APFwebs: Letters from the Editor


Inside every old man is a young boy wondering, “What the hell happened?”

I have two folders of pills: each eight days of little zip-lock baggies. One in the morning, one at night: all told, sixteen days’ worth. Each morning and night an unzipped baggie reminds me which is next and whether I missed one. And a reminder when it’s time to refill baggies.

A lumpy bag in the closet, of course, grows to remind me of impending laundry. (I hate laundry.) Unfortunately, no reminder urges me toward laundry in the garage, where I have to move clothes to the dryer, then bring dry clothes in and restore them to storage. Heck, a couple times I left stuff in the dryer until it was time to do the next laundry. (I hate laundry.)

We left a detergent baguette atop the dishwasher to remind us to insert the coffee pot and clean dishes after morning coffee. A tennis ball hangs in the garage to remind me where to park. Device reminders tell me when batteries need charging.

A calendar pop-up reminded me that yesterday was the first day of Fall.

The more I remember, the less I remember. Attention span? Battlebots Mental stamina? Tiny House Living

I remember my grade school teachers’ names, first and last for each (except fifth grade who must have made little impression). Knobs for vertical and I horizontal hold. TV news of the death of JFK. (You may ask, JFK who?) And loading a tray of punched cards into a refrigerator-sized IBM 360/20 mainframe with 32 kilobytes of memory.

But now it is time to reload the little pill baggies. The dishwasher is running, and if I’m lucky I may remember to empty the dryer of clean clothing in an hour or so. (I hate laundry. Ick.)