Time passing

I know I have no concept of the passage of time. I'll say something like "I just bought that stove" to one of my kids, and they'll look at me exasperated, "Mom, you bought that 12 years ago." I also can't recall when they adopted that annoying eye-rolling thing they do either.


Yesterday I was trying to remember when we painted the living room. I know we painted it the same color twice, but I can't recall the last time and the old trick of using events as a measure isn't working. Was that after we put the new tile floor in the bathroom? The year we got the dog? I know we painted it after we got the new light fixture in the dining room. That was the time we painted everything because before the new chandelier went in we painted the ceiling...which made the dining room walls look dingy so we painted them...which made the living room and sun porch look dingy...so we painted them too. I spent months cleaning rash-like paint spots off the hardwood floors and refer to that episode as the Great Painting Epidemic. When did we buy the chandelier? I could ask the kids, but I'm just not up to it.


This quirk runs in my family. One day my brother was visiting and noticed a broken electrical socket that needed to be replaced. We weren't using it, had covered it with a electrical tape, and it was in a corner hidden behind a chair. My brother, who was an electrician, said he would come by in a few days and replace it because he didn't want "the baby" to possibly touch it and get a shock. I suppose it wasn't all that long ago that he thinks he promised to return with a new socket and he had mentioned that he hadn't forgotten on several occasions. Some time has gone by. No one has touched the socket, the chair in the corner has been replaced twice, and "the baby" will be 32 years old in December.


One of my uncles used to write the date he painted a room on the wall in an inconspicuous spot. He was one of those meticulous organized men, with every screw and nail sorted and separated by size and type in jars. I can still see my aunt pointing to the scribble and justifying her pleas for new color, "See, you haven't painted this room in 15 years!" He couldn't deny it. Then he would have to get out the drop cloths and brushes instead of playing golf or going fishing.


Not being able to remember and leaving something tangible to hold you accountable is probably mostly a good thing. But since I'm not looking forward to the whole ordeal, I think I'll pour another cup of coffee and spend a little more time ruminating around in the luxury of forgetfulness.