A Surreal Conversation

Kate and I just returned from dinner where we had the most (only) surreal conversation of our 55-year marriage. On a number of occasions, I have said that I wished I could remember the exact details of our conversations. That was never truer than right now. It began as we were backing out of our garage. She commented on “this whole area” where we live. I asked if she meant the house or the neighborhood. She said everything. Then she added, “I would like to live here if we move back.” Those last two words were the clincher for me. I knew that she thought we were in her home town of Fort Worth. I didn’t correct her. As we drove down the street, she commented on the trees and specific houses that she liked. Then she asked if she had “lived here before.” I started to tell her she lived here now. Instead, I said, “Yes.” She said, “On the way home, I want you to show me which house.” Before we arrived at the restaurant, she asked where we were. This time I told her Knoxville, Tennessee. She repeated “Tennessee” and said she liked it.

Once we were seated at the restaurant and placed our order, she said something else that made me believe that we were in Fort Worth. There was a pause in our conversation. Then she said, “Who is my mother?” After I told her, we began a conversation much like one I described earlier this week. She said, “Tell me about her. What was she like?” I shifted into my storyteller role and told her about her mother’s being from Michigan and that her father and mother had met there one summer when he had traveled there with his mother. I talked about her mother’s family and her parents’ courtship that led to their marriage and making their home in Fort Worth. My story was punctuated by her expressions of surprise at everything I said. That was very unusual. Typically, when I tell her things like this, she displays some sense of recognition. The only part of the story that struck a chord was when I talked about how well-liked and respected her mother was. I mentioned that her mother had come to Fort Worth as a stranger but was welcomed into the family, and she loved them back.

Then she redirected the conversation. First she said, “And they (her family) welcomed you into the family too.” Then she shifted gears again saying, “I want to thank you for being so understanding. You never rush me.” I do think I am pretty understanding. I also know that I try not to rush her. On the other hand, I know that she feels I rush her more than occasionally. I recognize, however, that when we are not in one of those “rushing” moments, she is very generous with her compliments. This was one of those times. I would like to say that my modesty prevents my telling you other things she said, but, alas, it’s my memory that’s the culprit. I do recall that immediately after saying such good things about me, she said, “What’s your name?”

From there, she found herself struggling for the right words. She asked the name of the university located here. I thought she might be thinking of TCU, but I told her the truth and said, “the University of Tennessee.” It turned out that I was right, but she accepted my answer without question. There were moments when she was slipping back and forth between thinking we were in Texas and then Tennessee. For me, it was like being in someone else’s dream. She moved so seamlessly from reality to imagination. It was surreal, and it lasted so long.

Later, as we turned into our drive, I asked if she recognized our house. She didn’t. This was the only time that I have been aware that she failed to recognize and say something about how much she liked it. There have been times when she thought it was a former house or a house in Fort Worth, but she has always recognized it before.

After our conversation, I might have expected her to want my help in directing her where to go when we got inside. This time, however, she walked straight to the bathroom to brush her teeth. After that, she didn’t say or do anything that suggested any confusion. She seemed perfectly normal.