Photographic Memories

I don’t have a photographic memory in the truest sense; I have no ability to memorize textbooks or random information. I do have an uncanny aptitude to remember phone numbers, even from my childhood, although these days with numbers going directly into a “contacts” format, this skill is not often required. What my mind seems to hold on to forever are the “photographs,” images that are as clear as the day they happened. Just thinking about a day or a place or a person, brings back a host of pictures that carry me through time. They can evoke smiles and tears and even carry with them accompanying sounds and aromas. I have become so aware of the process that as my eyes are capturing an image I feel a mental shutter click as I focus on what’s before me. I suppose it can be both a blessing and a curse; as I am not able to “delete” the frames I’d rather not hold on to.

Yesterday as I drove off to enjoy an afternoon of mindless shopping, the view before me was so magnificent; with one blink I knew that this vista was forever stored in my minds album. The sky was blue, the mountains visible in the distance and the leaves just showing signs of autumn; it was a quintessential picture of the beauty in my own backyard. It’s those moments that take your breath away, unplanned and unexpected, that are the most important to save. The planned “photo-ops” are stored in the digital files or tattered albums, but the snapshots without pixels have the most power.

I wouldn’t really consider myself an outdoorsy person, pretty far from it to be honest, but I am often overwhelmed by the scenery before me. The first morning on every cruise we’ve taken (and there were a lot of them for a while) I open the curtain, exit to the balcony view of the ocean, and it is almost too much to absorb. Water as far as the eye can see and blinding morning sunshine, I see it now as clearly as I did then. I smell the salt in the air and feel completely detached from the rest of the world. If I never cruise again, which hopefully is not the case; I will never lose that picture or that feeling. My mental files are full of vacation sites; the wonderment of my first look at the Venice Canals, the postcard perfect landscape I woke up to for three mornings in the Tuscan countryside and dozens more from my anniversary trip to Italy last summer. Much further back, to the summer of 1975, I can still see the adobe mountainside dwellings of Mesa Verde, Colorado, and the intense fear I had as our family station wagon climbed the narrow roads. I also hear my family making fun of me because I was being a baby, and my father speeding faster ahead regardless of my pleading with him to slow down. As quickly as I am typing, images are popping in and out of view in a haphazard trip through time; my first visit to Arizona with David (indelible), the water in Antigua (a color I haven’t seen since), the road leading in to camp Tevya (still gives me butterflies in my stomach just thinking about it), even the image of the cleared lot before we began construction on this house. Thousands and thousands of memories are available for immediate recall, never dull or faded or misplaced.

More important and more captivating than natures best are the personal moments that we attempt to save on film, but the cerebral version is so much more potent. The moment my eyes met each newborn son, film can’t capture those emotions. We have photo albums filled with images of the first day of school, but my mind’s eye can still feel the hugs. Fast forward, I must have captured 50 different shots of Scott in his collegiate cap and gown, but none of them makes my heart pound like the one in my head. Now I’m back in college, like it was yesterday I’m in my apartment on Carleton Street, in my room with the Marimeko comforter. Without even closing my eyes, I see my father and I standing at the top of the aisle on my wedding day, I feel his hand holding mine (secret handshake code), next frame, Jeffrey, already teary, waiting for me on the other end. Now I see Jeffrey lying on the couch in our old house, a tiny infant barely covering the distance between his chin and his waist, both peacefully asleep. The slide show continues with the three boys walking ahead of us on a New York City street, deep in brother conversation, Jeffrey and I look at each other and think how lucky we are. I see the smile on my mother’s face when she married the wonderful man she now shares her life with. I see the boys approaching my car on every visiting day, and Andrew seemingly inches taller and years older at Logan Airport after his 5 weeks in Israel. Out of nowhere an image of my father appears; Halloween 1998 (the last one), in my kitchen, orange sweater and leather jacket, giant smile, sparkling blue eyes. I see myself waking up in the morning to the face of a sleeping toddler in bed next to me. If I could pick some to travel back to, this would be near the top of the list. My life thus far, stored safely away, hopefully for all time. I can’t imagine losing the ability to recall the pieces of the past, but perhaps at that point we don’t know what we are missing. My almost 97 year old grandmother remembers every detail; I’ll bank on that genetic inheritance

When David was little, and I’m sure he’s annoyed I’m sharing this, he would explain that he had things stored in boxes in his brain. If I remember correctly, and I think I do, those boxes traveled on top of turtles that would carry the appropriate information, when needed, to the forefront. I don’t doubt that it is exactly how he saw it. Much like me, he has inherited a rich visual memory to remember images and stories. I see my system working much the same, minus the turtles, but it’s all there, available when I need it and tucked carefully away when I don’t. Recently I saw film critic Roger Ebert interviewed on TV, losing his ability to speak due to a battle with cancer, he has taken to writing. He spoke of his visual memory and said, “When I’m writing, memories appear in my mind.” My first thought, me too. Through this journey, my words have given me the chance to revisit countless moments in time, even the bad ones bring with them the happy memories that preceded them. It has been an unexpected gift, not only to see so much of what brought me here, but to be able to share it again with the very friends and family that were there the first time around. Tonight, as I drove home from the store, I looked to the sky and saw the most perfect full moon. I actually tried to capture it with my camera, it was that brilliant. When I looked at the photo, it looked nothing like what I saw in front of me. I deleted that one, and instead saved the one my mind had already captured.