I&#039;m currently in Anchorage for a series of Sisters in Crime events. &nbsp;A medical issue (nothing life threatening, don&#039;t worry!) is keeping Bill at home, so for the first time in years I find myself out on the road on my own without even Bella, the Book Tour Dog, for company. &nbsp;The ladies at SinC are treating me well, and last night they took me to dinner at one of their favorite hangouts here in town.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;We arrived fairly early. &nbsp;My hostesses had chosen a booth in the bar. &nbsp;The problem with that was that the bar was very noisy--full of people talking loudly and having a good time. &nbsp;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I am a lady of a certain age. &nbsp;I have a serious hearing loss in both ears. &nbsp;I wear hearing aids, and that level of background noise makes conversation pretty much impossible. I asked if we could please sit in the restaurant part of the establishment, and my request was graciously honored. &nbsp;At first it was fine. &nbsp;(That&#039;s a real fine, not a two-raised-eyebrow fine which, those of you acquainted with female non-verbal communication understand isn&#039;t fine at all!)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Over time, however, the restaurant filled up with noisy conversation, too. &nbsp;So I sat there during the evening, trying to listen and participate, but mostly watching what I could see of the kitchen--the food being slapped up onto the counter where it sat under heat lamps until the server came to pick up the order. &nbsp;And suddenly I was stuck trying to remember the name of restaurant heat lamps. &nbsp;Not crocodile. &nbsp;Not alligator. &nbsp;But one of those low built, creepy/crawly creatures. &nbsp;No matter how hard I tried to remember, both at the restaurant and after I left there, I couldn&#039;t come up with the word Salamander. &nbsp;Because that&#039;s what they&#039;re called. &nbsp;I know because my husband told me so this morning.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;What I remembered instead was having a friend call me shortly before a Christmas party to ask if there was anything I needed her to bring from the store. &nbsp;There was, but right that minute, I couldn&#039;t remember the word &#039;eggnog&#039; to save my soul. &nbsp;In fact, I&#039;m having a little trouble remembering eggnog this morning. &nbsp;Because now we call it &lsquo;holiday milk.&rsquo;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Those of you who read my books already understand that my mind doesn&#039;t run in a straight line. &nbsp;I often go off on what my high school English teacher, Mrs. Medigovich, used to call tangents.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The idea of having to ask for help on a missing word made me think about my mother. &nbsp;After my Uncle Harold suffered a debilitating stroke, he was severely aphasic. &nbsp;Occasionally he could say a word or two, but not necessarily the word he wanted at the time. &nbsp;While he could still travel, however, he loved to come to Bisbee to stay with my folks. &nbsp;Bisbee had two attractions for him. &nbsp;The weather because he lived in South Dakota and my mother. &nbsp;She was a wise woman who could usually get to the heart of any matter in no time at all and who, through an uncanny ability to play Twenty Questions, was unerringly able to sort out what Harold needed or wanted. &nbsp;Once he was anxious, worrying about whether the property taxes on his farm would be paid on time and my mother figured that one out in a trice. &nbsp;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;But her all-time high mark came when Harold was upset about something on the farm, something in the house, something up in the attic. &nbsp;Within a matter of minutes, she was able to unravel the mystery. &nbsp;They were getting ready to do an auction on Uncle Harold&#039;s property, and he didn&#039;t want to lose track of his electric train which had been stowed away in the attic of the farmhouse since he was a kid. &nbsp;&nbsp;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So don&#039;t look for a logical connection between the two parts of this story--my husband gifting me with Salamander this morning and my mother coming up with the electric train for my Uncle Harold. &nbsp;The nexus is somewhere in my head, and as everyone knows, women&#039;s heads are full of &quot;cotton, hay and rags.&quot;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Hey, it&#039;s already October. &nbsp;How soon do you think it will be before they have holiday milk in the stores?&lt;br /&gt;