I bless the day 3M invented Post-It notes. I don't think I could survive without them. They decorate my computer, reminding me how to do things like create a folder, undo an error or save an attachment without opening it. They adorn my refrigerator and kitchen cabinets to help me remember what to buy, what to order and when I have to be where.
Also on my refrigerator is a cartoon by Arnie Levin in The New Yorker showing two elephants. One, covered with notes, says to the other, "As I get older, I find I rely more and more on these sticky notes to remind me."
I have notes that say, "Take Lunch," "Take Phone," "Turn Off Computer!" lest I forget such important tasks when I leave home.
Why do I still remember the symbols for all the elements known when I took chemistry 48 years ago, but don't recall what I wrote about yesterday?
When I complained to my 30-something son that I cannot seem to remember anything unless I write it down and stare at it, he said reassuringly, "Mom, by now you've got so much crammed into your head, something is bound to fall out!"
And I know I'm not alone among the over-50 generation. A good friend, two-and-a-half years my senior, endured a six-hour battery of neuropsychological tests because she feared encroaching Alzheimer's disease (she got an all clear). We tease each other about always having to go everywhere together, because we each supply half a memory.
If my husband precedes me in death, my memory of the movies and plays I have seen will die with him. Though eight years my senior, he remembers not only what we have seen, but also where and when.
And why don't I have a politician's memory for names? As a reporter for the Minneapolis Tribune in 1965, I covered Hubert Humphrey's first visit to his home state as vice president. Everywhere he went, he greeted people by name and asked about their relatives, also by name. And seven hours after being introduced to a half-dozen reporters, he said before departing for Washington: "Goodbye, Miss Brody. I'll give your regards to Brooklyn next time I'm there."
When I'm introduced to a new person, the name is gone from my memory before the handshake is over. Probably it was never there to start with, because I've known since childhood that I'm a visual, not an aural, learner. If a new acquaintance has no name tag, a verbally stated name goes in one ear and out the other, bypassing my brain's memory cells.
All through school, I took voluminous notes and underlined every important sentence in my textbooks. During exams, I could visualize the answers on their respective pages. No matter how hard I tried to learn just by listening, the lesson was out of my head by the time I left the classroom.
BLOCKING AND BLANKING
Few of us escape the experience of walking from one room to another and not remembering why or what for. Chances are an extraneous thought in that brief trek blocked out its original purpose. But if you go back to the first room, you nearly always recall your mission. It's annoying, but not really embarrassing, unlike blanking on the name of someone you know well.
Like the time I tried to introduce my stepmother of 25 years to another guest at my party and could not for the life of me think of her first name. "Sandra, I'd like you to meet my motherhuh, huh, Mrs. Brody," I finally blurted out.
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