When you've lived as long as we have . . The endless succession of burdens and concerns was enough to make anyone forgetful. Eggs were boiled until they turned brown, sprinklers left on till the lawn grew soggy, keys and glasses and watches misplaced. When I asked my parents about their past, they cocked their heads, stared into the distance, and often couldn't recall the details. Thirty years later, I understand my parents' refusal.
Remembered events merge together, or fade away.
Places and dates grow dubious, a jumble of guesswork and speculation. Of course, once in a while you find the tiny, pungent details poised on your tongue like caviar. When the face of a friend from childhood suddenly comes back to me, its sad to think that, if a certain synapse hadn't fired just then, I may never have recalled that friend again. Then there are the things I've dreamed and mistaken as fact. When you've lived as long as I have, uncertainty is virtually indistinguishable from the truth, which as far as I know is never naked, but always wearing some disguise.