Limbo Is

I realize this may be hard for some to believe, but once upon a time, I only had one ID.

I could identify myself with just my name. Sometimes I didn’t even need to include my middle initial, but I usually did. I liked the name my parents had chosen, Marilyn.

Then the year I was fourteen, my kindly Grandfather went to the Social Security Office and obtained another form of ID for me. The small card, he advised, was to be kept safe and I should never forget the number. I followed his advice and six years later had it updated with my married name. I then included my maiden name rather than continue with a middle initial.

Eventually after spending a long time trying, I obtained a driver’s license. I have never relinquished that hard earned item.

Tbis week has been delightfully different. For the first time since Covid arrived, I have emerged four days consecutively from my apartment. It has been a exhilarating experience.

However, I cannot keep count of the many times I have been asked to produce identification.

Monday I had a routine physician’s appointment. Despite the fact that I am a longtime patient, their computer requires yearly updates. Obviously this required, not only my Medicare card and other insurance information, but also proof of my identity.

I carry a relatively small purse, but managed to extricate all four items from the small pink Coach wallet from Tanger that I treasure.

Tuesday I arrived for a delightful reunion with my hairdresser, a rendezvous desperately needed and appreciated.

Before allowing access to the premises, proof of my vaccine was required. Fortunately, I remembered to bring that small cardboard item also tucked into my wallet. I quickly realized I must have it laminated soon.

Yesterday en route to another annual medical appointment, I was required to notify their office by phone before entering the building. Accidentally, I inserted the wrong Passcode into my archaic cell phone and ended up in the technical desert called “DISABLED”

Beyond the four ID cards I now carry, I also possess an Apple ID, password and passcode. Since I own an IPad, a Macbook Air as well as the small aged Iphone, I keep all this information on my dependable devices.

Unfortunately, since I rarely use my cellphone, the one item I neglected to record was not the phone number, nor the ID name or password, but the Iphone passcode. Consequently, I was in limbo (if there is still such a place) with Apple despite a pristine record as a customer.

I know my own name, both maiden and married.

I have never forgotten the day I was married nor the time and hour when it ended and I was alone.

I remember my social security number and birthdates of the Fabulous four, as well as their significant others, and the eight grandchildren.

I can recite their phone numbers and the color of their eyes, but I cannot memorize my passwords, passcodes and other vital information my impatient devices demand. If I am given enough time, I do dredge them out of memory, but I cannot be rushed.

Now I have to ponder do I need a larger wallet or purse?

Or perhaps a small tattoo in a discrete color that will prevent failing to adequately identify myself in an absurdly brief span of time.

Digital Limbo is no fun.