I Forget Little Things

It was either in St. Augustine, Florida, or in Little America, Wyoming, or in Pickle Gap, Arkansas—I forget which place—that we bought the unique razorback hog refrigerator magnet Ginny asked me about yesterday.

Her doctor gave her a vitamin D supplement to increase her energy level and it must have kicked in yesterday because she decided to rearrange furniture beginning with the magnets on the refrigerator and progressing to the attic. Dr. Woody should have given that vitamin to me instead!

Anyhow, when she asked me about the boar’s head with glaring red eyes and white foaming tusks, I’ve forgotten where we picked up that lovely work of art.

Having no taste in fine art, Ginny put it in the go-box.

She also asked me where I put a cork board she wanted to use for a Christmas display at her office; I either stored it in a closet, or sold it in a yard sale, or gave it to some kid, or put it in the garden shed—I forget what I did with it.

Back in September, I forgot our youngest daughter’s birthday.

Just plain forgot.

Forgetting is nothing new with me. When I was a boy, my mother used to say, "Johnny, you'd forget your own behind if it wasn't nailed on". But my forgetting seems to be getting worse now that I'm past 70.

Yesterday Ginny also wanted to know what I did with our Christmas tree stand?

Have you seen it?

Me neither.

Today I need to get the ladder and climb up into the attic to see if it’s up there. We haven’t put up a tree for the last two or three years and I’ve forgotten where I put the stand.

I’m forgetting a lot of things recently. Trouble is, I forget the wrong things. I vividly remember slights and grudges and faux pas and sins and mistakes I’ve made in the past—those things well up in my mind all the time; but I forget little everyday things.

Like cancer.

Yes, Friday Ginny and I went to the office of Jim Love, our State Farm Insurance agent. We spent two hours in a delightful conversation about insurance and Jacksonville history. He’s just returned from taking his family to see the Thanksgiving Day Parade in New York and one of his sons begins training as a firefighter next week. So, since I’ve written a history of firefighting in Jacksonville, we had all sorts of good things to talk about besides insurance.

But, when we did talk about life insurance on me and filled out all the blanks on the application (including the questions about my medical condition) and we were all set to sign on the bottom lime, I suddenly remembered that I happen to have prostate cancer.—which renders me uninsurable.

I’d forgotten.

I think Mr. Love was shocked.

How could a man forget he has cancer?

I felt like a fool.

How could I have forgotten a little thing like that?

Here I’d just been telling him all sorts of details about a local plane crash that happened during World War II. That , I remembered. But I’d forgot my own prostate cancer. What kind of warped mind works like that?

We tore up that insurance application and our conversation continued along other lines talking about more important things.

St. Paul once said, “This one thing I do, forgetting those things which are behind, and reaching forth unto those things which are before, I press toward the mark for the prize of the high calling of God in Christ Jesus”.

I need to commit that verse to memory.

I’m going to do it right now!

I’ve just read it, so I’ll just close my eyes and say it from memory:

“Forgetting my behind… I press forward….”