THE VIRGINIAN-PILOT
Copyright (c) 1996, Landmark Communications, Inc.
DATE: Sunday, September 15, 1996 TAG: 9609130102
SECTION: DAILY BREAK PAGE: E12 EDITION: FINAL
TYPE: Opinion
SOURCE: BY ANN G. SJOERDSMA
LENGTH: 75 lines
I WAS ONE of those Quiz Bowl-types in college, quick on the trigger and in command of the minutiae of general knowledge.
Today, I have trouble remembering my own telephone number. No kidding.
I used to decimate my erudite father at ``Jeopardy!'' While I would zing out correct answers, he'd stall, hemming and hawing through the recesses of his overloaded mind.
``You'll never know as much as you know now,'' he'd say in confident and gloomy prognostication.
Today, I'm the one with the overloaded mind, stalling at ``Jeopardy!'': ``The Greek mythological monster with 100 eyes . . . Wait, I know that. I know my mythological monsters. God, what is it? I CAN'T REMEMBER. AAAAARRGGHH!''
Answer: Argus.
Details, details.
The details of my ``balanced'' life that has too much to balance - work, family, friends, finances, exercise, personal growth, romance, home, health, etc., etc. - are killing me. I'm ready to fall on my mythological sword. And it only seems to get worse.
The other day I was talking about disgraced Clinton political consultant Mike Morris. Mike Morris. I went to high school with Mike Morris, for Pete's sake. (Or was that Mercury Morris?) Dick Morris was the guy caught in flagrante delicto with el Washingtone bimbo.
Then I was off on Carolina basketball, talking about Jerry Stackpole. Remember him? No? Can't imagine why not. Stackpole is a computer guy at this newspaper. Great guy, too. Loves poker. But irrelevant to the conversation. My mind is crumbling like a house of cards. A Stackhouse of cards.
Soon I'll be wearing yellow Post-Its all over my body to know what I'm talking about.
``And what do you think of welfare reform, Ann?''
``Just a minute, please. I have to check my left elbow.''
Today is Grandparents' Day. At least I think it is. Each week I speak to my 95-year-old grandfather, and our phone conversations sometimes go like this:
``Hi, Grandpa, what have you been up to?''
``No more than I have to.''
``What'd you do this morning?''
``This morning? I can't remember.''
``What were you doing when I called?''
``When you called? I can't remember.''
And so forth.
I happen to know Grandpa's sandbagging. When pressed he can remember the tiniest details of his daily life. He's just a little tired of having to think. Rather than being on overload, he's on empty. And at 95, he's entitled.
But age is no excuse for me. The ``memory loss'' of healthy ``older'' people - those of us over 35 who haven't suffered actual cerebral damage - is attributable to laziness, inattentiveness, slower recall, stress, fatigue or some such explanation, but not to age.
Or so experts have assured me. And I've asked a few.
Makes sense. Heck, we've forgotten more than young lightning-quick showoffs have even learned. Some of our electrodes are clogged. That's all. Like a VCR, we need a head-cleaner. Instead we keep getting head-bangers, intrusions into our overcrowded mental space.
Like the guy who called me at home Friday evening to survey my fast-food restaurant tastes.
``I don't eat at fast-food restaurants,'' I said.
``Never, ma'am?'' he asked, incredulously.
``Never.''
The next day I stopped at McDonald's for some fries. First time in decades. Forgot to affix the grocery-shopping Post-It to my knee. I was desperate.
Last week I opened a desk drawer and found in an envelope the cash I'd ``lost'' four months. I had stopped looking for it in June, though. I knew I'd never remember where I hid it and sooner or later I'd happen upon it.
Like Grandpa, I'm trying harder to do no more than I have to. I'm not ready to fall on my sword. But I sure would like to zing a few answers on that game show - you know, the one that Alex Karras hosts. Just for old times' sake. MEMO: Ann G. Sjoerdsma is a lawyer and book editor of The
Virginian-Pilot. by CNB