Some people remember faces and the names that go with them.
Some people remember birthdays after only one mention several months before the date. And
some people remember important details about their lives and past experiences well enough to write books about them. Some people, when it comes right down to it, remember things worth remembering. Not me. The only thing I remember with any accuracy are songs, rhymes, stories---really anything with a catchy rhythm--and I remember them
forever. I'd say the vast majority of my brain cells are inextricably bound up in remembering everything from a silly song I learned in third grade (Can I remember my third grade teacher's name? Not on your life.) to the book "The Sneetches" by doctor Suess.
I quote:
"Now the star belly sneetches had bellies with stars. The plain belly sneetches had none upon thars. Those stars weren't so big they were really so small you might think such a thing wouldn't matter at all. But because they had stars all the star bellied sneetches would brag: We're the best kind of sneetch on the beaches. With their snoots in the air they would sniff and they'd snort...." I could transcribe the whole thing without peeking.
And I could do this with numerous books:
Epossumondus, all of the nursery rhymes in
Rosemary Wells nursery rhyme collection *in order*, all of the
Sandra Boynton books,
Here's a Little Poem, etc. And about the only purpose my memory has ever served is that I can recite these stories and verses to Fintan when we're waiting in the Doctor's office or driving down the street and kid-music isn't cutting it. But that will only work for me, and rarely at that, for as long as my boys are preschoolers and LIKE these stories and verses. After that I'm sure they'll
pay me to keep them to myelf. So really, I just wish my extremely spotty but otherwise picture perfect memory would work for...I dunno, the greater good?
Because if I'm going to be tortured I want it to be for the greater good. And yes, it IS torture. Take
this song for example. Do you think I could just memorize it and go on my merry way? Of course not. If I so much as roll over at night and barely perk into semi consciousness I hear: "HERE'S A LLAMA THERE'S A LLAMA AND ANOTHER LITTLE LLAMA, FUZZY LLAMA, FUNNY LLAMA, LLAMA LLAMA DUCK!
I get up to nurse my baby at 2 a.m. and I drop my head back against the chair, relax and snuggle my tiny boy and it's: LLAMA LLAMA CHEESECAKE LLAMA TABLET BRICK POTATO LLAMA,
I hope he goes back to sleep for a few hours I WAS ONCE A TREEHOUSE, I LIVED IN A CAKE
oh, I have to remember to sign up for story time tomorr--BUT I NEVER SAW THE WAY THE ORANGE SLAYED THE RAKE.
I hope the boys feel better soon IS IT MADE OF LEMON JUICE? DOORKNOB, ANKLE, COLD,
okay fine, I give up, DID YOU EVER SEE A LLAMA KISS A LLAMA ON THE LLAMA---
It's sheer unadulterated torture. And my brain will continue to do this to me until all of the important synapses are so tangled around these songs that they will remain with me long after I've spiraled into dementia (I don't do crossword puzzles so I'm doomed) and can't remember my own grandchildren's names. Just know, grandchildren of the future, I do love you dearly and I WISH I could free up some brain cells on your behalf.
Leah, I blame you.
Now it's TIME FOR ME TO RETIRE NOW AND BECOME A DUCK.
