When Words (and All Else) Fail

At our age, even the words are retiring early

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“We need a new pigeon,” my husband said.

That sentence sounded odd, to say the least. First, we’ve never owned an old pigeon. Second, why would anyone need a pigeon unless they were raising it for whatever pigeons do besides leave their droppings everywhere? Third, and the option I chose, what the heck was he talking about?

“What the heck are you talking about?” I asked.

“I meant pillow,” he said, sheepishly.

He was announcing the need for a new pillow because we were expecting overnight company, and one of our guest pillows had deteriorated. Evidently, a few of his brain cells had too. I say that with affection and understanding, because what’s left in my hippocampus is also on the decline.

Yes, we’re both losing abilities we once took for granted. A few weeks ago, I stared at a menu item called “homeless perch.” For a moment, I pictured a down‑on‑its‑luck fish pushing a shopping cart filled with its worldly possessions. Then I realized it said boneless, not homeless.

Last week, another menu offered a “gross omelet.” “Yecch,” I thought, until I realized it said gyros omelet.

I told myself that both times I was hungry, and hunger makes my remaining brain cells misfire. That theory lasted until one night, after a perfectly satisfying dinner, when I hopped online to look up places to visit near Virginia Beach.

Here’s how I read a travel review: “Make sure to cross from Virginia Beach to the eastern shore of Virginia via the Cheapskate Bay Bridge and Tunnel.”

I read it again. This time it said Chesapeake. Amazing how words can change on their own.

“Don’t worry about it,” the doctor said when I told him the story of my husband’s pillow/pigeon confusion and my inability to read correctly. “It’s part of the aging process.”

Easy for him to say. His mouth and eyes still work just fine.

Still, I decided not to become overly concerned until the other day, when I realized the aging process was taking our ears as well.

“Coffee’s ready,” I announced.

“The puppy’s ready?” he asked.

We don’t have a dog, so that one really caught me off guard.

“The COFFEE’S ready,” I repeated.

“Why didn’t you just say that?” he muttered.

It’s not only us. Later that day, my husband complained to our same‑age friend (in front of me) that I always buy frozen strawberries in tiny plastic containers. “That’s way too much of an expense,” he said.

I responded, “If you want to put out the money to join Sam’s Club, I’ll be happy to lug home an eighty‑pound sack of them.”

“She wants you to give her money to join a dance club to buy strawberries?” his friend asked, baffled.

Oh well. Even with all this happening to our brains, ears, and eyes, I’m not going to panic until the day one of us walks in carrying a live pigeon and puts a pillowcase on it.

If you enjoy stories of accidental pigeons, misread menus, and the general chaos of getting older with someone you love, follow along. My brain may be losing words, but it’s gaining material.