I stand at the top of the stairs and cannot remember why I have climbed them. Am I heading to the left, into my son's bedroom? Right, into my study? Straight-ahead, into the bathroom? I try to retrieve the errand that has sent me up all three flights of stairs on this Thanksgiving morning with a house full of guests and a slew of things to do. Nothing.
I dig my hands deep into the recesses of my bathrobe pockets searching for a clue—a barrette I meant to clip into my hair in the bathroom? A Nerf dart from my son's arsenal that I meant to drop in his toy bin? A receipt for the "Expense" folder in my study? My pockets are empty.