Do Over
by
Judy
Listed below are some things
I would do if I could start my adult life over again.
I would keep a record of
every visit made to a doctor, every operation, every shot, and the date of such
activity. I guess at the time I thought
I would remember what year I spent eight days in the hospital recuperating from
a major gall bladder operation. I don’t, though. I do remember driving across a
river bridge with four kids in the car thinking I would let a total stranger
with a rusty knife remove my gall bladder on a street corner. But, no, I don’t
remember the year. I do know it was before the hospital kept records of such
things on computers. As I age, there is a need to know such things as a
person’s medical history.
I would organize photos.
Family photographs are easier to enjoy in albums, or at least in labeled boxes
located in the same room in the house. Frankly, I had all I could do to know
where the kids were. I certainly couldn’t keep track of where I kept every
photograph of each child. After I entered the digital age, I should have kept
each photo I’ve transferred from my phone and digital camera to my computer in
an accurately named file. It’s not fun searching for a picture of my first
grandchild beating on a toy drum in an endless list of pictures identified only
by the date they were downloaded onto the computer.
Each Christmas I wish I had
kept an accurate list of Christmas presents given to my children and
grandchildren in years past. Now that my own children are grown, they are easy
to shop for at Christmas. I just write a check, and they are all happy. It doesn’t
really matter the amount of the check either, for they are all grateful, and I
make sure they are all for the same amount. The grandchildren, however, present
a challenge. I not only have difficulty remembering which child for whom I
started a snow globe collection, a music box, or a Santa collection for, I have
no idea what sizes the children wear or what toys they own. I do know they own
a lot of toys, though.
I would also organize my
recipes. In spite of the fact I often say “I was born to cook,” I really
wasn’t. In fact, among my family and friends it is no secret I don’t like to
cook. Each time I walk into the kitchen, it is as if I have never before
been in the room. Some of the meals I prepared over the years were tasty, I
know-- I just don’t remember which ones they were. Why didn’t I keep a list of
what the family liked?
But I did keep the laundry
done.
