No, I haven't really lost
my memory in the true sense, and I have enough friends who have that I know
it's nothing to joke about. But in another sense, I have, because I don't know
where it's coming from these days. It makes little sense to me. Why does it
feed me endless meaningless trivia and deny me access to the things that really
matter?
Which is it you need most
in everyday conversation, nouns or verbs? And which is it that my memory blocks
my path to over and again? And I know it's not just my memory but that of many
older people. Our conversations are scattered with whatnots and thingamajigs.
But who is ever at a loss for those verbs?
"Shall we walk or
drive to Whatsit's after the thingy," I say.
Have you ever heard
anyone say, "Shall we whatever or thingamy to Susan's after the
reception"?
No! It's always the nouns
that go.
Whenever in my life I was
to visit a country where I didn't speak the language, which I'm sad to say is
most, I made it a point to learn 50 words in that language. It's simply amazing
how far you can get on fifty basic common words. Did I learn a whole lot of
verbs? No. Maybe to be and to go. And of course please and thank you, yes and
no. Other than that it was nouns; the real essentials. Needless to say my mean
little memory will no longer turn loose most of them in any language, though I
can still sometimes conjugate a few verbs. It's as if the path to nouns has
been overused to the point of challenging travel. The road to verbs, though,
less travelled as it is, offers easy access.
My memory lets me quote
my mother's endless proverbs and sayings without a hitch; don't run before you
can walk, pride comes before a fall, every cloud has a silver lining, we'll
cross that bridge when we come to it, many a true word is spoken in jest. I
don't remember ever asking myself, after all these years,
"What was it my
mother used to say about .... ?"
No, they all spring
uninvited to my consciousness and even to my lips. But can I remember what
someone earlier today asked me to tell Betsy? Highly unlikely! Why does my
memory so insist on locking away anything which actually matters, while
releasing this endless stream of the inconsequential?
I can quote endless
poetry I learned in school. Many people know the lines from Tennyson about
loving and losing but I am one of probably very few who know the two lines
before it, so the whole verse reads -
I
hold it true what e'er befall,
I
feel it when I suffer most,
Tis
better to have loved and lost
Than
never to have loved at all.
And of course he wrote
the entire In Memoriam poem, over a seventeen-year period, to another
man, but that's another story, and another useless one my brain lets me use any
time I want - which I must say is infrequently.
Worse yet, my memory is a
fountain of the totally ridiculous. For example, with apologies to it's
originator, Virginia Hamilton, the following -
What
a wonderful bird the frog are.
When
he sit he stand almost
When
he stand he sit almost.
He
ain't got no tail hardly.
When
he sit he sit on what he ain't got almost.
I can remember that with
no effort, yet when I chance upon an old friend in the grocery store I cannot
work enough magic to come up with her name. Go figure! Ah well, I guess we all
have to work with what we have. So if you come over to chat to me and, rather
than acknowledging you by name, I greet you with,
"What a wonderful
bird the frog are," you'll know I'm just making the best of what I've got.
© 15 Jun 2016
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