Confusion

I just noticed that the day before yesterday I published a blank blog, just the space with no words.  When I discovered that fact, right now as a matter of fact, my instinct to tidiness (non-existent, my husband would say) made me want to delete the page, but then I thought no, it is an expression of me at this moment in time.  That is to say, I am growing more noticeably forgetful and careless, the commonplace predicament of the over eighty five set.  Not to be confused with the onset of Alzheimers, I don't think.  I sometimes consider it early stage dementia.  No, no, friends insist: you are just distracted.  I guess it is that I can no longer carry two thoughts in my head at once.  It used to be that I would lodge Idea One in my brain and go on to thinking of something else, and then circle back to take Idea One to act on it.  But that is a perilous maneuver these days; often it has disappeared completely or grown sufficiently denatured by an overlay of impressions and emotions that it is scarcely recognizable.  At the moment I am making the initial motions to pack for a trip to New York City, while at the same time, organizing a bunch of medications and toiletries set on the counter of my bathroom so that they will be out of the way of the cleaning woman who comes on Tuesday.  And, I had also to keep ahead of the plumber who is hopefully coming on Monday to finish up work the requires him to go under the counter top and so I must empty the contents of that area.  This morning I have managed to assemble ready to be thrown into the trash a number of items, bottles of Vitamin E oil which someone foisted on me and now a year later I have not changed and will not.  Time to let go.  There was an article in the Sunday Times about a boy with exceptionally fine features who has taken to making his face up with cosmetics which he claims many teenaged boys would like to do.  It certainly makes him extraordinarily beautiful, and if he can live with the suspicion and occasional hostility of his peer group more power to him.  I thought back to a moment when I was at Vassar College as a visiting professor, aged fifty or so, and there was to be a celebratory birthday party to which I was invited, and I was sitting with the organizer with whom I had become special friends during my sojourn.  We were in her bedroom, and just for the fun of it, she began to make up my eyes.  I had never had such an experience except when I was in theater and getting ready for a performance.  When she finished with my face she held up a mirror so I could see the result.  That was over thirty years ago, the shock of the beauty of my eyes still registered with me today.  A woman friend once got me to buy very light pancake powder to smooth out the skin of my cheeks.  Loved the effect, but the inner boy from Iowa stayed my hand from using it on a regular basis.  It's there in the drawer of the bathroom counter, and it's not going anywhere.  Hey, they're going to need it for my corpse!