It was a brilliant idea. A perfect topic for an article to share with the good readers of Senior Living. Even now I remember the feeling of satisfaction mingled with excitement as words fell into sentence after sentence in a near effortless flow across my mind. I murmured out loud the gist of the idea, hoping to cement the timely theme in the recesses of my brain. With pen and paper not at the ready, I nudged myself to repeat the major points mentally. With emphasis. So that they’d be top-of-mind tomorrow when I’d have time to put fingers to keyboard.
It was indeed a grand topic. That much I remembered. But unfortunately, that’s all I remember. Not even a glimpse of the brilliant idea could be retrieved. I chastised myself for not at least noting something about the topic in a note on my phone. Shoving aside the rising disappointment, I purposely put it out of my mind, determined not to “try to hard” to bring it back. It will come to me later, I assured myself. Because that happens, right? Things spring to mind at the most random times. While loading the dishwasher, cleaning up dog doo-doo in the back yard, or in those twilight moments before sleep envelops.
It is with great sadness that I report the grand and brilliant and perfect-topic idea never resurfaced. Some six or so months after it sprang to life with such fervor, I’ve got nothing. I fear it’s gone forever.
For much of my life, I was blessed with a good memory, oft hearing, “How can you remember that?” or similar sentiments. I had no idea what contributed to my memory prowess. I just knew I’d always been good with dates, birthdays and anniversaries and such. Even as a kid, I could be counted on to know my parents and siblings, grandparents and many cousins’ birthdates. They just stuck in my head.
There was that time when my youthful, 8th-grade brain did not retain my locker combination over the extended Christmas/New Years break. The office personnel snickered when I begged their assistance in retrieving the pesky three-digit code. But overall, my remembering abilities were a staple, something to be counted on, by me and others.
Some years back, I served for three years as the church secretary, which provided opportunity for many telephone numbers and addresses to seep into my mind. Contact info for dozens and dozens of people took up residence in my brain. The amount of data I could recall at nearly a moment’s notice sometimes surprised even me.
When I left the church office for a four-year stint at the local Chamber of Commerce, an entirely different and larger catalogue of facts and figures invaded my brain, pushing church congregation info to the fringes from where it was less often called upon. Some 20 years later, business-related data still surfaces from time to time.
But I sense the tide is turning. Honestly, has been turning would be a more accurate description.
Yesterday, I stared at yet another unidentified Ziploc baggie of a frozen brownish substance. Likely a bit of leftover sauce or glaze, possibly the beginning “base” ingredients for a favorite recipe. Could be the remainder of a can of any number of culinary ingredients. Then and now, I ponder how these freezer stashes apparently bear no resemblance to the product in its original, unfrozen state. And I grumble at the rationale I too often and very unwisely follow when dropping these items into the freezer, “I’ll remember what that is . . . NO need to label the bag.”
I blame the sheer amount of information stored in the wrinkles of my gray matter for the sluggish performance I’ve noticed, here and there, for . . . well, for an amount of time I hesitate to put in writing. Instances when a name-to-match-the-face took a bit too long to surface. When a word I’ve spelled accurately since the 7th grade causes my fingers to hover above the keyboard for an unacceptable number of consecutive seconds. When I’ve arrived home from the grocery store to discover the item that headlined the errand is not among the purchased contents.
In an attempt to reconcile with the reality that my once stellar memory will likely not return to its former glory days, I’m shifting into proactive mode. For one, I’m being more purposeful about and attentive to where I put things as nothing is more frustrating that time spent/wasted looking for something. I’m also becoming BFFs with the calendar feature on my phone as it’s well-suited for noting appointments, family events, social engagements, bill paying reminders, project due dates, and even directions and/or other important details about upcoming events and engagements. And (high five!) I’m getting better at remembering to check the calendar to see the helpful, detailed entries stored there. Mm hmm . . .
Fear of losing even one more grand-brilliant-perfect idea, bit of dialogue, or vivid description has fortified my resolve to consistently use my phone to capture these spur-of-the-moment inspirations with a quick talk-to-text message to myself. It’s the perfect on-the-go, easy-to-execute, no-excuses way to manage a memory that may have slipped just a bit. But it only works if I use it—like every time a thought is likely to escape into the wind—rather than in a haphazard, if-the-mood-strikes-me fashion. Like I used to admittedly do before the grand-brilliant-perfect idea vanished. There’s even a handy Phone Link app that allows me to pull the saved inspirations from my phone to my laptop with just a few keystrokes. Now, that’s brilliant.
And I’m happy to report that now, only occasionally do I swipe down to glimpse the name of the sender whose text message just pinged on my phone. Progress, indeed.
Beth Steury, Author 