The persistance of memory...no not the freaky painting by Dali
It's weird how memory works and what triggers it.
I know the senses are powerful catalysts for memories.
Whenever I taste something metallic, like licking a penny, a memory of playing with my cousins in my Granny's side yard at her house in Vandalia, MO comes to mind. Granny had a well pump with the coldest, clearest water in her yard and she'd give us kids these colorful little metal glasses to drink out of. I don't know if the metallic tang came from the glasses, the well water, or both, but even after more than 40 years the memory is still bright in my mind.
When I was in college my friends took me out to a trendy little bistro for my birthday and I had French onion soup. When we got back to her house we smelled smoke. The house down the street was on fire and we could hear a frantic dog inside that we couldn't get to. The fire department didn't get there in time and that soup wasn't nearly as tasty when it made a reappearance. It took me years before I could even smell French onion soup without getting nauseous.
Memory triggers can also be paired for me, sometimes endlessly on repeat, with writing. I should qualify that it's almost exclusively things that I've envisioned but have yet to write. Like I came up with the idea of a remix of the Renaissance era movie Flesh+Blood with Jensen/Jared, Jensen/JDM and unrealized Jared/Jeff. It was a vague idea but one day when I was zoning (straightening) the baby food aisle at work I came up with the visual of Jeff and Jensen re-enacting the bathtub scene which begins at about 1:50 in the video below and is cut into it in many places but basically culminates with Alice sinking down on Martin around 3:50. So now whenever I straighten baby food I'm treated to the spontaneous mental image of a young Jensen sinking down onto Jeff in a huge wooden bathtub surrounded by candlelight. Definitely one of my better visuals and I'm almost loath to actually write this scene for fear the visual will vanish. *G*
So what triggered this trip down 'memory lane'?
My father has been dead for over 30 years. When he died, one of the things I inherited was his radio/alarm clock. I haven't thought about replacing it because it's served its purpose all these years. But the alarm has become a little wonky and the radio is even a little staticky if the weather is at all bad. For the last few months I've had to back it up with the alarm from my cell phone, but I hate waking up to the sound of an alarm; I much prefer a radio because I awaken very easily.
Friday I broke down and bought a new radio/alarm and I set it up last night. But I can't bear the thought of getting rid of that ancient clock radio. I can't even bear the thought of packing it away so that I can't see it every day. I have other things that belonged to my father, like his guitar, but it's not the same as stashing away something that was an integral part of his everyday life and that has filled the same slot in mine for many years. So what to do with a redundant but precious radio/clock in a very small apartment? I guess I'll have a radio/clock in my bathroom now. Not that I need one there.
I wonder if the next time I'm sick and hovering in the bathroom I'll derive any comfort from seeing that relic from my father's life glowing at me from the counter top.
I know the senses are powerful catalysts for memories.
Whenever I taste something metallic, like licking a penny, a memory of playing with my cousins in my Granny's side yard at her house in Vandalia, MO comes to mind. Granny had a well pump with the coldest, clearest water in her yard and she'd give us kids these colorful little metal glasses to drink out of. I don't know if the metallic tang came from the glasses, the well water, or both, but even after more than 40 years the memory is still bright in my mind.
When I was in college my friends took me out to a trendy little bistro for my birthday and I had French onion soup. When we got back to her house we smelled smoke. The house down the street was on fire and we could hear a frantic dog inside that we couldn't get to. The fire department didn't get there in time and that soup wasn't nearly as tasty when it made a reappearance. It took me years before I could even smell French onion soup without getting nauseous.
Memory triggers can also be paired for me, sometimes endlessly on repeat, with writing. I should qualify that it's almost exclusively things that I've envisioned but have yet to write. Like I came up with the idea of a remix of the Renaissance era movie Flesh+Blood with Jensen/Jared, Jensen/JDM and unrealized Jared/Jeff. It was a vague idea but one day when I was zoning (straightening) the baby food aisle at work I came up with the visual of Jeff and Jensen re-enacting the bathtub scene which begins at about 1:50 in the video below and is cut into it in many places but basically culminates with Alice sinking down on Martin around 3:50. So now whenever I straighten baby food I'm treated to the spontaneous mental image of a young Jensen sinking down onto Jeff in a huge wooden bathtub surrounded by candlelight. Definitely one of my better visuals and I'm almost loath to actually write this scene for fear the visual will vanish. *G*
Click to viewSo what triggered this trip down 'memory lane'?
My father has been dead for over 30 years. When he died, one of the things I inherited was his radio/alarm clock. I haven't thought about replacing it because it's served its purpose all these years. But the alarm has become a little wonky and the radio is even a little staticky if the weather is at all bad. For the last few months I've had to back it up with the alarm from my cell phone, but I hate waking up to the sound of an alarm; I much prefer a radio because I awaken very easily.
Friday I broke down and bought a new radio/alarm and I set it up last night. But I can't bear the thought of getting rid of that ancient clock radio. I can't even bear the thought of packing it away so that I can't see it every day. I have other things that belonged to my father, like his guitar, but it's not the same as stashing away something that was an integral part of his everyday life and that has filled the same slot in mine for many years. So what to do with a redundant but precious radio/clock in a very small apartment? I guess I'll have a radio/clock in my bathroom now. Not that I need one there.
I wonder if the next time I'm sick and hovering in the bathroom I'll derive any comfort from seeing that relic from my father's life glowing at me from the counter top.