Thanks for the Memories

Life in the Boomer Lane’s Now Husband has spent most of his life accumulating and retaining information. He is a walking compendium of all known knowledge of the universe. Had the Great Library of Alexandria, Egypt been around during his time, it wouldn’t have mattered if it then met its untimely demise due to Julius Ceasar’s accidental burning of it. Now Husband could have recreated the entire contents of the library (over 200,000 books) from memory.

Sometimes it’s difficult to have a conversation with him. A simple chat about Turkey and Greece (places they have both been to) and LBL noting that it’s frustrating how inexplicably tough it is to get from Bodrum in Turkey to Rhodes in Greece, in spite of proximity, will result in an answer that begins, ” A lot of that issue actually began In 1643, when…” and moves at glacial speed into modern times.

Travel is much the same. Now Husband has a world map in his head at all times. Every detail of every trip is located, categorized and stored away. A great meal in Carmel becomes “Remember that great mussel dinner we had at the little place, newly opened, at the water in Carmel in which they prepared a special dessert for us?” LBL listens intently and forces herself to remember being in Carmel. The best she can muster is someplace in California that was charming. There is no way she can ever remember virtually anything Now Husband ever refers to, so her standard response used to be “Did I have fun?” If Now Husband says “Yes,” she says “Great,” and can happily continue to not remember whatever event he is talking about.

Some time ago, Life in the Boomer Lane was tired of all those types of questions, the ones forcing her to access memories she no longer had. She told Now Husband that he was no longer permitted to begin any sentence with the word “Remember.” But that didn’t really solve the problem. The problem was far deeper.

If she couldn’t remember anything about whatever event there was, did the event, in effect, actually never have happened? Does most of her world travel count for nothing? if she couldn’t remember anything about a film she saw or a book she read or a meal she ate, did the film or book or meal exist as unseen or unread or uneaten (This last example should not have been included here, as meals have their own independent memory system. No matter if remembered or forgotten by her, are all still duly retained and remembered by her body.) If we are the sum total of our experiences, is her sum total, like her ever-diminishing height, much smaller than she would have hoped for at this point in her life? Is her entire life an empty-of-humans forest of rapidly falling trees?

The New York Times reminded LBL of this ongoing conundrum in an article which asked, “If we can’t remember the things we’ve read and watched and even loved, do they still “count?” The article seemed to conclude that the issue was not so much memory loss as overload, a conclusion that will calm down countless people of a certain age. LBL, herself, is a bit skeptical. For that reason, she wasn’t surprised, then, to note that, as a segue from wishful thinking to grim reality, following the article were helpful links, the first of which was one about how to prevent memory loss. Case closed.

LBL should feel lucky that she has an in-house recorder of her life’s events, even though the recordation doesn’t start until 2006. And, as superb as Now Husband’s memory is, he doesn’t cover everything. He doesn’t look at LBL’s Kindle and remind her that she already read the book that is on her screen. He also has no memory, of course, of what she does when she travels with friends.

This brings us to our final question: Why are idiotic and embarrassing moments retained forever? LBL would like to forget that she peed all over the floor of the International Arrivals area at Dulles Airport. Even though there was a perfectly good reason for this, she would prefer to forget the event. Alas, not so. Ever. Every f-ing detail.