In my old age, I am like a Jeopardy contestant, but louder.

First, I must admit I am not a consistent viewer of the popular quiz show. But I have friends, so committed that our phone calls are not permitted during Jeopardy’s airtime.

It is the sense of satisfaction that viewers share with the clever contestant when he/she/they serve the winning answer, that I relate to.

In my case, I haven’t been given a statement of fact (the “clue”) and must respond by phrasing their reply as a question.

And unlike Jeopardy’s format, where questions are the clue, my query starts with, “What did I come into the kitchen/bedroom/bathroom/closet for?”

My setting is similarly spine tingling. I know I have stepped into this particular part of my apartment for a reason. I had entered with purpose. But sadly, from the time I thought of the item being sought, to my actual presence in the designated space, I had forgotten my quarry.

Unlike the poised contestants on the TV show, who merely ring a bell to announce the question, I am overjoyed. Much more emotionaI. Much more relieved.

Here is a typical scene between me and my quest: I walk into the closet. The space contains a row of clothing for the top of my body, and the opposite tangle of hangers hold short pants, my dog Doris’ leash, empty shopping bags, and other items that can linger longer on a hanger.

The floor of the closet has its own supply: a box of fresh puppy pads, a large empty bag for clothes awaiting a wash-and-dry, and assorted items that I had no idea of where to store them.

So see me as I enter slowly into the closet, as if I knew my intent. But alas, i am perplexed of my intended target, and suddenly ecstatic, I shout, “light weight jacket!” I am as gleeful and proud as that Jeopardy contest signaling via a buzzer.

The scene is not an anomaly. If an imagined clue is “Dementia and Cognitive Decline” my bell-ringing answer would be “What is one of the top fears of older adults”?

The list, compiled by experts in senior care, had “Loss of Independence” as first. I beg to differ. “Independence” doesn’t always live up to the hype. On the other hand, if I’ve left my memory somewhere I can no longer find, that is as scary as a gang of noisy kids on Halloween threatening a pumpkin tossing if I fail to supply wrapped or unwrapped candy.

And when a sudden answer arrives in my brain, such as “Your lightweight jacket!. You came into the closet to fetch your lightweight jacket!”, I am relieved. A feeling similar to the calm I feel when my adult children alert me they have arrived safely at their destinations.

Previously, I’ve surmised that my memory issues are related to the bulging files in my brain: so much stuff accumulated over my 88 years that it takes awhile to locate the one I am seeking.

Out of several causes of “why did I come here for?”, I’ve selected a more scientific answer: “The hippocampus, the region of the brain responsible for forming and retrieving new memories, often shrinks or deteriorates slightly with age.”

So, my lightweight jacket has been forced to linger because part of my brain “shrinks or deteriorates” with each candle added atop a birthday cake? Are experts saying my brain is like a favored garment, deteriorated after frequent wash and drys?

Meanwhile, the answer, unwrapped and long adored, is waiting patiently on a closet hanger. “Give ‘er time,” she whispers to her fellow articles of clothing. She’s old.”

And when I finally shout, louder than a Jeopardy contestant, “light weight jacket!”, it feels as triumphant as if I were the TV winner.

This is what I’d like you to take from this Substack: responses of older people may take a bit more time than they’ve been accustomed to. But, be patient, the answer will come up in a few minutes.

And relief will be found, not only like me, the faux contestant, but also to every cloth or cardboard resident of my closet awaiting its escape.

Best of all, if I do watch an episode of Jeopardy, and the clue is: “The region of the brain responsible for forming and retrieving new memories that often shrinks or deteriorates slightly with age, I will gleefully shout: “What is the hippocampus?”