I tell people I have a good memory, and that’s less true than it used to be. I’m a bit forgetful. I’m also differently forgetful these days.

It used to be that I’d file stuff away in a mental cabinet and retrieve it later, usually right after the time I needed it … people’s names, titles of movies, passwords, the season finale of whatever series that won’t be back until next year.

There’s evidence to prove I’ve been to hundreds of concerts – a book full of ticket stubs and set-lists and anecdotes from friends who went with me. But I don’t actually remember being at lots of those concerts.
I suppose I don’t remember where I put my mental filing cabinet.

At the same time, there’s other stuff I remember effortlessly – my first phone number 64604, the shade of lipstick I bought at the Mac store in 2003, what you were wearing and what I was wearing when we went to see that movie, what I heard you said about me to someone you didn’t know would tell me. That goes in a whole other filing cabinet.

This realization reminded me of Nora Ephron’s collection of essays, “I Remember Nothing,” published in 2010 before she died. I remember I bought it at an airport bookstore, but I don’t remember where I was going. This morning, I discovered that I remembered to bring it with me to Mexico.

My favorite entry in this book isn’t an essay; it’s a list of what Nora Ephron will miss and what she won’t, after she’s gone. I suppose it should have been a sign to us in 2010 that she wouldn’t be with us for much longer.

Now, I have no intention of dying anytime soon, but if I were to make such a list today (it might change tomorrow) it would include the following:

What I’ll Miss

Sophie – Scott – Scott singing – Dogs – Texts from my brother – Phone calls with my parents – Strangford Lough – Dreams of living in Strangford, Portaferry, Ardglass or Groomsport – Slippers – The Christmas Tree – An Ulster Fry – French Toast – Butter & Marmalade on Toast – A whistling kettle – A turf fire – The pub – The idea of a turf fire in a pub – Vegetable soup & wheaten bread in the pub – A session in the pub – The first sight of the little church on the road to Ballintoy – Reading in bed – Clouds the color of buttermilk hanging over Lough Neagh – The Glens of Antrim – Botanic Gardens on a cold, dry morning in Belfast – the Arizona desert in December – The sun rising over Lake Chapala – Online friends that become best friends in real life – Pajamas – Shirts fluttering on a clothesline – Windchimes – Castlerock – Rediscovering something Seamus Heaney wrote – Tea in a china cup – Traybakes – The Last Waltz on Thanksgiving Day – Boots – Scarves – Sunglasses- Second chances – Davy Spillane on the Uilleann Pipes – A good hair day – Bluebells – Church bells pealing in old villages – Van Morrison’s “When the Healing Has Begun” – Airport arrivals – Finding the right word at the right time – The craic – The first cup of coffee.

Comments

comments