This whole aging thing isn't going very well for me.

I recently made a lovely lunch to bring with me to the office. I piled slices of unusually good roast beef (my wife boasted that she had bought the expensive stuff at the grocery story) on top of bread I had baked just the night before. I smeared just a bit of Dijon mustard on the top slice — I don't like to overdo it with condiments — and I cut the simple sandwich in half for easy handling.

I added a Cosmic Crunch apple for dessert, put it all in an old plastic grocery-store bag and was on my way.

But first, I took the trash out to the Dumpster. The garbage truck was right there, and the driver kindly waited for me to toss my bag into the bin.

But of course I didn't toss one bag, I tossed two. And of course I didn't notice that I was missing my lunch until I got to the office. By which time I hoped the garbage truck driver had enjoyed a marvelous roast beef sandwich, though I doubt it met as happy an end as that.

It could happen to anyone, right? But it came at the end of a brief comedy of errors involving the making of food — and it was still relatively early morning.

I have a daily tea ritual that rivals any in Japan. I begin with a teabag with iced-tea specific tea that has been specially curated (it's from a box of Luzianne) and a tea ball with a teaspoon's worth of loose blackcurrant tea, which is significantly harder to find.

I place the tea leaves in a metal bowl, which I then fill with boiling water. When the tea has seeped its allotted five minutes, I place the bowl in a sink filled with cold water. By the time I have showered and dressed, the tea is cold enough to use in iced tea without melting the ice.

Things went off the rails from the start. When I removed the tea ball from the dishwasher, I discovered that someone (I'm not going to say who, but it was me) had neglected to clean out the tea leaves before putting it in to be cleaned. It was still full of tea leaves, which had to transfer, at least a little, to the water that was used to clean the dishes.

Then I filled the sink with cold water while I waited for the tea to seep, only I used hot water instead. So I had to drain the sink and refill it with cold water.

It's a sign of aging, I'm sure of it. An unwelcome sign.

For years, I have been going to the refrigerator without remembering what I was looking for. The number of times I remember before opening the door are getting fewer, and I have taken to seeing it in the fridge to recall what it was that sent me there in the first place.

Sometimes, I don't remember at all. Whatever it was I was looking for is in there, and I see it, and even then I don't remember that it was what sent me there in the first place.

If my wife is watching, I try to cover by saying something like, "Ah, yes. Oranges. Exactly what I wanted."

Not so long ago, I was young and full of life. I ran through the forests and swam in the creeks. Every day was a new opportunity, every person a potential friend. My head was filled with big ideas, my heart was filled with hope.

Now, if I can't find my keys, I look in the refrigerator just in case that is where I put them.

©2026 STLtoday.com. Distributed by Tribune Content Agency, LLC.