I don't remember as well as I once did. I had not worried about it, since most folks my age said they felt the same way. I'd talk about going into a room and forgetting what I went after, or forgetting the name of someone I know well, they said they'd been there too. But something about this last winter has changed me, and when I seemed to be getting even more forgetful, I decided I had better get tested for dementia. Cliff had wanted me to do that since two years ago when we went to Memphis: "You're going bye-bye," he kept telling me.
I always have winter depression, but this year when spring hit, it got worse. I began crying at things that shouldn't bother me. While I'd love to travel a bit (within our means), I didn't want to go on little bitty 100-mile road trips. I got those out of my system when we had the motorcycle. (I would like to travel someplace I've never been, though, somewhere far away.)
Suddenly, everything seemed to make me cry. I have never been a cryer. I don't cry at close relatives' funerals. That always bothered me, because I imagine people assumed I didn't love the deceased person, but I refuse to fake-cry to make others feel better about me. Nowadays I cry at the drop of a hat, and I'll even drop the hat!
I cried at this: