Crepe myrtle

    I appreciate that my brain damage can't possibly be of interest to anyone but me, but of course to me it's of paramount importance. Whenever words disappear, I get worried. Particularly when they're very easy words and very familiar. I don't know about where you live, but around here there's a tree called the crepe myrtle. It has lovely pink flowers. They seem to be running particularly riot this year. I don't know if that means that the trees love the rain or that they're simply tolerant to it, but either way it's a very good summer for crepe myrtle.
    This is a quite familiar tree to me because it is one of my dad's favorites. When he was in the nursing home and barely ever went out, I was trying to get him an electronic picture frame with a slide show of the outside world, which would have featured a lot of crepe myrtle pictures. I never got around to it because his rooms were short of electrical outlets and of wall hangings, so I couldn't figure out how to get it somewhere he could see it.
    But as far as I remember (obviously not very far) I could remember the name of the tree at the time. Now it takes me several tries and sometimes some minutes to recall. Unhelpfully, my brain keeps supplying me with the suggestion, welsh rarebit. This obviously is very much like crepe myrtle in that it has three syllables, two words, and both vowel sounds and consonant sounds. But otherwise not so much.
    I find it more than a little worrying, what with having had a mother who died with senile dementia after a long, long decline. OK, a little worrying. If I start trying to fry up a crepe myrtle, THEN I'll find it worrying!