Her short-term memory is at a serious deficit
LORI CLINCH Are We There Yet?
In my youth, I was a detail gal. I knew who I was, who others were and where I was going at all times. I rarely found myself in the middle of town wondering how I'd gotten there and why I'd come.

I never once ran into the kitchen in a panic, only to stop dead in my tracks and find that all thought processes had left me.

I was sharp as a tack.

I used to remember people. I knew their names, their occupations and social background. I knew their favorite colors, tastes in food and the number of children that they still had living at home. Today I can't remember the names of acquaintances, and even if I think that I know someone's actual name, I lack the confidence to say it when I address them.

My recollecting process is all but gone. I've heard that memory loss comes with age, and I suppose I can accept that. Yet there's one thing that puzzles me and it's the oddest thing - numbers seem to stick in my head.

It's as if my brain called a meeting without me. As if a group of memory cells had a rendezvous and decided that the old memory banks were running on the low side. Like a group of computer technicians, they decided to free up some space, to toss unnecessary files, clean up unused shortcuts, send old programs to the recycle bin and keep the only thing that they felt was necessary - numbers.

Take the other night, for instance, when I walked into a football game. "Hello, Lori," people with their memories still intact called as I passed. "How are you? How are your parents? How's Pat? How about your children, Vernon, Huey, Lawrence and little Charlie?"

"Good," I responded, as I put my brain on an immediate file search for their names. Coming up empty, I could only say, "How are you and your … people?"

Just then a friend joined me and asked, "Say, did you hear that Bruella is moving away?"

"No!" I said with astonishment before I asked, "who is Bruella?"

"You know, that one cute gal with the slim figure that is always smiling."

"Oh her," I replied, "the one that lives t 811 North Street?"

"Yes, that's the one. I think we should call her for lunch."

"Great, her phone number is 888- 0911."

It absolutely astounds me. I can remember the address for a house we lived in when I was 8. I know the phone number for a friend who left for Milwaukee 20 years ago. I know my account number with the cable company, the 1-800 number for the gas company, and my seven-digit access code for a bank card that I had back in the '90s.

I can't remember what I had for lunch yesterday.

My favorite cousin has an office number, a cell number and two phone lines going into her house. I can recite them all by memory. If I want to reach my sisterin law, my husband's cousin twice removed, or Valentino's pizza, there's no need to go for the address book - I have access to them in my head.

I can't find my purse.

I can remember the phone numbers to our grade school, my son's student ID number, the direct line to the superintendent's office, and yet I once forgot to pick up my kids from school.

For reasons we may never understand, I can't recall appointments, anniversaries or important dates. I forget to pick up my mail on Tuesday, space off the fact that my children need to serve Mass on Sunday, and if you've purchased a gift for my birthday, you'd better give me a head's up that yours is coming.

Thanks to TV commercials, I can tell you the 1-800 number to purchase a lowrate loan. I can recite the phone number to contact a law firm in Massachusetts. If you want to call the diet-plan people and get your weight-reduction meals coming fast, I could quote the price per day and the phone number faster than you can say "pudgy."

I've started repeating myself.

As we were leaving the football game that night, I looked at my same, dear friend and said, "Say, did you hear that Bruella is moving away?"

"Yes, Lori," she responded with a puzzled look, "I just told you that on the way in."

What I need is a 1-800 number for a memory-restoration service.

Lori Clinch is the mother of four sons and the author of the book "Are We There Yet?" You can reach her at www.loriclinch. com.