The Problem with Numbers

I once read that Albert Einstein didn't know his own phone number. He said it was a waste to crowd his brain by memorizing information that could easily be found in a book. I'm pretty sure that is an urban rumor. But I use it a lot to cover my own ineptitude with numbers. For instance, I never remember the exact ages of our grown children. I mean, I know what year they were born (most of the time) and if I have a calculator handy, I can figure it out.

I realize some people do not suffer with this problem. My friend Barb once had the entire church phone directory memorized - home, work, and cell! Nobody bothered looking anything up; we just asked Barb. I, on the other hand, inevitably transpose two random digits in every phone number I jot down from the answering machine.

This is a great occupational hazard for the part of one's job that entails returning phone calls.

So, after I blogged about Charity's birthday, people kept asking me how old she was, and I'd just mutter, "twenty-something." Finally, in the evening, I decided to figure it out. Fortunately my sister was in the room at the time, and two of her children bookend Charity in age. Unfortunately, she never remembers how old her children are either.

And that is the great thing about sisters. They can always make you believe your wackiness is actually normal. So, here's to sisters. Mine just drove across the country for the birth of her fourth grandchild following the engagement party for her youngest son. I'm pretty sure she doesn't remember how old anyone is today, and I doubt she even cares.