Is there a "Grandma Pasture" I can go to?

Yesterday I was the Queen of Forgetfulness. My husband needed pain medication and he can't walk very far. I shouldn't and I should take a cab, but the cheapo in me says, "walk Sheryl...it's beautiful outside, you'll be fine." I bet I would have been fine if I hadn't had to make the trip 3 times.

Now how in the world did I have to make three trips you ask? Was it my chemical imbalance, was it I'm getting older, hell if I know, but I climb the little trail out front leading up to the rail tracks. Construction men are working away with hot black tar and I'm wearing a light blue dress. The possibilities are endless as far as my imagination goes about my dress getting dirty.

It's really not that far but after that little hill my heart is pounding away and didn't stop all the way to Rite-Aid. I'm thinking this weight differently has to come off as memories of pies, cookies and cake float by in my memory.

So I make it and as the doors open sweet cold air hits me in the face. I work my way to the back, tell them what I need and sit down to wait. After only a half hour of waiting, I go to get all our meds and find out I had forgotten the prescription paper for hubbies meds. Crappppppppp I scream silently inside my head, smile and say I will be right back.

I make it home sweaty and hot, breathing heavily, plop down in my chair and manage to gasp out...where's the prescription?

Okay, I'm determined to get through this walk again, grab my purse and off I go down the street and I'm at the end of the street I check my bag. NO PRECRIPTIONNNNN. Now I'm wondering about my sanity and what in the world am I doing, so I go back up the street, climb my stairs...again, open the door where my husband tells me I tried yelling for you, but you were already gone.

This time around I go in the bathroom and tie my hair up which was way cooler this time around, but I must have checked my purse 10 times before I got back to Rite-Aid. My prize for not giving up and getting my hubby some pain killers...2 1 pint cans of Twisted Tea. And I still got one left!

It's a trip getting older. I wish I had been the one to invent sticky notes!