Yes. Thanks for the memory.
I’ll start this with a quip made of my old blog RFFT in 2016

An elderly couple had dinner at another couple’s house, and after eating, the wives left the table and went into the kitchen.
The two gentlemen were talking, and one said, ‘Last night we went out to a new restaurant and it was really great. I would recommend it very highly.’
The other man said, ‘What is the name of the restaurant?’
The first man thought and thought, then finally said, ‘What’s the name of that flower you give to someone you love? You know, the one that’s red and has thorns.’
‘Do you mean a rose?’
‘Yes, that’s the one,’ replied the man. He then turned towards the kitchen and yelled, ‘Rose, what’s the name of that restaurant we went to last night?’

Yes, I agree, the above is somewhat extreme, and in my view demonstrates not simply impaired memory, but preoccupation with something else. IOW He isn’t ‘in the room’.

As someone in their seventy-eighth year. It is obvious to me, that short-term memory problems are a clear and present danger for me. The results are usually not too bad if I’m at home, but are accompanied with foul-mouthed expletives leveled out loud at myself.
I’ve always been strict about placement of items I need, not simply everyday objects but tools, electronic components, and last but not least, code and other scribbling held on digital media.
The ‘help’ from individuals who apparently can’t remember where they took something from, and insist on finding a new ‘home’ for it is deeply unwelcome.
This is a feature I referred to above, one of pre-occupation. Their attention is on problems of their own, and lead to lack of focus on what they are currently doing.

My ‘outages’ are generally simply irritating, thankfully. The classic of writing out a shopping list, only to leave it on the table, are apparently not just a trait of mine, but other folks.
I get to the mart, and realize, I haven’t the list, but inevitably remember what I need in spite of this. Those occasions when I don’t write a list, can frequently end up forgetting something I need, despite the item count being relatively small.

Long term memories can be both a blessing, and a curse. I remember the squalor and discomfort of my early life in post-war Gateshead. But even then, there was beauty. Ringtons Tea merchants had a small fleet of hansom cabs, and some truly beautiful horses. I would walk to school early, just to stand and watch them leave in the morning. Mark Tony, who had an ice cream parlour on the High Street, also had a cart pulled by a lovely big grey, and I would stand and talk to it whilst eating my penny cornet.

Most of the pain came from people that should have known better. Teachers, and parents, and of course, the school bullies. Interestingly, I realize now, just how bad it really was. The truth is simple, everyone was suffering much of the same.

Well, I’ve mentioned now, and the dim distant past, what of the middle? To say too much here, would hurt too many folk. The memories are strong, and looking back, I wouldn’t be a subject for sanctification. Many mistakes were made, and not just by me. There is the gift of lovely children, and the apparent rancor of ex-partners and others.

So I have to accept that, despite circumstances, I can still remember the very good and the bad. In most respects, that hasn’t changed, nor would I want it to. I can’t ‘erase’ my mistakes, preferring to learn from them.

Now a bit of ‘old’ fun from someone really discombobulated.

‘I went to the pictures tomorrow
I took a front seat at the back
A lady she gave me some chocolates
I ate them. and gave her them back.
I fell from the pit to the gallery
And broke a front bone in my back
I called for a taxi, and walked it
And that’s how I never got back.’