Memory Is State Dependent
I was walking by our iMac in the living room the other day and I spied Linda surfing the web (a phraseology deceptive in its lack of strenuous activity). Curiously, I snuck up behind her to see what she was doing. Was she reading the news? Catching up on e-mails? Perhaps buying me that perfect Christmas present?
Nope.
She was reading "the red tar pit". This little old site that has been forcibly forgotten by me, buried in an avalanche of graduate studies, special work projects, fatherhood, entertaining, and hobbies.
"What are you doing reading that old thing?" I asked.
"Sometimes, it's just nice"
And so I decided to check out this old blog site again. It's amazing to me how someone who is so otherwise immersed in computers could be so afraid of a web site. But, you see, memory is state dependent and sitting in front of that great big "create post" text area would take me to emotional places I wasn't sure I was ready to go.
More than anything else, and despite protestations to the contrary, I wrote this blog as letters to my mother. I always enjoyed her dedication to memoir writing and while I never had her style I could make her smile in print. And often she would call or, more frequently, drop me an e-mail telling me how much she enjoyed some particular post or another, or how she had passed one on to some friend in her writing group.
Those posts were a way of saying "look at me, mom" without having to be quite so obvious about it, or without spending hours relating things on the phone -- I do my best retrospection around 2am anyway. The joy I got from sending her these missives wasn't so much about the need for approval -- I just got the biggest kick out of interacting with her. And I meant it when I said that her smile and her laughter gave me meaning.
And so, sitting in front of this great big "create post" text area, I have to confront the memory -- that state dependent memory -- of times when I could communicate with a loved one by simply picking up the phone or pushing a send button.
So.. what got me in front of that terrifying "create post" text area?
When I got on-line and looked at who has been hitting this blog for the past, say, 2 weeks.. I recognized several familiar spots... Rochester, Alexandria, Baltimore, Pikesville, BelAir. Other hits were from google searches specifically for my name. One particularly funny one was:
+ +the +red +tar +pit
It made me wonder if other people take a few moments and re-read some of what's been posted here. Truth be told, it made me wonder whether it was time to stop avoiding all of those things that brought me close to her.
My "year of firsts" is coming to an end. I've been through what would have been mom's 70th birthday. We've gone through our birthdays and all the major holidays except Christmas. I'm not quite sure if it's time to "get back to normal" because I don't really have a firm handle on normal.
Maybe it's time to get off my blogging ass. We'll see.
-Ed
Nope.
She was reading "the red tar pit". This little old site that has been forcibly forgotten by me, buried in an avalanche of graduate studies, special work projects, fatherhood, entertaining, and hobbies.
"What are you doing reading that old thing?" I asked.
"Sometimes, it's just nice"
And so I decided to check out this old blog site again. It's amazing to me how someone who is so otherwise immersed in computers could be so afraid of a web site. But, you see, memory is state dependent and sitting in front of that great big "create post" text area would take me to emotional places I wasn't sure I was ready to go.
More than anything else, and despite protestations to the contrary, I wrote this blog as letters to my mother. I always enjoyed her dedication to memoir writing and while I never had her style I could make her smile in print. And often she would call or, more frequently, drop me an e-mail telling me how much she enjoyed some particular post or another, or how she had passed one on to some friend in her writing group.
Those posts were a way of saying "look at me, mom" without having to be quite so obvious about it, or without spending hours relating things on the phone -- I do my best retrospection around 2am anyway. The joy I got from sending her these missives wasn't so much about the need for approval -- I just got the biggest kick out of interacting with her. And I meant it when I said that her smile and her laughter gave me meaning.
And so, sitting in front of this great big "create post" text area, I have to confront the memory -- that state dependent memory -- of times when I could communicate with a loved one by simply picking up the phone or pushing a send button.
So.. what got me in front of that terrifying "create post" text area?
When I got on-line and looked at who has been hitting this blog for the past, say, 2 weeks.. I recognized several familiar spots... Rochester, Alexandria, Baltimore, Pikesville, BelAir. Other hits were from google searches specifically for my name. One particularly funny one was:
+
It made me wonder if other people take a few moments and re-read some of what's been posted here. Truth be told, it made me wonder whether it was time to stop avoiding all of those things that brought me close to her.
My "year of firsts" is coming to an end. I've been through what would have been mom's 70th birthday. We've gone through our birthdays and all the major holidays except Christmas. I'm not quite sure if it's time to "get back to normal" because I don't really have a firm handle on normal.
Maybe it's time to get off my blogging ass. We'll see.
-Ed
posted by Ed at 1:03 AM
5 Comments:
Okay - I admit it - I am the odd googler. Having changed computers, I was searching for the blog site ...hoping that you had posted what you wrote at Thanksgiving. I was going to share it with the W-Writers. Only you would actually find a way to determine how you had been googled! I do stop by from time to time to re-read. I enjoy your perspective and your expression -- much better than the musty copybooks full of my own long ago middle of the night musings. I miss your entries. Just as I will miss Mom each time I read one and remember how she delighted in them and talked about them. For me, life will never return to "normal." But, my life will "normalize." And missing Mom and carrying that loss is now a part of my normal existence -- as it was for her with her mother. The loss will always be there - though what that means and how much or how acutely it hurts at a given moment with respect to a given experience is relative and I expect will change over time. There are some rituals that I continue, precisely because they connect me to her -- there are others I cannot bear for that same reason. And that, too, changes. In time, I hope that you will (and I believe that you will) write here again -- and it will always be, in part, for her -- an honoring, a continuing of who she was and how that has influenced and informed you and will continue to do so all of your life. But it will also be for yourself -- and your own need to muse, to sythesize, to communicate, and for your loved ones (including your big sisters) -- and, most significantly, for your children -- who will know you by many, many things -- including, I hope, by the late night workings of your beautiful mind. Love ya - K
I have checked every now and then, to see what you guys were up to. Life gets busy, though. I don't know if there's really any such thing as "normal," particularly once you have kids, but that's part of what makes it interesting to hear about what your old friends are up to. Say hi to Linda for me! -Beth
Dottie, your mother & my dearest childhood friend, shared you blog with me when you first started & I, too, reread all the entries, especially the ones from last year.
She has been with me thru a cardio stendt, a staph infection, & a broken foot & while it is comforting to know she is with me in spirit, I especially miss her voice & her emails & her prose & our "gossiping".Mary Lou Jump told me that Kathy is now in the homestead & I am so glad. I often ride by there, on my way home from my hand surgeon, and remember the times I visited her, because she didn't drive the beltway. God bless all of you & keep you safely in His Hand. Jean
Thank you all for the kind, kind words. I will keep writing here, of course, I just constantly reserve the write to publicly threaten myself with the alternative as peculiar motivation.
I've found a voice in prose that I cannot recreate in speech. And whether that prose is a late night catharsis, a catching up with old friends, or keeping intact a bridge my mother built it is something that, to me, brings me a little closer to her.
I imagine it is a feeling I will have long past that future date when I can write anything here that is not so onerously guided by that loss.
-Ed
Excuse my lateness, but I just decided to check your blog, only to see that you added a couple of posts last month.
On occasion, I'll find myself wandering here usually to check in. And yes, there's been the occasion to just reread posts.
Writing has always been healing for me. And though I'm not in the same circumstances, it's gotten me through, connected me to parts of myself I didn't want admit, and, in the process, touched others on a level I didn't know.
I've nothing more to say really, than the offer of virtual hugs from a western state. And, that I hope your beautiful family is doing well. Hugs to you...
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