Senior Moments

I had what I thought might be a senior moment.

It occurred to me around 8:00 PM the other night that it was probably one of the last low temperature evenings until the end of summer. I also remembered I had a rump roast in the freezer that needed to be, well, roasted—with potatoes and carrots. Cooking now, the oven would warm the house at a time that it was needed. Knowing this would take a long time to cook, starting at a low temperature since the beef was frozen solid, I planned to eat my supper a little after midnight. I won't mention here that I'm on a really weird sleep schedule.

So I unwrapped the roast, washed it, put it into my pot, covered it, and slid it into a 300° oven.

Once I could pierce the meat without difficulty, I added the potatoes and carrots, and cooked it another hour. When I could smell the delicious aroma after a third hour, I turned the temperature up to 375° until it was done

It was 1:00 AM by the time I got the gravy made and dished up a plate of sliced beef—well done for me—and a couple of spoonfuls of veggies.

When I sat down to eat, thoroughly enjoying every bite of the perfect meal, I noticed no sign of carrots on my plate. Although I could taste the flavor of them in the meat and potatoes, I started questioning myself as to whether I had put them in the pot to begin with. There should have been some little orangey signs on the potatoes even if I didn't get any in my spoonfuls. I wondered, if one cooks carrots long enough will they just dissipate into the liquid?

THAT was my almost senior moment. I got up to look at the remaining veggies in the kitchen and voila, there were the little baby carrot culprits.

This wasn't the first time I've seriously questioned myself. My first senior moment was when I went to the freezer in the garage to get a half gallon of Blue Bell ice cream. I was so disappointed when I couldn't find any because I was sure there were two half gallons in there. After a couple of hours of running the scenario through my mind, trying to recall when I might have eaten a whole gallon of French Vanilla (2 half gallons), I decided to take another look and found them way in the back of the freezer behind several dozen packages of homemade tamales.

I think I'd have fewer senior moments if I'd just quit remembering I'm getting older.