I have a serious problem. My memory is terrible. Well, sort of…. sometimes I think it’s that I have SO much going on in my CAPD brain – or should I say life – that I can’t sort it to have it make sense to anyone else other than me.
That said, I am very keyed into what I call ‘porthole’s.’
A ‘porthole’ is a prompt, or opened window into the past. It opens when I see something that reminds me of an experience gone by, flooding old memories into the forefront.
There are chosen, intentional prompts. For example. When I see my funky Lotus candle holder casting a warm glow, I think of Charlee and I taking the airboat ride and seeing all the beautiful water lilies. When I see the glass jars I filled with sand from the North Shore, Bermuda or Montauk Point I flash back to the shoreline as those jars were filled, each moment unique. Even seeing one of the umpteen photos I’ve taken, flashes a thousand words, aka stories… Many people experience this anomaly, hence, photo album after photo album serving that very purpose. We want to remember.
One of the reasons I am so sentimental, is due to my ‘terrible’ memory issue. Seeing keepsakes reminds me of what was – it keeps it fresh – it keeps it real. Seeing my Grandmothers China cabinet in my dining room, flashes me back to her house so long ago. I walked past it many times, as I headed for her kitchen. The flowers in my rock garden, flash me to the days my mother would spend hours digging and planting, while my sisters and I played in the yard… I could go on and on.
My favorite and most eye-opening ‘porthole’ moments, are the less obvious. A silly happenstance takes place, and suddenly it’s as if I’ve entered a supersonic wormhole. A maze of memories surge forward, opening my mental cache faster than I can process. (I wrote this ‘Porthole’ story after writing ‘A Bird Attack on Halloween’ – seemed appropriate – all thanks to a blue jay. In case your wondering the ‘porthole’ was a ‘worm.’ 😉
Porthole after porthole – like dominos falling one after another – brings memory after memory to mind. Before I know it, I am sitting at a keyboard for hours, purging my brain. Someday, no doubt, I will be lost to the matrix… maybe reading one of my own stories will be the ‘porthole’ that helps me find my way out.