I don't know about you, but I like to know where things are when I need them.

There was a time when I had virtually everything I knew at my fingertips. When I was a kid, they said I had a photographic memory. Names. Phone numbers. Authors. Historical trivia. Car keys. Movie dialogue. Song lyrics. You name it.

But something happened. I'm not sure exactly when it began. But the brain I once took so much pride in when I was younger went full Benedict Arnold on me, leaving me at the mercy of intellectual battles I'd always taken for granted. My brain—the ungrateful lump of protoplasm—switched sides. Now, the thing regularly and actively works against me.

I can't tell you how often I get up, go into the kitchen … and just stand there. My mouth hangs open, and I start looking from side to side. Sometimes, I just give up and go back to what I was doing (if I can remember by this time). And it might be another hour before I recall what I needed to do in the kitchen.

Car keys. iPhone. Remote control. AirPods. I'm forever hunting for things I could swear "I-laid-down-right-here."

But here's the good news. I've worked out a nifty little system to beat my back-stabbing brain. It's pretty radical, really. You may not have even thought about this elegant solution before. So, here's another freebie from uncle Derek:

Put everything back in the same place. Every time. That way, you know exactly where things are supposed to be when you need them.

And it works amazingly well … until it doesn't.

Here's what happens. I go to get the thing that de-cores an apple and cuts into perfect little sections. You know what I'm talking about?

Right. I go to get it out of the cupboard … whaddya know? It's not there.

So, the next scheme in my rapidly deteriorating bag of tricks is to do the obvious. "Honey, have you seen the apple-thing?"

"Did you look for it? It should be in the cupboard."

"Of course, I looked for it."

"Where?"

"In the cupboard!"

"Did you look anywhere else?"

See, and this is what gets me. Why would I look anywhere else? It's supposed to be in the cupboard. That's why I always put it back in the cupboard—I don’t like having these conversations any more than she does.

And the more I think about it, the angrier I get. Of course, none of this is her fault. It's probably one of the kids. I mean, I put these things in the same place every time, and one of the kids uses it and doesn't put it back.

I know this is what happened as surely as the sun rises in the east and the crocuses bloom in spring. The kids didn't put it back.

By now, I'm really going. "I don't even know why we decided to have kids in the first place. Can't keep anything nice around here."