On being oblivious
We were walking on a trail in Anchorage last week, the day before returning. We were looking for moose, said to habituate the area. Not so, not that morning anyway. As we walked the grandson and I were tossing handfuls of elderberries at one another, my objective with my stenosis-limited arm to land them somehow in the hood of his sweatshirt. There was a time when I had a good strong arm for throwing things, even if inaccurately, as my old softball team members would attest.
I was not doing so well at this improvised contest. When we arrived at the car I found that surreptitiously the boy (and my wife) had been loading up the hood of my rain jacket with elderberries. And I was oblivious to it all.
The thing about being oblivious is that I don’t know, cannot know things that others around me know. Maybe I am the butt of a joke, and that’s OK. I have a good sense of humor and do not take myself too seriously,. The elderberry event was simply more evidence that things are slipping away from me. So be it.
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