Senior Moments! Forgetable memorable moments.

I have neglected my blogsite for far too long. The chaotic, Russian loving  Donald Trump has caused me to spend far too much of my time writing comments on Facebook about the dangerous political scene that Trump and a biased media have given us. I have decided to change the subject abruptly and write what may be called more whimsical pieces.

 I am pleased to note, however, that while my Blogsite was untouched by human word processor for four months, several thousand people still visited my blogsite. Thank you all so very much.              

I will not make any promises but I will try to be a more regular correspondent in the future and will try to avoid Donald Trump if I can. I am ashamed to say I have written more stories about Vladimir Putin's best friend and current USA  President  than I have about Sir Donald Bradman. Incredible, but true.

To start this blog writing renaissance I have chosen a topic dear to my heart. Me! I turned 87 at my last birthday, Christmas Eve, 2024. In thanking my family members and friends I pointed out that in cricket, 87 is considered to be an unlucky number for an Australian batsman. Most people say this is because it is the Devil's Number...thirteen runs short of a century. 

I told my family and friends that there was no statistical evidence to show that Australian batsmen are dismissed on 87 more frequently than any other number from 0 to 99. I did this to indicate that I did not think 87 would be my last birthday, so they could all postpone any thoughts of small savings on my 88th birthday present.                  "Yes," folks I assured them. "I am 87 but I am still in the game. I am still batting." They laughed. I guess they knew that, though I am still batting, my form and my style are a long way from the halcyon days of my youth.      I am well and truly into what people refer to as The Senior Years. That is why this blog is about ME! My game is a bit wobbly these days. I thought I had better write about some of my Senior Moments... while I can still remember them.

I live, with the beautiful Lesley, in an over 55 years old apartment complex.  On Saturday, March 5th I was to have my annual ultra sound, which keeps track of my circulation and other useful anatomical  information. Before this ultra sound test I am required to fast for five hours. My ultrasound was due at 12-30 PM so I arose at 6-00AM and had a small breakfast and cup of coffee to keep me going throughout the morning, I did not attend the usual community morning tea in the clubrooms and went for a walk instead. At noon I told Lesley I was heading off for my ultra sound . I grabbed my car keys and the medical appointment notice from my Specialist and headed out of the door. Sitting the car and about to set off, I checked the medical appointment notice. It was for 12-30pm on March 15. Two weeks away, At the bottom of the notice was a hand written message.

NB. This rescheduled appointment cancels the previous appointment for March 5.

I went back inside and told a surprised Lesley that I had forgotten about the changed date of the appointment.   "You've done things like that before, " was her only comment.                                                                                    Indeed I have!

As mentioned above, every Saturday morning about fifteen or so residents have morning tea in our function room which is called The Clubrooms. I used to enjoy my morning coffee in a special coffee cup. This family heirloom displayed a photograph taken in 2012 of Lesley and me and our seven grandchildren. Sometime in mid-2024 this coffee cup went missing. A thorough search of the clubrooms and requests in the Community Newsletter for information about its whereabouts failed to find the precious cup. It is now generally agreed that it was broken during some social gathering in the clubrooms and then dispatched into the rubbish bin by a person or persons unknown who had no idea of the cup’s huge sentimental value.                                                                

 As it happens, I had another coffee mug with another photo of Lesley and me our seven grandchildren inscribed on it. I placed this cup in the cupboard. However, early in 2025, I turned away from the kitchen cupboard  complaining that this replacement coffee mug was also missing.                                                                                                          “Have another look,” was the generally helpful advice I received. I went back and checked again, only to gloomily report once more that my prized mug was missing.                                                                       

 Kindhearted souls helped me look to see if any of the residents were enjoying their morning tea and using my mug or if it was in the dishwasher or in other cupboards in the kitchen. The search was fruitless, or more precisely, mugless!  I grumpily made my coffee in another mug and sat at the table, sulkily brooding over another lost heirloom.                                                                                                                                                                            Two minutes later a resident named Allen came up to me, brandishing the allegedly missing coffee mug.                   Astonished, I exclaimed,  “Where was it?” as Allen placed the mug on the table in front of me                               “In the cupboard,” replied Allen with that gentle tone so necessary when dealing with the weak and feeble.            I then heard Lesley remark to those nearby, “I told you he is not a good looker." 

Two weeks later, I travelled with Lesley to the WA Museum to visit the excellent Kimberley Exhibition. Our third grandson, Cisco, worked at the Museum over the summer holidays as a part time Volunteer Guide.                        After Grandson #3 finished his volunteer guide duties at 1-00pm, the three of us bravely ventured into  Northbridge for lunch. After that, we made our way back to Perth Railway Station. As I approached the Tag On machine, I was startled by a Transperth attendant monitoring the scene, who said, “Hey, you can’t do that!”                                                   

“I’m just going to tag on” I explained.                                                                                  “Yes, but not with that Visa Card,” said the attendant.                                                                 It’s true! I had reached into my pocket and was going to tag on with my blue Visa                    As I said, I am still in the game and I am still batting,                                                              What's the name of that game, again?