It is a bright sunny day, Mother Earth around my area is drying out from recent rains. It is windy, my bamboos are bending in the breeze, yet I am reticent. At breakfast my roommate and I were trying to remember a young man’s name who once played in a band wth our son. He played a fiddle and he was very good. When I’d hear him I’d think how very lucky the band was to have another musician of his caliber. I’ll call him Tom. He had been trained as a concert violinist back in Atlanta. He had won a number of musical contests including an annual Old Fiddlers Contest. Along the way he got on drugs. Members of the band tried to help him, Sit with him hoping he’d come down easy. He finally had to leave the band. He came back and played a few times but then went back to Georgia. I’ve always hoped good things for him. Although it has been many years I have from time to time when I would think of him, try to send positive, encouraging thoughts his way. So at breakfast we were trying to remember his name. And trying trying to remember what i was going to do this morning and-claustrophobia had asked my wife to remind me if I didn’t rememberNeither of us could remember the fiddler player’s name. Nor could we remember what it was I said I wanted to do Sometime when I can’t remember I get claustrophobic. I feel I’m in a box and can’t get out or a very small room with no exit and i want to scream and yell, let me out of here. Fear sometimes grips me and I have to quickly think of other things to find relief before i smoother. I felt a little bit that way this morning. I have read and perhaps you have too, that most people have a little dementia after age eighty. I notice I am saying I don’t remember much too often. When you start losing memory friends start to avoid you. Maybe you post a good intentioned comment in the wrong category and it doesn’t make sense. Or, you much too often lose your train of thought. It is not only embarrassing but others take notice and you are marked. You notice people’s avoidance.You are a marked man. More often I notice near panic attacks when I can’t remember something, like being in this box, can’t get out, and I’m suffocating. My mother had dementia, all her sister’s had dementia, her mother had dementia. Know that when I get stressed, I write, not good writing, but a writ to hopefully release me from that which ails. On second thought forget you read this lest you begin to think, “Poor, thing,” and begin to avoid me.