I cycle to the local shopping center in the rain. My elderly next-door neighbor is there, entering the grocery store at the same time. I wave and greet him with a smile. He looks confused, then scared, then embarrassed, and says, “Are you my neighbor? I don’t recognize faces anymore.” “Yes, it’s me,” I say, giving him a handbasket. “It doesn’t matter. I recognize you.” We both laugh a little.