When the narrator of Saul Bellow’s The Bellarosa Collection is asked about a long past event that he doesn’t recall, he responds “Lady, this is one of a trillion incidents in a life like mine. Why should I recollect it?” But it gets simpler and closer to home than that. We bow to the recognition of the reality of memory loss begrudgingly. This summer I realized that I was too often having difficulty remembering whether or not I took my morning pill regimen. So I’ve had to start using one of those day-by-day pill containers. As for my appliance changing schedule, every fourth day, it may say something for the wonders of the Hollister skin barrier that I use, as it never becomes uncomfortable, but it doesn’t say much for the grip of my memory when I discover that I can’t remember whether I’m on my third day or my fourth day. So I’ve started jotting it down on my desk calendar. Still, names of people and things sometimes escape me. What was the title of that movie? Oh, you know, what’s-her-name was in it. Amazingly, there are some decades old examples of that that run against all odds. Yesterday, I re-watched the film “The Irishman.” It begins and ends with a great song from the Fifties playing: “In the Still of the Night.” After only a few moments hesitation, the name of the group that sang it popped into my head: the Five Satins. It clearly was seriously encoded, and that was sixty-four years ago. Maybe I ought to listen to it some more. Now, where did I put that Oldie Goldie CD?
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