontrolled brain farts. She a seventy-eight year-old senior and I a fifty-six year-old ageing menopausal couldn’t remember details or names. But we had a great time. We laughed so hard we both expressed fear of peeing our pants, not an uncommon occurrence with women our age. After all, it did happen to Marie Osmond, on stage no less. Read elaineR.N.’s blog post, Stress Incontinence and Marie Osmond’s Public Tinkling Incident:
At least this time my mother got her coffee. The last time she’d visited she waited and waited until she finally asked me if she was ever going to get her promised cup of coffee and plate of food, which, by the way, had been sitting in the microwave for about the past 10-15 minutes, still beeping at me in the background!
We dream a life to be; we live to dream that life! (vka)