For the past few months at work, a coworker has taken new interest in me. He walks by my office a little too much. He looks at me a little too long. He smiles at me a little too wide. We’ve known each other for years, but this energy was something new- something he couldn’t quite place. Until he burst into my office one day and yelled triumphantly "New Zoo Review"!
New Zoo Review was a kid’s show in the 70’s featuring an assortment of adults dressed as animal characters including Henrietta the Hippo and Freddie the Frog. Thankfully I didn’t remind him of Henrietta the Hippo, but I did remind him of the host of the show who was one of the few adult characters. Emmy Jo sported a Marlo Thomas-like flip hairdo, short dresses and high boots- exactly what I happened to be wearing at that moment when he and I Googled images from the show, laughing at the resemblance that had triggered his long forgotten childhood crush.
A memory trigger is the result of one or more of our senses reacting to something that instantly brings us to a different place or time, eliciting the emotions associated with the memory. A random sight, smell, taste, touch or sound can release a dam of pent-up memories, immensely powerful in their recollection- both positive and negative.
I bit into a memory about a month ago when I tasted a date walnut energy bar at a race. Within seconds, I was 7 years old again at my elderly neighbor’s home. I was sitting in Ethel’s kitchen, wearing white knee socks and a plaid dress, my two adult front teeth looming large compared to the baby teeth awaiting their eviction, as we drank tea and snacked on her homemade date nut bars still warm from the oven. I would stroll by her house after school to see if she had a baking pan cooling in her front window- an open invitation to stop in for a visit. I hadn’t thought of Ethel for decades, but the flashback made me smile and say a little prayer for her kindness and excellent baking skills.
Earlier this year, singer Teddy Pendergrass died. And like a Bewitched episode, in the wiggle of a nose I was transported to the middle of the dance floor at EJ’s disco in Rowley. It was the late 70’s, and I was dancing my dupa off in my disco duds as the band played "Get Up, Get Down, Get Funky, Get Loose". A flashback so strong it led me to reconnect with long lost college friends, to toast Teddy’s passing and our own shared history.
While memory triggers can be powerful, their influence can also be subtle. It’s why some of us friend, date, or marry people who remind us of others we miss or care about. It’s why people have "their song" to remind them about the reasons they fell in love in the first place. It’s why restaurants offer comfort foods that conjure up warm memories of home cooking. And it’s the stuff holiday traditions and home remedies are made of, as we try to recreate feelings of love and caring that soothed us in the past.
During a recent interview, an applicant talked excitedly about the prospect of working for a well-known media company. Fresh out of college with a communications degree, she was thrilled to be interviewing for a position that so closely matched her education. She sat perfectly straight on the edge of her seat- literally and figuratively – with a spark in her eyes that I hadn’t seen in years. 20 years to be exact, when I interviewed in the same office, full of similar hope and excitement at the prospect of working for a major metropolitan newspaper.
At the end of our meeting she thanked me for my time, and I thanked her for triggering the long lost memories of pride I felt at the start of my own career. As I walked her to the lobby, I caught our reflections in the front window and noticed that same spark again, only this time it was in both of our eyes.
Tuesday, October 26, 2010
Tuesday, October 12, 2010
In the Blink of an Eye
Think of all the times you’ve heard or uttered "I’m bored"; bored with the moment, bored with your job, bored with the predictability of your life. You long for something exciting to come along and shake things up. File this feeling under the ‘be careful what you wish for’ category, because in the blink of an eye life as you know it can change- not always for the better.
This is an article I keep starting, but can’t seem to finish. Because each time I think I’m done, I hear another story sadder than the last one. Stories that continue to remind me of the fragility of life.
During the span of one week at work, there were two unexpected family deaths. The seemingly healthy 33-year old nephew of a coworker never woke up one Sunday morning, and the sister-in-law of another, a personal trainer in her 50’s, was found dead of unknown causes. As tragic as these losses are, the world does not stop and wait for us to finish our grieving. Both have returned to work, moving slower and slumping lower under the enormous weight of their grief. We pass each other and nod, acknowledging the sad, silent bond that connects us.
At an early morning blood test last week, a stranger shared with the waiting room that his boss and good friend died just a few hours prior. He was 53 years old, had been diagnosed with esophageal cancer just 10 days prior. While the doctors were planning his long-term treatment options, he quietly passed away in the middle of the night. Such a sad story, but they are all sad stories. So many, I’ve rewritten this entire column twice, replacing each tragedy with a newer, more recent one.
But out of some tragedies, come stories of hope, courage and second chances.
A few months ago, a member of the Wicked Running Club in her 20’s found out why she was feeling so tired, when she was diagnosed with Hodgkin’s Lymphoma. Her strength and openness about her cancer diagnosis and chemotherapy treatment have resulted in an outpouring of compassion and love from friends and family alike; positive energy that I’m convinced have healing powers stronger than any drug.
And very recently, two prominent Salem citizens came close to a world without them. One nearly choked to death on a bagel lodged in her throat as she rushed to work, her life saved by a stranger who happened to be passing by. And another suffered a severe knee injury, resulting in the discovery of not one but two undetected life-threatening blood clots- an unfortunate accident that likely saved his life.
In the blink of an eye, there is a collision of what you thought your life was, and what it could have been if circumstances had been different. And somewhere in the middle lies a new appreciation for the ordinary day.
On an ordinary day about a month ago, I finished a lunch hour run on the Esplanade and crossed the street to work, heaving happily from the exertion; appreciating the beauty of the crisp early fall day. Suddenly, a car in front of the building surged backwards at full speed to secure a parking spot, coming so close to hitting me that the rush of air bouncing off my body made a loud, dull thump. The horrified faces of the witnesses and shaking body of the driver who didn’t see me until too late confirmed how close I had come to a life I’m scared to imagine.
It takes a while to feel the full impact of a ‘close call’, but once you feel it you remember it forever. It feels like a gift. It feels like a second chance. It feels like an opportunity to find a new appreciation for the simple beauty of another ordinary day.
This is an article I keep starting, but can’t seem to finish. Because each time I think I’m done, I hear another story sadder than the last one. Stories that continue to remind me of the fragility of life.
During the span of one week at work, there were two unexpected family deaths. The seemingly healthy 33-year old nephew of a coworker never woke up one Sunday morning, and the sister-in-law of another, a personal trainer in her 50’s, was found dead of unknown causes. As tragic as these losses are, the world does not stop and wait for us to finish our grieving. Both have returned to work, moving slower and slumping lower under the enormous weight of their grief. We pass each other and nod, acknowledging the sad, silent bond that connects us.
At an early morning blood test last week, a stranger shared with the waiting room that his boss and good friend died just a few hours prior. He was 53 years old, had been diagnosed with esophageal cancer just 10 days prior. While the doctors were planning his long-term treatment options, he quietly passed away in the middle of the night. Such a sad story, but they are all sad stories. So many, I’ve rewritten this entire column twice, replacing each tragedy with a newer, more recent one.
But out of some tragedies, come stories of hope, courage and second chances.
A few months ago, a member of the Wicked Running Club in her 20’s found out why she was feeling so tired, when she was diagnosed with Hodgkin’s Lymphoma. Her strength and openness about her cancer diagnosis and chemotherapy treatment have resulted in an outpouring of compassion and love from friends and family alike; positive energy that I’m convinced have healing powers stronger than any drug.
And very recently, two prominent Salem citizens came close to a world without them. One nearly choked to death on a bagel lodged in her throat as she rushed to work, her life saved by a stranger who happened to be passing by. And another suffered a severe knee injury, resulting in the discovery of not one but two undetected life-threatening blood clots- an unfortunate accident that likely saved his life.
In the blink of an eye, there is a collision of what you thought your life was, and what it could have been if circumstances had been different. And somewhere in the middle lies a new appreciation for the ordinary day.
On an ordinary day about a month ago, I finished a lunch hour run on the Esplanade and crossed the street to work, heaving happily from the exertion; appreciating the beauty of the crisp early fall day. Suddenly, a car in front of the building surged backwards at full speed to secure a parking spot, coming so close to hitting me that the rush of air bouncing off my body made a loud, dull thump. The horrified faces of the witnesses and shaking body of the driver who didn’t see me until too late confirmed how close I had come to a life I’m scared to imagine.
It takes a while to feel the full impact of a ‘close call’, but once you feel it you remember it forever. It feels like a gift. It feels like a second chance. It feels like an opportunity to find a new appreciation for the simple beauty of another ordinary day.
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