Trusting Memory…a Low-Percentage Bet

 

Memory: A faculty for the repository and retrieval of data in the human brain that often provides comic entertainment for the heavenly theater.

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Trusting memory, at your age? The percentages are better by trusting a roll of the dice at a casino crap shoot than relying on memory to remember names.    

It happens often. You’re talking with a friend and see another friend in the distance, heading your way. But what’s his name? An introduction might be in order. But maybe not, if you’re lucky.

There’s time, maybe a distant wave and he’ll walk on by, save you the embarrassment of not remembering his name. But it’s not your lucky day. He approaches closer. Anxiety swells. The name, the name?    

Your mind locks up, goes blank. Its lights blink on and off. Your tongue’s glued to the roof of your mouth. Seconds pass in slow motion while you try to recall the name. It won’t come and the muted presence is ominous. The heavenly theater begins to laugh.

Too late for delays. In warp speed you ‘rack your brain’ for the name. The internal rolodex spins at the speed of light. No time to run the alphabet, A, B, C.  The name, the name, what is it?

The heavenly theater is on the edge of its seats, enjoying your dilemma. ‘Racking’ was a grim medieval torture device whereby one is strapped to a frame, their bodily limbs stretched apart slowly in a public spectacle. Your brain is screaming now, the name, the name. It doesn’t come. The rack tightens. The theater roars with laughter.

Time seems to stop. The memory gods are having fun with your brain’s dice today.

Too late now for defensive maneuvers. The friend stands there, waiting. Conversation stops. It’s your move. You trusted your memory, and it’s failed you miserably today. Snake eyes.

You fidget, shuffle your feet and blurt out the utterly stupid and only face-saving quip you know: “Hi, y’all know one another, right?” Whereupon you vaporize while they introduce themselves. The curtain goes down on the heavenly matinee.

But you fooled nobody. They know. They’ve been here themselves. It’s a human condition. Trusting memory is leaning on a weak reed. It’s as fugitive as a convict on the loose and desperately fickle. You’d sooner trust in the stars than to rely on retrieval of instantaneous data from this unpredictable depot of duplicity.   

We have workarounds to avoid the total collapse of mental function. Forget calling the doc for a pill. He has no pill to give you. Besides, he might even suggest you abandon some remaining joys of life…wine, martinis, cheeseburgers.

But a faulty memory can sometimes be a person’s best friend. Think about it. It provides a universal excuse for forgetting. Forgetting can eliminate many problems, for example:  

“Did you remember to pick up the cleaning?” she asks.

“I forgot.” End of discussion.  Perfect excuse. Procrastinate.

Most of us have figured out ways and means for remembering. My car steering wheel is a mobile bulletin board. I need gas, I write “Gas” on a note and affix it to the steering wheel. Same with needing cash, “Bank.”  Need “Pills?” Not perfect, but effective.    

For all things important we have Siri, Google, Amazon and Universal Brain apps to remind us…birthdays, anniversaries, appointments, things we buy, music we listen to, everything. But not names. Is there a solution?   

                                                                            ***

If not remembering names is a universal curse, then is there a universal cure? Yes. Name tags. Be the first to start a trend, and the heavenly theater will have to find another fool to laugh at.

Now who do you say you are? I forget.

Bud Hearn

July 22, 2022

     

Spirit of Rebellion

The War of Independence was a one-sided matchup. England, population 6.4 million, a military of 2.4 million and an awesome armada, versus The Colonies, about 2.5 million farmers and colonists. No Las Vegas bookie would have bet on America. But God did.

There’s a rebellious streak in youth. It’s a natural tendency. It thrives to despise authority, to abhor rules, to kick back at every provocation that seeks to restrict its sense of freedom. If you don’t believe this, adopt a teenager.

The young are revolutionists, sometimes seditionists. Innovation is their magic carpet. They detest traditionalism. Their minds have not yet crossed the threshold of Concession or Impossibility. Things are black or white, not gray. It’s blood and guts, not cookies and tea.

Youth has something to prove, and it’s restless until it does. It’s impervious to danger, eats it like nail soup. It spits in the face of death and dares it to complain. Change is a quick snack. It always wants more.

Old men don’t dig trenches. They don’t wage wars in the dust, the heat, the cold, the mud and the blood. It’s viewed at safe distances with smarmy handlers, catered meals and corporate sponsors. Their empty platitudes are masks of insincerity at the gravesites of patriotism.  

Strategy and political maneuvering are their amusements. Their spirit of conflict is overcome by their pacifistic urge to compromise with status quo. They conduct closed-door conferences, initiate schemes of international intrigue. The globe is their chess board. Youth are their pawns. Don’t rock their boats.

Is America becoming soft by compromise, anesthetized by wealth, obese by inaction? Is it content with the noose of choking regulations or acquiesce of personal independence squeezed out by a greedy central government? Is it happy with the constraints imposed by a bloated bureaucracy? Where’s the spirit of rebellion headed today? Who are the protesters?

America was conceived as a nation of rebels. Like youth itself, it was a wild, vast and desolate wilderness, full of promise, privation and possibility. Its future was unknown, untapped and untried.

The bones of its skeleton are nationalistic; its flesh the principle of charity; its breath the soul of freedom. God spoke these words once again unto the chaos of America, “Son of man, can these bones live?” They did, and in 1776, not Juneteenth, America was born. It remains a mighty nation now for 246 years.

America thrives on a cult of perpetual youth. The quest for the Fountain of Youth ended in 1513 in what’s now St. Augustine, Florida, the oldest city in America. Ponce de Leon had a vision, but it was 263 years early. Today the spirit of that vision is alive and well.

America is not planted in concrete. It’s sleepless, ever inventive, always transformative. It runs, not walks. Enough is never enough. Perfection is just another milestone to something better. The culture of constant rebirth boils in the national spirit. Caste finds no home here.

How is this possible? America’s freedom was not born of a religious fanaticism. Nor by slick, sugar-coated words of doctrine that rolled off the tongues of politicians. Freedom comes at the expense of blood, not vowels.  The blood of Colonial Patriots still cries from the earth, “Remember, remember, remember!” This is what we celebrate on Independence Day.

America was a dream.  Dreams are ephemeral. They vanish easily at daylight. Dreams need nurture. The visions are gifts that need to be stirred up regularly. Like the grit of discontent, it impels us to action.

On Monday we will again celebrate Independence Day with parades and egalitarian events nationwide in our land that blossoms like the Garden of Eden. We will for a day reignite the Spirit of Freedom that thrives in our nation. We will eat 150 million hot dogs and the words ‘lily-livered’ and ‘yellow belly’ will not be uttered.

Overhead fireworks will explode everywhere. Like the bursts of muskets and cannons, may each one remind us of the sacrifices that were made by the Patriots and continue to be made by stout-hearted men and women in uniform. 

America’s future of freedom will continue to be earned by the sacrifice of those who possess faith in the heart, freedom in the soul and fire in the belly. May our Spirit of Rebellion always remain alive, ready, willing and able, living out the creed of, “One nation, under God, with liberty and justice for all.”

 

Bud Hearn

July 1, 2022