Bear with me as I return, briefly, to tractor travails.

As you may or may not recall, Ralph recently became more than a little obsessed when our tractor had a small problem. For weeks he drove me crazy about whether or not the hose had been replaced despite repeated confirmations that it had. Finally I convinced Ralph the hose in question had been replaced and breathed the sigh of relief I shared here….Way too soon.

Last week a friend tried to mow the front fields for us and discovered new problems, problems Ralph did not asked to be fixed.

I wasn’t present when Ralph supposedly called Mr. B., the elderly gentleman whom he’s always called for emergency repairs in the past and whose grandson replaced the hose. Ralph told me that Mr. B. promised to have Grandson call back. No call came for several days. But then again, Ralph no longer remembered calling Mr. B. Instead he kept asking if I had called him. Frankly, I dreaded making yet another call to these people whom I had badgered repeatedly at Ralph’s behest over the already fixed hose.

When I finally made myself punch in the numbers, Grandson told me that his mobile mechanic stopped showing up for work three days ago, the tractor side of the business was in crisis and he could no longer do our work.

Maybe I should have given Ralph more credit for his cognitive abilities.

Fortunately, I had another tractor repairman up my sleeve, someone recommended a month ago by the tile guy I used in my new role as rental properties renovator, the role Ralph always handled authoritatively and now the role that has taught me to use my forlorn, slightly ditzy wife of an impaired husband to great advantage.

Sammy showed up an hour after I called—my tile guy had evidently told him all about our situation and he was ready to jump into the breach. And when Ralph learned Sammy already services several of our more persnickety farming neighbors, he decided to trust him.

That’s the good news.

The bad news is that while Ralph called on Mr. B. for emergency problems (like the hose) it turns out that he never ever had the tractor serviced properly. The engine won’t rev high enough; the blades need work; there are leaks and missing screws. Etc. Etc.

Sammy promises he’ll have the tractor back in three weeks (after who knows how many dollars). The grass and baby trees keep growing.

Meanwhile Ralph moved on to obsessing about a horse trailer our former tenant on the farm left behind when she moved. In the last two days Ralph has asked me repeatedly, i.e. ten calls over two hours while I has waiting to have his truck serviced, (another story) “What is happening to the trailer? Is someone coming today to pick it up?” I have explained many times that nothing is happening with the trailer.

I am beginning to wonder if there is something about things beginning with the letter T (tractor, trailer, his truck which I just took to be service) that catches Ralph’s attention.

But really what this tractor business has made me consider is a little more personally troubling. I probably would never have known that Ralph let the tractor slide for years, when he was cognitively healthy, if he did not have cognitive problems now. I think about all the things I have let slide, the mistakes we all make in our lives and are able to cover up—I write this looking around my incredibly messy office—and realize that Ralph’s become transparent in a way I hope I never become but may with time. Which of my secrets and failures and foolishness will my caregivers uncover?

Living with Ralph, watching his struggles not only with memory but also with her sense of identity and control over his life, makes me look into the mirror in uncomfortable ways I might otherwise avoid.