My first full day in Montreal in almost ten years was strangely familiar and yet very different.

The grey clouds pushed out flakes of white as I walked streets I didn’t remember, to a conference for those who’ve lost their memory.

The irony wasn’t lost on me as I found my destination.

I listened with the best intentions, remarking to others of similar attention span sitting close to me that learning in a lecture hall is much harder the less you do it.

I did hear frightening truths that made me reaffirm my vows to myself to continue to exercise daily, eat my veggies and live as healthy a life as possible.

When the experts think that dementia begins 25-30 years before you notice memory concerns, that applies to almost everyone now over the age of 30, a category I am still surprised to discover I fit neatly into.

With worry for my future, I walked back at the end of the day to share a burger and fries with my family,

although I told myself that skipping the fries would help my poor beleaguered brain.

We had a nice visit with my brother while we ate our squishy burgers, authentic from Five Guys in the downtown, delivered on a bike in a brown paper bag.

With renewed will power, I reaffirmed my vows, promising that I will never eat from there again, disappointed both by the quality of the food, as well as the length of time my healthy eating resolve lasted.

But tomorrow is another day, and I postive that I see a salad in it somewhere.