Once before, I mentioned that I wouldn't mind being a stand-up comedienne some day. As a sideline.
Why didn't I have this idea sooner? The drawback now is that I would have to stand up.
Here are some jokes I made up and emailed to my daughter to make sure they're postable. She wrote back:
I have forgotten more than I remember. I have forgotten what I’ve forgotten. But where is the justice? I can’t remember the name of the book I’m reading. Every detail of the painful memories I want to forget won’t go away. And when my good memories turn up, they make me cry.
Sometimes my thoughts are like armies of ants, all going somewhere in an orderly fashion, only I don’t know where they’re off to.
Once I was at the Amtrak Station in Chicago. I wanted to know the name of the exact location where I was standing because my daughter wanted me to call her to tell her exactly where to find me. I asked a friendly porter: “Where am I?”
He said with a shocked yet kindly expression for the failing elderly: “Why, Madam, you are at the Amtrak Station.”
I said, “I know that. I mean where am I exactly so I can tell my daughter where to meet me?”
Relieved, he said: “Near the information booth.”
Good choice, don’t you think? Too bad I couldn’t see the sign. They should do something about the lighting at the Amtrak Station in Chicago.
Life is a lot about guessing right now. Guessing what someone said. The acoustics aren’t what they used to be. I remember a friend years back I will give you as an example.
She told me that someone had told her the name of a company called Word Form. My friend had repeated: “Bird Farm?”
With hearing like that, who wants to remember?
Speaking of justice, why on earth do I remember the company's name and how my friend mis-heard the company's name, when I can’t for the life of me remember my friend’s name? If I could remember her daughter’s name, I might remember my friend's name. If I could remember the name of the daughter’s husband, that might help too.
My mother used to say every once in a while that so and so wore the map of Israel on his face. Now I have the map of the whole world on the lines of my stomach.
My breasts used to make men whistle. They were pear-shaped. Now they’re dangling pendants.
Whose hands are these? They can’t be mine.
Well, should I go for a second career?