THE VIRGINIAN-PILOT 
              Copyright (c) 1994, Landmark Communications, Inc.

DATE: Sunday, October 9, 1994                TAG: 9410060211
SECTION: CAROLINA COAST           PAGE: 03   EDITION: FINAL 
SOURCE: Ford Reid 
                                             LENGTH: Medium:   62 lines

KEEP THIS IN MIND: WE HAVE TOO MANY DATES AND NUMBERS

I recently passed one of those days that should be remembered, a milestone of the past, an anniversary of some sort, I suppose.

The problem was that I could remember the date, but I could not remember why it is important to me.

I don't think that I am losing my mind, not in any troubling sense of that, anyway. I am simply suffering from a sort of memory overload.

It would be nice if the human memory were like an audio tape that could be selectively erased from time to time, purging the old to make room for the new.

Unfortunately, it doesn't work that way.

I can remember the telephone number of my first girlfriend, a number that I learned through repeated use almost 40 years ago, but I have trouble remembering an office number that I have to call every week.

The problem is obvious: We have too many numbers and too many dates to remember. If President Clinton, or some other high-minded public servant, really wanted to do something to help us out he would begin to campaign on an anti-number platform.

But, alas, we are drowning in a flooded river of numbers and nobody seems to care.

Every bill comes with an account number. If someone asks who you are, you ought to reply: To whom? To the gas company, I am one number, to the electric company another. The city garbage collection people know me by eight digits, the city sewer people by nine different ones.

That's not to mention bank account numbers, credit card numbers, ATM and long-distance company personal identification numbers, the serial numbers on everything that you own and the really big one, the Social Security number that follows you through your entire life, whether you like it or not.

Then there are all of the dates that you are suppose to remember. The birth dates of your parents, siblings, children, spouse, boss, co-workers and a few good friends. The anniversary of your marriage, of course, but also of when you and your spouse first met and probably a couple of other significant events that you've forgotten.

I could probably remember all of that if my mind wasn't filled with things such as ``In 14 hundred and 92, Columbus sailed the ocean blue.'' I don't need to know that date anymore. Columbus has been discredited and the Vikings probably got here first anyway but never had the kind of press that old Christopher got.

But I can't get that out of my head.

I could use the space, for instance, to remember the birth dates of my four children. Two of them I can remember with zero effort. The other two, for reasons that I cannot explain, keep getting confused in my mind. They are squeezed between an anniversary and my Social Security number, I suspect, and thus distorted beyond immediate recognition.

I saw an advertisement the other day for a company that will remember everything for you and even send cards to the right people on the appropriate day.

But I am not that desperate yet.

I will struggle along, remembering what I can, forgetting what I must. by CNB