Going a little senile

I have to admit this little quirk to kick today's post off:  I have been interchanging the word "stove" for "oven" for the past five years or so.  I noticed it almost immediately because it didn't make much sense that the scrambled eggs would be in the oven cooking.*  Or that the cake would be baking on the stove.

That one little slip-up, by someone who loves to be in the kitchen, gave me reason to pause and think about my memory. Given that my step-Mom's**, Patty, sister has dealt with Alzheimers and a neighbor of ours, sweet Mrs. Johnson, was taken by dementia, I am close to too many people who have dealt with this reality and didn't win.

Today, for the first time, I really though about what I am writing and why it is so important.  I truly cherished these posts.  I realized I could be counted among the unfortunate who struggle with memory issues in their older age;  in that case, this blog will act as a time machine not only for me, but for my children, husband and grandchildren.

That also gave me renewed interest and desire to get working on the book.  I have been lax disobedient in my writing for a bit now.  I busy myself with other activities, things that are less important, and the days just slip into oblivion.  Books don't get written like that.  And memories that were once red-hot on my brain are starting to get lukewarm.

But, once again, a blog will save me.  The very blog that I kept the entire time Mom was sick.  From the day I knew to the days after she died, I have a record of all that went through my head, the people who were there to help, and the prayers that were answered and left unanswered.  It is difficult, at best, to read, but it is the basis for what needs to be written and the reason I need to get off my arse and just get busy.

But now, I have some work to do in the kitchen.  So, I'm off to preheat the stove and get the burners in the oven started.

WINK.


*UNTIL I found a rockin' recipe for oven cooked eggs that are the fluffiest things ever.  Of course, the kids HATE them, so I'll save that recipe for when we are empty-nesters.

**I still don't quite know what I should rightly call her because "my Dad's wife" sounds awfully cold but she isn't trying to step into Mom's shoes.  BUT, she's a very kind soul, so I am going to claim her as my step-Mom until she tells me otherwise.