Editor: I’d promised her that I’d attend the soccer game in North Vancouver. Hastily I jumped into my car and headed west. To my discomfort, I discovered I’d forgotten to put on my trousers and was clad in only a shirt.
I thought I knew the street and house in which she lived like the back of my hand. I was utterly flummoxed as I found myself on a strange street.
I entered a house with an open door to inquire as to my bearings. The occupant, a woman, gasped at my naked bum.
Realizing that I still wasn’t decently clad, I hastened to Lonsdale Avenue to find a telephone directory and a pay phone. By this time I’d cloaked myself in a dressing gown that had manifested itself. I glanced quickly through the listings in growing horror, in the realization I’d forgotten her name. Then I awoke.
What prompted such a horrible dream, I wondered. Was it the fact that on a daily basis I phone my cousin in Winnipeg, who resides in a nursing home because of Alzheimer’s? Is it the fact that the news forecasts a virtual epidemic of this dreadful malady for the scores of people who are now entering the ranks of us seniors?
Is it because my memory and that of many of my cohorts are showing signs of forgetfulness? Or does it perhaps foreshadow my own future? At any rate, I believe supporting Alzheimer research is in all our best interests.