I've thought about memory, too-- might work on an essay about it, but it would be one of those rambling, Montaigne essays and not a tight 5-paragraph.
I remember the names of most of the teachers I had in grade school. Middle school seems scant-- high school is more secure. If I try hard, I could probably go back and resurrect class schedules.
I have a very good "visual" or "spatial" memory. I can summon up a place in my mind and see the things there, as they were. Sometimes, the place is more powerful than the event: I recalled something painful not too long ago, but the sense of place-- where I stood, what the light was like-- was almost as powerful as the conversation.
I regularly forget my cell phone before I leave the house, at least twice a month.
I have heard we are apt to prevaricate inside our own minds: We like seeing patterns, and so if we don't have a pattern in place, we will superimpose one over the existing information. I presume some of this is because we have so much repetition in our lives that it's just as easy to assume you drove the same way to work on one day when you actually didn't quite drive that way, but took a very similar route.
(There are chapters on this in Carl Sagan's The Demon-Haunted World dealing with false memories of ritualistic abuse, if you're interested, I could loan you the book.)
When I write anything like a memoir, it feels like I'm going underwater or submerging myself in the past. I look at old yearbooks or wonder what the music was like. I get out calendars and see if world events trigger anything. Sometimes I find the information locked away, while other times it eludes me-- and I know that some of it may be confabulation by my brain. I then have to work to sort through all the detail, because some of it is useful to a narrative, but the rest of it may just be the scaffolding of the past I erected to figure something out.
If you're interested in old memory systems, you might want to check out this:
It was an old technique used to link physical places and objects with memories. There are links to the Art of Memory, both the Art and the book by Frances Yates, where I first heard of it. If you've read Thomas Harris' Hannibal, he mentions these "Memory Palaces" that Lecter erected in his mind for such a purpose.
I'm familiar with method of loci, but it's always seemed like a weird way of remembering - to create a false memory in order to remember something(s) else. Mnemonic techniques have never worked for me. They seem to go against my brain's way of remembering things. Also, they're just too much work. Memory palaces, however, sound lovely.
I also have the spatial memory thing - in fact, it may be the places that help me hold on to the event. I usually remember scenery before content. It works well in the present too; it's nice for finding my way. Once I've been to a place I never need a map again to find it.
I'm always interested in a good book recommendation (forgive the rhyme) though I've never been much for prevarication, at least with my actual memories. There's one memory I have that I think I made up something in, but I'm not 100% sure about that. It may have just been that I was only 2 1/2, and so may have been my brain's way of processing the information. The rest are just finite vignettes or jumbles of color around one central object or person. ...I think that's my obtuse way of saying, Yes, I would like to borrow the book.
I remember the names of most of the teachers I had in grade school. Middle school seems scant-- high school is more secure. If I try hard, I could probably go back and resurrect class schedules.
I have a very good "visual" or "spatial" memory. I can summon up a place in my mind and see the things there, as they were. Sometimes, the place is more powerful than the event: I recalled something painful not too long ago, but the sense of place-- where I stood, what the light was like-- was almost as powerful as the conversation.
I regularly forget my cell phone before I leave the house, at least twice a month.
I have heard we are apt to prevaricate inside our own minds: We like seeing patterns, and so if we don't have a pattern in place, we will superimpose one over the existing information. I presume some of this is because we have so much repetition in our lives that it's just as easy to assume you drove the same way to work on one day when you actually didn't quite drive that way, but took a very similar route.
(There are chapters on this in Carl Sagan's The Demon-Haunted World dealing with false memories of ritualistic abuse, if you're interested, I could loan you the book.)
When I write anything like a memoir, it feels like I'm going underwater or submerging myself in the past. I look at old yearbooks or wonder what the music was like. I get out calendars and see if world events trigger anything. Sometimes I find the information locked away, while other times it eludes me-- and I know that some of it may be confabulation by my brain. I then have to work to sort through all the detail, because some of it is useful to a narrative, but the rest of it may just be the scaffolding of the past I erected to figure something out.
If you're interested in old memory systems, you might want to check out this:
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Method_of_loci
It was an old technique used to link physical places and objects with memories. There are links to the Art of Memory, both the Art and the book by Frances Yates, where I first heard of it. If you've read Thomas Harris' Hannibal, he mentions these "Memory Palaces" that Lecter erected in his mind for such a purpose.
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I also have the spatial memory thing - in fact, it may be the places that help me hold on to the event. I usually remember scenery before content. It works well in the present too; it's nice for finding my way. Once I've been to a place I never need a map again to find it.
I'm always interested in a good book recommendation (forgive the rhyme) though I've never been much for prevarication, at least with my actual memories. There's one memory I have that I think I made up something in, but I'm not 100% sure about that. It may have just been that I was only 2 1/2, and so may have been my brain's way of processing the information. The rest are just finite vignettes or jumbles of color around one central object or person. ...I think that's my obtuse way of saying, Yes, I would like to borrow the book.
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