Sunday Snippet: The Forgetting to Remember Edition

Or is it Remembering to forget…

Anyway, yesterday, we drove up to the lake and opened up our cottage for the season. We don’t always open this early, but we’re having our deck replaced and are meeting the contractor on Sunday, so we decided, what the heck, we’ll just get opened up. The boat won’t go in until after the deck gets finished, which put us at late May for boating, but that’s fine. We still enjoy being here for the fellowship, the walks down to the docks to check out the bay, and the peace of our little slice of heaven.

I had to make lists this past week before we left the city—a list of stuff I was taking from the house, a list of stuff I needed to buy when we got to the cottage (we take everything home when we close up in the fall, so every spring, I replace bathroom supplies, kitchen stuff, pantry staples, fridge staples, etc.), a list of what we need to do to get the place open and usable again—you know, lists. They’re important, particularly since as we are aging, remembering everything is a tiny bit more of a challenge.

We’ve been doing this for 15 years now, though, so we’re pretty good at it. That said, the lists help us stay on track, do things in the right order (I’m married to an engineer—of course there’s a process), and make sure we’re all set up and cozy. He does the water stuff—blowing out the antifreeze, filling the water heater, setting up the water softener, and making sure nothing nested in the dryer vent while we were away. I do the checking of the cupboards and drawers for signs of mice who might have overwintered (none this year!), wiping down countertops, cleaning bathrooms, removing and storing furniture dust covers, and the most fun job—restocking the pantry, fridge, and bathrooms.

That means a trip to the local Walmart, which is the only choice in this little town—well, that and the Kroger. But Walmart’s prices are better for a restocking trip, so off I went. Now, when Walmart is the only game in town, going there on a Friday afternoon can be…well, an adventure. But this particular Friday, it wasn’t too crowded, mainly, I think because the summer people (those darn summer folks!) haven’t arrived yet. Try hitting the Walmart on any Friday afternoon after Memorial Day and you’ll see what I mean.

I got through all the aisles without incident, starting with the far side where the hair products, soaps, toothpastes/toothbrushes, OTC drugs, etc. are kept, then slipped back to the paper goods for napkins, TP, and paper towels before hitting the grocery aisles. When your cupboards and fridge are completely bare, you are going to fill a cart damn fast. But I had my trusty list, so I ticked off items as I dropped them into the cart (not the eggs, obviously—I set them carefully on the child seat) and got through the store in what felt like record time. (Turns out it was about 2.5 hours, but who besides Husband was counting? He worries when things take longer than it seems like they should, and I do adore him for that. That’s another aging thing, by the way. We both tend to stew just a bit when the other is taking longer than expected, although now the fear is a heart attack or stroke, not a car accident.)

But I was safe and smiling at the sunshine as I left the store with my overflowing cart. Interestingly, the checkout clerk had noted correctly, “You must be opening up your summer place.” “Yup,” I responded, and she smiled. “Yeah, I’ve actually had several carts like yours today.” Life in a lake community…

Anyway, the forgetting part of this tale (besides all the lists, I mean): I stood at the entrance to Walmart, scanning the parking lot for my car. I knew I’d parked it far out—I do that to get steps in, so I’m on tiptoe, holding onto my cart handle, gazing around the now-getting-crowded lot for Gigi—my GMC SUV. (Yes, I name my vehicles–it’s so I can talk to them, which is probably another post for another day.) Finally, I tapped the horn button on my remote because dammit, I didn’t see her anywhere, even though I’d have sworn I parked at the end of that aisle right there… but not a sound from any car. Hmmmm… I narrowed my gaze and peered down the row of cars, figuring I’d just start heading that direction and maybe hit the button again. If I got closer, she might chirp.

Six cars in, I had a revelation. I wasn’t going to find Gigi in this particular parking lot because she was 100 miles away in the driveway of our city house. We drove Husband’s car to the lake and thus, I’d driven Husband’s car to the Walmart. And sure enough, there was his SUV just down there, right where I’d parked it 2.5 hours earlier. Sigh.

So … forgetting… we all do it. And we all do it more as we get older. But the most important thing is that I did eventually remember that I’d driven a different car, and I didn’t have to call Husband and tell him my car had been stolen, which had crossed my mind as I was searching the parking lot. There’s no moral to this story or really even any kind of happily-ever-after ending, except that I loaded the car and drove back to the cottage, put away the items I’d purchased, and we are now ready for summer… Ah, lake life!

Gratitude for This Week: We’re open at the lake; a beer-30 bonfire with lake pals; gardens are greening and blooming like crazy; no mice got in the cottage over the winter; my ladies helped me get all 40 centerpieces done for RAGT26–yay!! What a blessing they are!

Stay well, stay engaged and speak out when you can, always choose kindness, and most of all, mes amis, stay grateful!