It’s official. I’ve lost it. I just tried dialing a telephone number and couldn’t understand why the call wasn’t connecting, and the channels on my TV kept changing. I finally figured out it was because I was trying to dial a phone number on my TV remote. Doesn’t work. Neither does using the phone to try to change TV channels, which I also do often.
Actually, merely finding a remote control or a phone in the first place is a plus for me. I have too many of each. First, the remotes: I have one for each of my two TVs, two separate ones for each of both DVD players, remotes for dimmers of lights in four rooms, more for three overhead fans… It’s ridiculous. All these gadgets that are supposed to simplify our lives actually make them more complicated — more things to keep track of. But in a way that’s good. Searching for the correct remote, for instance, at least gets me off the couch and moving. It’s not exactly an aerobic workout, but it’s better than nothing.
My cordless phones provide a similar opportunity for exercise. I have three, in addition to my cell phone, all of which invariably end up in the same room — and, of course, never the room I’m in when they ring. Since I have to run to answer a call before Voicemail picks it up, the fitness benefits in this case are greater than those provided by my remote control hunts.
The latest things to hide from me are my reading glasses, which are relatively new to me. I used to be seriously nearsighted. I could read the Declaration of Independence engraved on the head of a pin without glasses. (At least, I could have if such an engraving existed.) However, unless I was wearing my glasses, anything more than a foot away was an indistinguishable blur. (Is that my car or an elephant that escaped from the local zoo?). Consequently, I wore my glasses constantly. If I had to read any fine print (like the Declaration of Independence on the head of a pin), hem a skirt, or clip a hangnail, I simply slid the glasses down my nose and peered over them. They were never off my face, from the moment I woke up every morning until I went to bed; so I never misplaced them. They were either on my face or on my nightstand.
Recently, however, I had cataract surgery; and since I opted for distance vision cataract lenses, I can now be glasses-free for most activities. It’s wonderful! But there’s a catch. Now I need glasses for reading and other close work. It’s no big deal financially. I buy them at my local Dollar Store and own at least a dozen pairs, none of which I can ever find.
I also used to have a problem keeping track of books. And since I often read two or three at a time, and they’re scattered throughout the house, I had a hard time remembering which one I was currently reading and where they were. Now, though, I have a Nook — my electronic reader — which stores hundreds of books in its memory (which — no surprise — is far superior to mine). Furthermore, this wonderful device even remembers which book I was reading last and what page I was on. No more losing bookmarks. Instead, I keep misplacing my Nook.
And when I finally find it, it invariably needs to be charged — which brings up a whole new category of items I can never find: chargers — for my Nook, my camera battery, my laptop computer (which also keeps disappearing), and two (home and car) for my cell phone and GPS — a life-saving travel navigation device without which I’d never reach any destination or find my way home again. Of course, as you may have guessed, the GPS is usually in my house (but where?) when I’m in my car and need it desperately — or it’s in my car (in the parking lot, three flights down) when I’m home and want to plan my next day’s journey.
“It was here a minute ago” is a phrase I use constantly. I could be sitting at my desk holding something in my hand — a magazine, for example — and a few minutes later, though I haven’t moved from the desk, when I look for that same magazine, it is gone. It didn’t have feet. How could it have walked away? No one else is in the room who could have taken in. No one human, that is. And I don’t have a pet that might have snatched it when I wasn’t looking. An invisible gremlin maybe? That would explain a lot — maybe the same gremlin hides my remotes, my phones, my glasses, my books, my Nook, my GPS, my chargers…
Now if only I could lose that gremlin.
©2012 Rose Madeline Mula for SeniorWomen.com
In addition, Rose has added a new YouTube video: http://youtu.be/CS1DFVe5qSM
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