A Case of Mistaken Identity...

Have you ever been somewhere like, say, for example, the grocery store, and run into someone you know you should know, but you can't quite remember how or where you know them? And then they say hello and you say "hey, (insert name here it doesn't matter what because it will be wrong anyway)" or even "hey, Syljulannmarimmmmmm." I feel like that happens to me a lot. Partly because my brain has been siphoned off to four children. The other two parts would be my advanced age, and the fact that I am my mother's daughter. The chips are stacked against me.

Anyway, I was at the store today, and a woman whose name I do remember called me out in the aisle. It was lovely to see her. We chatted for a few minutes, clogging the aisles so the other shoppers had to weave around us and sidle past. It was divine. We made plans to see each other and then went on our way.

I continued through my shopping excursion until I reached the end, and then as happens, carted my groceries to the van where the bag boy and I loaded the boot (as my English friends call it. And because that's what she calls it, I can't remember what we call it in America.) Anyway, we're loading groceries and this very tiny woman walks up and says hello. I don't know about you, but I don't have many miniature acquaintances, but I had just spent the afternoon with one of them this week so she was on my mind. Also, the woman who approached me looked strikingly similar to my mini-friend, but I knew this woman wasn't her. I just couldn't remember who she was. I'm going to assuage my embarrassment by claiming she couldn't remember my name either. Anyway, I addressed her by a name that wasn't hers, but she either didn't hear me or chose to ignore my gross whatever you would call that.

I confided to the bagger that I couldn't remember how I knew her as she climbed into her ginormous truck, but it was then that I figured out who she was. Why did the truck clear things up? I don't know. Also, I only remember her last name.

I served a mission for my church many moons ago. I spent eighteen months in the Eastern Washington/Panhandle of Idaho region, and we covered a lot of ground and met a lot of people. As a consequence sometimes I couldn't remember people's names or even where I had met them (was it Pullman? Post Falls?).

One time I ran into a man who looked familiar, but I couldn't remember where I'd met him. I foolishly told him I couldn't remember him, and he said he was one of the "three Nephites." (Ask your Mormon friends). I was shocked, I mean he could have been for all I knew, but a few days later I finally remembered my companion and I had been to his house for dinner. Twice.

Fast forward a little over fifteen years, several more cities and hundreds of new faces to today. It's a wonder I remember anyone's name, including my own. So in the word's of Elder Boyd K. Packer:

"You ask, “Do I remember you?”

Of course, you’re much the same.

Now don’t go getting all upset

If I can’t recall your name."

 

Ensign, May 2013