The Persistence Of Memory

Shaving yesterday afternoon triggered a memory.

Yes, I wait till just before Ginny gets home from work in the afternoon to shave. Who else do I want to look presentable for?

Anyhow, shaving triggered a memory.

As I approach 70, more and more things evoke memories of times past because I do so little memorable in the here and now. Real time events, working in our garden, transcribing handwritten texts, grocery shopping, reading—those things don’t call for entries in my diary, but any one of them may remind me of things past.

Trouble is, memories melt and blend and consolidate, as illustrated in Salvador Dali’s famous painting Persistence of Memory:

Memories turn to mush.

For instance, the other day when I wrote about handling a Guttenberg Bible, I could not recall whether it was in two volumes o three. And did I move the Giant Bible of Mainz the same day? And in my post “Under the Fig Leaf” on March 8^th, I not sure how many people watched me splash in the fountain.

Then, of course, there was that embarrassing incident with the chicken-headed pot holders on March 1^st. (see blog archives). A lot of people said that was hilarious.

Memory sucks!

Especially as we age.

Here’s a funny Bible verse—Joshua 13:1

Now Joshua was old and stricken in years. And the Lord said unto him, “Thou art old and stricken in years…”

Yes, sometimes God states the obvious.

He knows that our memories tend to melt, meld, elaborate, turn events into anecdotes, embellish and outright lie.

That’s one reason, the Lord transmitted His word in writing. “And Joshua wrote these words in the book of the law of God…”

Yes, while God did want His people to memorize certain things, from the very start, He placed a great emphasis on writing things down:

“This is the book of the generations of Adam. In the day that God created man, in the likeness of God made he him”….

“And the LORD said unto Moses, Write this for a memorial in a book”,…

“And it came to pass, when Moses had made an end of writing the words of this law in a book, until they were finished”,

One of the reasons I started my own diary about 30 years ago, was so I would not have to rely solely on memory. You see, I have a tendency to recall bad things and to forget good things. Relying on memory alone I’d think God has abandoned me again and again, but reading over my old journals I see that I am a victim of mercy.

But, be that as it may, any little thing can trigger a memory—even a simple thing like shaving.

When my two older sons, Fred and John, were little, I took them camping for a week in the mountains of western Maryland.

Out in the woods roughing it like that I did not shave that whole week.

Final night in camp, I decided to teach the boys how to roast marshmallows.

I straightened out a couple of wire coat hangers, built a roaring fire, skewered several marshmallows on the long, flexible hangers, and gave them to the boys to roast.

Freddy’s marshmallows toasted, crusted over, melted inside—and caught fire.

“What do I do, Dad? What do I do?”

“I’ll blow it out for you,” I said.

I took the wire out of his hand and lifted the flaming marshmallow to blow it out.

The hot tip of the wire snagged on a flaming log.

SPRONG!

Flaming melted marshmallow slapped into my week-old stubble of a beard.

It stuck.

Kept on burning.

Singed my hair.

Burned off my eyebrows.

Scared my nose, cheeks, and chin.

I remember that when I returned to work at the Library of Congress that next week, people kept asking me, “John, what in the world happened to you”?

And I remember my reply—“Took the family out camping last week, and I got attacked by a wild marshmallow”.