After reading my previous post, my Faithful Reader theorized that we’re still together only because of my memory gaps. In other words, if I remembered all of the horrible things he has done over the years, I’d dump his ass ASAP.
I may not remember them all, but I remember plenty, and now that I have a blog on which to record them, I think Faithful Reader had better behave himself!
😉
My short-term memory is great and always has been. But there are occasional glitches in the system, moments that fail to register while hundreds of others dutifully line up in the chain of day-to-day memories that are cataloged in my head. I don’t understand why, but it happens just frequently enough that I can’t trust even my most recent memories.
My long-term memory has always been poor by comparison. Over time, the majority of nifty facts I picked up in school have evaporated from my brain, both those facts which I expected to forget, like how to conjugate certain French verbs, and those which I expected to remember for life, like how many oceans there are on Earth. Yes, it seems that an entire ocean leaked out of my memory unnoticed. It’s only back because one evening I wondered if I was smarter than a fifth grader and watched the TV show to find out (I’m not, by the way).
So I can’t trust my memory, short-term or long-term. That’s one of the reasons why I love the written word. Every time I write something down, that’s one more thing that I don’t have to worry about forgetting. The blog takes it one step further. Not only is it a record, but it’s a searchable record.
Technology is so cool.
We don’t mean to do it. We even struggle against it. No matter. We still turn into our parents.
During my last trip to Connecticut, I discovered another way in which I am like my mother. She didn’t want to plan her wedding either. In fact, she didn’t. Hell, she didn’t even pick out her own dress! My grandmother was close enough in size to be able to choose clothes for my mother, so she waltzed off to some discount store, selected an adequate gown, and that was that. Of course, we have to wonder if maybe grandma was a little controlling and if mom hated her for it then, but the way mom talks about it now, it’s like grandma performed some kind of marvelous magic act.
Sadly for me, the same mom who didn’t care to plan her own wedding does not care to plan mine. I’m going to have to perform my own marvelous magic act.
It’s always sad to say goodbye to September, my favorite month. May October treat us even half so well.
On Thursday morning, I proved one of Newton’s famous laws:
A sandwich in motion tends to stay in motion.
This law is important to remember while eating in the car. That is, unless you like to eat your breakfast off the floor mat.
I came home and my new computer was all set up and waiting for me (thank you, Faithful Reader!). We have fancier hardware, updated software, and a new look for this blog, but I am still the same old me, so the content won’t change much. There will be more silly rhymes and more reviews on books that everyone else in the world has already forgotten. There will be more gratitude and more Sunday Stories, more Vonnegut and maybe even some puzzles.
My bank got me good. I had a CD that was scheduled to mature in September. They sent me a notice in July saying that if I did nothing the CD would automatically renew at an interest rate that would be determined in September. I planned to call and ask about the new rate, but it’s hard to remember to do in September what you thought of in July. I figured that if I missed the deadline, the new rate would be similar and it would be no big deal. Idiot. I forgot about it until midmonth, one day after I could have done something about it. I just found out the rate difference. The original APY was 5.1%. The new one is 3.7%—that’s barely staying ahead of inflation! The penalty for withdrawing the principle would wipe out most of the gains made by moving the money. Yeah, they got me good.
It’s time for another trip to CT. I’ll tell you all about my adventures when I get back.
It looks bad, it smells worse, and it’s called popcorn cooked way too long in a microwave. You can recognize it by the billowing clouds of yellow-tinged smoke and the aggressive reek of burnt corn. Microwaves accused of this “heat crime” can expect some hard consequences. In one recent case, the guilty oven was evicted from its home for smoking and stinking to High Heaven. Insiders say that the abandoned appliance hasn’t had food in days, and may never again.
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