Play Leapblog-then you die

Prepare for not being prepared. Aging is full of surprises, loss of memory creeps in fairly early-, or middle-age to the layman. I've observed that people who started out with minimal brain cells should've been smart enough not to have killed them off in such mass quantities. Okay. Fun is fun, but.. also a very serious thing to find enjoyable at all times in all reality. Becoming an annoying test pattern burn-out in the pursuit isn't my idea of fun, ...or, shouldn't be? On the other hand, how would anyone know they're not having fun for sure if their brain-cells are down to the dregs? I've had to put in a lot of work & time to have fun having fun. It's a learned skill, plus this ability requires constant practice over a lifetime. *it was very difficult to become one of the few masters of having fun. Aging & fun together? The reality show for a war zone.
***I picture the brain as a rough gemstone that gets smoother on the outside layer with wear. (*not necessarily use). The recent memories are on the outside, so the sands of time, -like sandpaper, blow these off first. It's the foamy head on your brew. Old memory is buried deeply inside, like the cherry in the chocolate.
Note: My long-time friend, Steve, had a grandmother that had called him "Kirby" the last 20 years or so of her life. I'd assumed it was a cute nickname, -a sweet Grandmotherly term of endearment. Finally I took the time to ask him about the Kirby alias, -just a few years before Granny passed away. Steve became irritated. It seems he really really whole-heartedly hated being called 'Kirby'. It was the name of his Grandma's first childhood dog, a collie. She'd forgotten his name sometime in his youth. Even when corrected, Grandma still called him Kirby. Of course, the fact I'd mistaken this woman for a lamp in the family picture window for years, could equal things out in someway. Perhaps, some of you millions of readers will wonder, What in the hell could be a reason to relate this dumb story here? Hang on. Eureka, this is it: It was proof enough for me, to validate the premise that our recent memory is the first to go.
To add, ...Eventually new thoughts won't even stick on the slippery outer surface in my opinion.
The above poignant story was the REASON behind my personal mid-life theory about a method, for those that desire one, that would keep the brain on a status-quo basis with AGE,
as follows:
Mind Maintenance. Constantly Rolidex contents of the mind; Mix & blend old & new thought; Update, rearrange space; Adjust the spin angle rotation according to needs. Know a good file system is key to your having any old times left to remember. This should keep the erosion evenly distributed, with less wear & scaling on the exterior. Similar to turning old wine casks...(*the only comparison that came to mind *now.) The above shuffling method may be the final answer to keeping one's brain fresh. It can be employed along with the usual hokey challenges, crossword-puzzle brain-twister IQ exercise. With only ONE failure, this idea shouldn't be ruled out quite yet. The not knowing how to do this was the major setback in my case. It is hard to even judge how often it's needed to do, *uniformly, if I had ever figured exactly how it's done in the first place. Obviously, it had to fail, and did. There's a rational possibility my theory only needed some serious thought. Keep it in mind. Know the next handy leapblog to assist the aging is up there somewhere. These hints are not a charade or intended solely for the purpose of entertainment or enjoyment,- kids.

Addendum: 6/8/09-It was strongly suggested that I clarify the "Kirby" story, *in the case anyone remembers it now. Steve or "kirby" to his 100 yr. old Grandmother, is probably one of the smartest people I've ever met...-my best girlfriend for some years. A talented theatrical actor, well-known rock singer, writer, very successful in every endeavor he attempted, capable-plain & simple,-Also an all-around, macho witty party-loving guy. Although his Grandmother was very ill, had been for months, we still went camping. This trip is a long story in itself-, much like an Hunter Thompson esploit. We didn't have to fight off the bear, thank heaven, --the gun had been left a mile or so up the hill in the van anyway. During this fear & loathing adventure, Steve made & tended a bonfire befitting a large college homecoming game. It drew some attention, but no more than an English Bull Terrier circling our campsite in attack mode. Nothing like the great outdoors, especially enhanced with a huge 10-man tent, -enough substances for a large rock concert, -plus board games & music. After a few days, Steve drove out of the wilderness in order to find a phone & call home, check on things...

Grandmother had just passed away.

With much sorrow & mental anguish, it was decided there was nothing he could do if we packed up & drove home right then. The funeral wasn't until Monday, almost 3 days away, he was expected to be a pallbearer then, the folks suggested he stay-, he'd really needed that vacation too. ...And,..-after all, she was old, & had lived a very full life. I remember her surrounded by light. It was expected. He'd pretty much already mourned her passing, *since he was dubbed Kirby.
We arrived back in town, -a matter of hours before the service, in a hung-down strung-out moldy condition rarely seen in daylight. Steve dressed up, (what a trooper), & proceeded to perform his pallbearer duties...head held high...Then,...all of a sudden...-a small trickle of blood starting running from his nose...an attention getter in the least, & difficult to conceal carrying a coffin. The rest is history...here's to Kirby!! The two fifths of Bushmills are another issue, for another day. A trip that will probably remain in my memory when all else is wiped clean.