I was thinking today (as one does from time to time) that, for a guy my age, I don’t feel all that bad. (Sorry, identity thieves, but I won’t tell you exactly how old I am.) I have my aches and pains, and I could bear to drop the weight of a pretty large dog, but I honestly expected to be in more pain at this age.

There are little reminders, though. I told you about losing my keys last weekend. Further along in the week, I lost them again. It was one of those dumb senior moment things – I had the keys in one hand, and something (I forget what, of course) in the other hand that I meant to throw away. What I figured out, after searching an hour for the keys, is that I’d dropped the keys in the trash basket, and put the trash… somewhere. Who knows?

I told myself I hadn’t had much sleep the night before. Yeah, that’s the reason.

Another reminder of a different kind came this past Saturday. I’d had a visitation of a vivid memory of a meal I used to order, about 45 years ago, at a restaurant in a St. Paul suburb that shall remain nameless. I wondered if the place still existed, Duck Duck Go’d the name, and what do you know? It’s still there (later intelligence informs me the place has been in business since 1969. The only other place I used to eat at back then that still exists is Perkins). I checked the menu, and my beloved Turkey Dinner was still on it. So I arranged with a friend to go eat there.

Maudlin back story: I’m not entirely sure how I and my then roommate started eating at this particular Chinese restaurant. (I won’t give you the name; this story might reflect badly on them, and I’m pretty sure that would be unfair.) I have an idea we went with The Girls Next Door: the four very pretty, Christian co-eds who rented apartments in the next house over. It was the nicest situation I’ve ever been in, girl-wise, until I made the mistake of falling in love with one of them.

This particular girl, who shall also remain nameless, had grown up in what we used to call the Orient. So I suspect going there was originally her idea. I wasn’t into Chinese food yet, back then. But I was into her. However, when we got there (Sunday lunch; you must imagine me in my brown tweed church suit), we discovered they had a small American menu. I ordered the turkey dinner, as did my roommate. It was really delicious, like mother used to make. As long as we still lived in the Cities, even after the Girls Next Door had scattered like so many golden birds, we’d go there for the turkey dinner.

So, 45 years later, I went back. I ordered the turkey dinner.

It didn’t taste at all as I remembered it.

I am not so arrogant as to think the cooking had deteriorated. I’m pretty sure I have a more sophisticated palate now. I’ve had better turkey dinners and gotten used to them. Perkins is very good. Boston Market, which is no longer around here, was excellent.

I’m not sure if I’m better off knowing that my memories misled me. Maybe I’d be happier just remembering an idealized meal.

Come to think of it, maybe I’m happier imagining an idealized Girl Next Door, too.