The day time stood still… sort of

Every other week, the Sun Day publishes the terrific and comedic column Geezer Moments by fellow Sun City resident Sam Geati. For those unfamiliar, which I know aren’t many, Geezer Moments is about those funny little “blips” in the aging memory that make everyone think, “I must be losing my mind.” And this week’s Health & Wellness section features tips on keeping the aging memory sharp and its recall intact.

Although there is enough evidence to suggest and, according to some experts, even prove that the aging mind declines in memory recall as we age, I’m of the camp that believes that’s little more than hogwash. Yes, it may decline somewhat, but we’ve lived with these memory lapses all our lives. Who hasn’t walked into a room and totally forgotten why we came in there in the first place? Who hasn’t searched the house at length for their glasses only to realize they’re on top of your head or, worse, you’re actually wearing them? Who hasn’t played hide and seek with their car keys? Since my brother was 16 and started to drive the odds of him remembering where he put his keys were so slim, he’d have to plan to leave about an hour ahead of time because that’s how long it took him to locate those tinkling little phantoms.

Of all the Geezer Moments I’ve read, I’ve never read one so “out there” as the one I’m about to share about a joint Geezer Moment between my wife and I when I was of the very old age of 27 and she of 25.

A sound sleeping schedule isn’t really our “thing,” so after going to bed around 4 a.m. one June night, I wake to my wife banging around our home, clearly agitated, starting to do, of all things, the laundry, only minutes after she woke up.

“Chris get up,” she calls, more than annoyed. “It’s seven p.m. You missed all your appointments today.” (I was currently working for Shaw Suburban Media and by “appointments” she meant interview and photo assignments.

I jolted up, chest seizing, muttering every swear I knew, making up others, and wondering how many times my editor to called to, in his most polite way to ask, “Where the heck are you?”

How could this be, though? I thought. It didn’t feel like I’d slept 15 hours, maybe more. In fact, it felt like I barely slept. I looked at the digital lamp of my alarm clock, which I hadn’t heard go off (but then again it wouldn’t be the first time I slept right through it, and if I really slept for 15 hours, I must have been close to death), to find my wife was right. It was 7 something in the evening. But something still didn’t feel right.

My wife went about her business hammering clothes into the wash, making coffee, muttering under her breath, while I started to investigate the situation. I glanced out the window and saw the sun…in the east. Case closed. It’s morning. However, my half-dozed mind couldn’t quite comprehend that, and I remained skeptical. Not so much as my wife, though, who upon being pointed out this fact practically refused to believe it morning. Her certainty compelled me to investigate further.

I turned on the TV and darned if I couldn’t find one channel whose time stamp said if it was a.m. or p.m. There were normal morning shows on, but I’m not an early morning person, so I couldn’t be sure if Morning Joe with Joe Scarborough was on at 7 a.m. or 7 p.m. or both. Who knows with cable programming, right?

Completely stumped (and please remember, we’d just woken up), my wife pulls out the big guns and calls her mother, and completely unabashed asks, “Mom is it 7 a.m. or 7 p.m.?”

My news junkie, early-riser mother-in-law informs my wife that it’s 7 a.m., settling the case of “What time is it really?”

On our defense, in June, other than the sun’s position in the sky 7 a.m. looks much like 7 p.m. Birds are chirping, people are on the move, and coffee’s being made, either for desert or breakfast. But who’s keeping track, really?

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