Memory is a vital part of Judaism and of life itself. Our memories define who we are, where we’ve been, what we do, whom we love. We are commanded to remember the Exile from Egypt, the Shabbat, Miriam’s Well… all sorts of important things. And women have to remember a lot more – what time did you last give Shimee his medicine? Which kid has the dentist appointment tomorrow? Who’s on your list for carpool today?
As time goes on, we may not have to carpool anymore, but there are still countless things to remember. Who was invited to your last Purim seudah? Do they have to be invited again? Where did you put the number for the man who last fixed the refrigerator? When is your own dentist appointment!
I’m not sure, but I think I may be suffering from a premature case of Maturing. I find that as time goes on, my memory apparatus seems to get rusty and takes embarrassing catnaps. Sometimes it goes into a deep, trance-like sleep! Nor can I juggle five things at once (maybe not even four…) without losing my train of thought and trail of action. And when I’m tired, it’s even worse.
The other day I was in such a hurry to put up lunch before I left the house that I rushed through davening (and forgot it was Rosh Chodesh. May I be forgiven for my many sins…), and then put up a quickie, easy, one-course meal – the kind where all the goodies go into one pot and are the left to simmer in their own juices.
There was not sufficient simmering time by the time I had to leave, so I closed the gas and, upon my return, remembered to immediately turn it back on. I was very pleased that I did not forget to continue the cooking process. However, by then, it was rather late and the food still wasn’t ready for lunch, so I decided it would serve as supper. I lowered the fire so it would continue to cook while I proceeded to do all the many and varied things that fill our days.
Hours later, in the midst of a long, friendly phone conversation with an elderly aunt, I was suddenly aware of a strong smell of barbeque permeating the room. Barbeque? Who was barbequing in my house? Oops! It wasn’t barbeque. It was burn – that pungent, choking aroma that spells disaster!
My lunch-turned-dinner was still on the fire, happily bubbling (charcoaling?) away. Fortunately, the smell did not penetrate the food (although the ingredients looked a bit ragged) but the pot was a horror. Twenty-four hours of soaking was necessary before I was able to scrape it clean. Just another sign that my mental agility is not what it once was.
I recently purchased a stack of plastic containers in red, green and blue, marked basar, chalav and pareve. At first I thought it was rather a cute idea but not really necessary because who knew better than I what was basar, chalav and pareve in my kitchen! Then I thought that it might not be such a bad idea. The grandchildren would have an easier time keeping things straight. In the end, I had to admit that it was actually a great idea… for me! Not that I didn’t know which containers were what, but when you’re working quickly, you don’t always remember to pay attention to what you’re doing. Marked containers just made things simpler. And they all stacked neatly, thus taking up less space in the drawers. Progress is often a wonderful thing.
There are other things outside the kitchen I tend to forget, such as laundry left in the washer and not placed in the dryer. Or laundry left in the dryer and not removed for folding. Or ironing left in the hamper and completely forgotten until my husband has no more shirts to wear.
One thing I rarely forget is the garbage. When a bag is filled and tied and ready to be transported to the bin in the street, I place the bag on the floor, inside the house, in front of the door. It may not be the most aesthetic place for bags of garbage, but the first person to exit either takes the bag out or trips over it. The only drawback to this solution is that incoming people, not expecting to be greeted by a bag of garbage, sometimes trip over it too.
There are other tips to help keep things in mind. In fact, I was thinking of writing a book entitled How to Remember That Which You Tend to Forget. My daughter said it’s too long a title to remember. She suggested Maintaining your Memory, but that’s boring. One of the grandkids suggested Charging your Chips. That sounds spiffier.
It amazes me that I can remember the words to silly ads from my childhood and teenage years but I cannot recall details of a serious shiur two hours after it’s over. When I share Torah with my family, I always tell them I’ll describe the universal, sweeping concepts I heard and they can supply the details and sources I forgot.
Last, there is the matter of names. I have never been good with names. I remember names and I remember people but never the twain shall meet. Both pieces of information seem to be stored in different sections of my mind. I read about a rabbi who couldn’t remember names. Upon meeting a congregant (whose name he couldn’t recall), he said, “We lose millions of brain cells daily. Unfortunately, I just lost the one with your name on it.” I rather liked that. But there’s still hope. I usually do remember letters in the forgotten names and if I go down the alphabet slowly, I often find a fitting replacement. Kenig and Kagan and Cohen aren’t really that different, are they?
One thing I never forget is the day of the week. That’s because every time I blink, it’s Wednesday when I absolutely must go shopping, or Thursday, when I absolutely must cook or bake, or Friday when I absolutely must get everything else done. I think I have a permanent chip in my brain that counts the days of the week, sort of a built-in Hayom Yom Rishon l’Shabbos notification.
Oops! Sorry. That’s it for now. I gotta go. Just remembered I put the wash in the dryer three hours ago and forgot to turn on the machine!
