Memory games

I think I should report an ominous milestone. Today I received an email from one of my favourite people, myself. It was a simple message: “call rhea” and served to remind me to call the lady at the bank who takes all our money and converts it into money for us. You ask, why not just write a note (note to self. . . .)? Ah, yes, but when you not only forget to phone Rhea, but you forget where you put the pencil, then, having found the pencil, you can’t find the blasted piece torn off the Qualicum Beach News you were going to write your reminder on. And even, get this, if you miraculously find pencil and paper and remember what it was you wanted to remind yourself about, you like as not will not remember to read the reminder, or even remember where you put it. Actually, remembering that there was a reminder would be a victory of sorts.

Hence the new cunning plan: send myself an email!!!

I may forget my wife’s name, what I went to the kitchen for and the name of the guy who played the guy in that movie I liked but can’t remember the plot of, but I always read my emails every morning. Right now I am relaxing in the comforting glow of knowing there’s someone I have to phone at the. . . bank, right?

We seem to have settled in to our new house, and are enjoying the sunny microclimate which goes from Louise and Vic’s house to the mailbox. I am getting mysterious phone calls from guys called Wayne, who want to talk to Sylvia about an estimate. I mustn’t get them mixed up. There’s the Wayne for the sunroom, the other Wayne for the extra window we’re going to punch into the South wall, the one to demolish the old toolshed, and a fourth Wayne, who does excellent cedar fences. Oh, I forgot Wayne with the back-hoe who is going to dig us a hole for the new heron snack bar we’re building. Lots of projects. Hard to keep track of them all. (There was also Wayne for the new wood flooring, but he’s been and gone and installed the new floor, so we don’t need to call him any more.)

By the way, we are apparently on point for the massive bulge that we’ve been part of from birth– onwards. All these Waynes are complaining that this year is twice as busy as last year. Well, yes! there’s a flood of exhausted retirees flopping onto the sunny shores of Qualicum Beach like Coho salmon in the shallows of their birth creek. Next year, Wayne is definitely going to need an assistant.

I have just finished building myself a workbench in the garage. It looks quite nice and now I’ll have a place to store all my tools, and do all my little projects. Sylvia asked me yesterday (or was it Sylvia, or what’s her name?) what projects I had planned for my new DIY facilities, and I had to admit I couldn’t exactly recollect any, but that they would come back to me. I’ll send myself an email: “start project. buy spirit level” (I already have 3 spirit levels, but you can never have too many.)

And right now, before I forget, I’m going to call Wayne.

Oh. Yes, and Rhea!

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