"It happens to everyone, Allen. You know that," my wife said. Her hazel eyes turned green when I annoyed her, which lately, was most of the time.

"But three times already today, Meg, and it's not yet noon!"

We were in the kitchen. I sat at the small round table drinking my third cup of coffee while she stood by the sink fertilizing pots of African violets loaded with pink blossoms.

"So you forgot your dentist appointment. Make another," she said. Her gaze had shifted to the flowers.

"I also forgot to bring the car in from the curb last night. When I went to get the newspaper, I found a ticket on the windshield."

"Big deal. I've done that, too."

"Twice in one week?"

Meg pried her eyes from her posies to stare at me. "And what's the third big thing that's got you flummoxed this morning?" she demanded.

"I forgot to send that Easter card to my sister. It's been sitting on my desk for days, but I--"

"Call her. She'd prefer that anyway."

I slurped coffee. Deliberately.

Meg sighed, knowing me too well. She wiped her hands dry with a towel, then came to the table to sit beside me. Our eyes met. Hers were amber now, full of concern.

"You're thinking of Wayne, aren't you?""

I nodded. "You saw . . . heard him yesterday when he dropped by. He couldn't remember names, places. He--he's getting worse . . . and so am I."

"He has dementia, Allen, but you don't."

I glared at her. "He's only a month older than me. That's all! Maybe I do!"

Smiling, she reached across the table to caress my fingers.

"Honey, forgetting where you put the car keys is just being forgetful. Forgetting what they're used for is dementia."

Now she had me smiling.

"What you really need, Allen, is a good Spring cleaning."

"Huh?"

Her smile gleamed.

"Remember what your mother used to say when her sciatica bothered her so much she could barely think?"

I shrugged.

"She'd laugh and say, 'I must clear the cobwebs out of my mind.' Then she'd call a cab and play Bingo or Bridge all afternoon. She'd do crossword puzzles or read. Remember how often she went to the library? Your mother had the most active mind of any woman I ever met. How old was she when she died?"

"Eighty-nine."

"And sharp as a tack to the very end, right?"

I nodded.

"You've become brain-lazy, Allen. Learn from Pete, the magician/ventriloquist you've told me about. Didn't you say he also plays the guitar, paints, and teaches a business course?"

"Yup."

"So get some new hobbies. Clear those cobwebs! Activate your brain like your mother did."

"Okay . . . if I can remember how to use it."