Sense Memory
My memory is a steel trap.
I wish I could take credit for that phrase; my friends have been saying it to me for years. “How the hell do you remember that?” is usually the secondary statement. And I can’t really deny it because I know its true.
My memory is pretty vast. I can recall minute details of the most random things at will. Whether it be exact details of conversations from childhood or background information for major milestone events, I have an innate ability to remember things that most people have easily forgotten.
Its kind of my super power. And probably the reason why I’m a writer—inspiration is everywhere, you just have to retain and recall.
*Also another reason why its a bit dangerous to be friends with someone like me—I will remember everything and it will end up committed to page.*
But recently while driving to pick up my kids from childcare—the scene of my best thinks—I realized how I’m able to remember things with such acuteness. And if this term isn’t coined, I’m TOTALLY claiming it.
I have SENSE MEMORY.
Call it my Spidey-sense, but my memories are triggered by the five senses. I use smell, sound, taste, sight, and touch to bring the past into my present. All it takes is one sense—a simple smell—and my subconscious starts to spiral with movie-quality, memory visions. My eyes literally glaze over as my brain replays a scene from the past and I can’t focus on anything else. Usually its triggered in a completely unrelated, random way—like getting open-fist, slapped in the face—and a memory pops into my head. And then I just need to blurt it out; “Remember when…” It’s almost like I’m having a subconscious conversation and I only clue the other person in at the last minute. I’ll admit its pretty jarring for anyone I’m with or if you are somehow involved in said-memory. “Where the hell did that come from,” is usually the gut reaction I get. It’s happened often enough that I could probably script it.
Here’s a perfect example from the last few weeks.
For the third time in seven weeks, I’ve been stuck at home with two very sick kiddos. ‘Tis the Season of nonstop colds and disgusting kids who spread every god-awful virus to anyone they come in contact with! Outside of the unbelievable stress of dealing with sick kids while trying to keep up with work and running a household, days have become very Groundhog-Day-esque. Long days of trying to find anything to suck up those few hours in between naps—if you’re lucky and they actually nap on that given day. Keeping up with my 9-to-5 has not been easy, especially when my rambunctious (even when sick) toddler demands attention and stimulation. So, yeah we’ve had to use the TV more than we liked. Go ahead, Mom-shame me but there’s been no other way to keep up with everything.
Now before the plague hit my household, my two year-old became OBSESSED with construction vehicles. Like to the point that if we’re out, I need to drive around until we find said equipment. “Oh they must be sleeping,” is the phrase I’ve adopted when we can’t find any. Apparently this is a semi-typical obsession for boys his age, but it has become his morning-through-night request. “See diggers, Mommy?” he asks. As his obsession progressed, I happened to stumble across a corner of YouTube that is full of digger content. If you’re familiar with the algorithm on YouTube, you know that after you watch one video it will suggest videos of similar material. Which then led to his newest obsession:
*And if your kids are obsessed with diggers, you know where this is leading…*
Blippi
*Side note: am I the only adult who can’t stand his stupid face, voice, dance moves, glasses, hat and idiotic phrases that my child repeats at nauseam? Or is it because his programming is on a constant loop at my house, to the point that I wake up from a dead sleep with his songs stuck in my head? Yes, I know all the words to the “Excavator” song. And I hate it. Count yourself lucky if you haven’t fallen down the rabbit hole of orange glasses and suspenders. But he entertains my kid so…I guess I should be thankful. I guess.*
So last week, as my son was watching yet another episode of Blippi—the one about garbage trucks that he has probably seen a dozen times—I happened to look up from my computer long enough to see the truck going through the “sorting” plant. My mind was flooded with a memory. A memory that I had to text my best friend about.
*see text conversation*
Here in lies my point: a totally unrelated sight triggered my brain to pump out an obscure memory from when I was twelve years old. A memory of no consequence—other than it being freaking weird that our one-and-only class trip was to the dump—was recalled with clarity. And it always hits me like that; like a light bulb, triggering the conveyor-belt of my mind, pulling out a memory from the depths of my past.
In addition to the random “light bulb” moments, I have an ever-growing list of very specific senses that will always trigger certain memories. These senses—mostly smells—are closely associated with people in my life. And in my opinion, its semi-typical for most; you will always associate something tangible to someone you love or to a crucial moment. Especially if those people have passed away, you will seek out that sense just to have a small piece of them in your waking life.
I can list off so many, but I’ll pick a few here:
The smell of hyacinths will always remind me of Mom-Mom. They were her favorite flower and they’d decorate her dining room table on Easter—she’d receive at least three from her children when we all arrived for lunch.
The smell of cigars—specifically Philly Blunts—makes me think of Pop-Pop (or Steiny if you read my first book). He’d light one up and—much to my mother’s horror—pass it to me and say, “Take a puff.” And I always did, even at the ripe age of seven. He taught me how to blow the smoke out of my nose, like a dragon.
In a similar way, the taste of soft pretzels—the fruit of my city—will also remind me of Pop. Every family function always had a brown paper-bag filled with fresh pretzels on the kitchen table. Pop would drive down to “the old neighborhood” in North Philly and pick up a few bags from the oldest pretzel bakery in the city. “They were warm when I got them,” he’d say as we hungrily dug in. “Never seal the bag,” he’d add—because of the salt, sealing the bag would make the pretzels sweat and they’d get soggy quicker. A tip I’ve taken into my adulthood
I have very few memories of my maternal grandfather—he died when I was six—but the taste of cheerios will always remind me of him. He ate them with bananas, something I never quite understood as a four year-old. Maybe its because I don’t like bananas?
Billy Joel—specifically the “River of Dreams” album—will always remind me of my uncle and our summers in LBI. It was the soundtrack of my childhood summers.
Purple was my aunt’s favorite color. When I see it in any form, I think of her —a comfort and sad at the same time.
The smell of burning wood will always remind of me the summer of pyromaniacs. But that’s another story for another time…
Though sometimes it evokes sadness, having a sense memory only enriches my life; it’s like having a bank of endless daydreams that are just laying in wait. It helps me hold onto the people and moments of my life, and bring them forth at will. I know its another quirky thing about my personality that my friends will always poke fun at me for. But it benefits them, too. I’m our childhood’s keeper and the one they come to if their memories fail.
And it does. Usually once a week.