I never can remember where I’ve left my car keys. It slips my mind that I’ve been told to stop at the grocery for milk. I forget to swing by the pharmacy to pick up prescriptions and occasionally I forget to feed the outside cat. I’m always forgetting this password or that, and I’ve completely forgotten the names of some of my high school chums. People who claim to know about such things tell me this everyday-forgetting is unremarkable. A little more age here, a few things more interesting to ponder there, and the mind wanders off, unconcerned with milk, kitties or keys.
Most recently, I very nearly forgot I’d promised Ruth, of the lovely blog Synch-ro-niz-ing, that I’d accept her invitation to join with a group of bloggers and write about the beginnings of The Task at Hand ~ more specifically, how it received its title. It’s a story I’m happy to recount for a variety of reasons, not the least of which is the sheer pleasure of remembering those first, halting steps onto the path called “writing”. Continue reading