Tag Archives: #a-good-memory

Odds and Ends

It’s almost for sure, for certain, that there’s an ad I heard on Spotify in which [I think] a live woman pretends she’s AI.

The commercial is a dialog in which a woman [actual] is so pleased with what the AI offers that she says Now, that’s music to my ears. Fake [I think] AI says “I can only talk.”

What we find funny can often be odd.

For my part, I was amused by the synecdoche that Madeleines represent for Proust.

For Proust the Madeleines were what triggered his memory.

Burt, whose memory had been stolen by his dementia, loved these cookies. It tickled me every morning when I ordered a half dozen to go with his latte.

New York Teams

Just as we spent our time at the Garden [and one crucial year at Radio City Music Hall] watching the Lady Liberty play hoops, we also rode the 7-line to see the Mets.

The year hubby got us Saturdays season tickets was also the year that 2 New York teams competed in the World Series. We went to all the final series, including several World Series games.

Right now, I am watching my husband’s team battle the LA Dodgers for the National League Championship.

Will they, like the Liberty that tied up their contest last night, come out 1-1 today?

It’s a beautiful sunny afternoon in California, and, at this early point, the New Yorkers have tagged Ryan Brasier for a 6 to nothing lead.

My husband grew up going to Ebbets Field with his dad. Since he was a Giants fan, he never mourned the Brooklyn Dodgers when they left for the West Coast. He and I never  discussed his feelings about the NY Giants leaving the Polo Grounds for San Francisco.

By the time he started teaching me the fine points of baseball [and there are so many fine points to this game], he was a solid fan of the Queens team. Despite my ignorance about the sport, I was in the Yankees camp.

To be honest, I tend not to be your traditional fan. I like a good game and root for interesting play rather than for my team. I mean, now that I understand what’s in play.

This attitude tends to rankle dieharders, but I like it.

Sports partisanship is limiting, but tonight, I want to see our NY guys win. Another Subway World Series would be exciting I think

Go, METS! Go, Yankees! GO Liberty!

Speaking of New York teams, each borough but one has hosted a baseball arena.

The very expansive Staten Island only has a Triple A field near the ferry terminals. It could build a ballpark and (Field of Dreams) “they would come.” Major League baseball fans delivered by ferry or spilling over bridges would love another National League team. [Yeah, I don’t like the DH thing.] The S.I. Ferriers might be a big draw. Don’t you think?

Journaling

Lately, my favorites have been those that specialize in Japanese paper goods; there are so many adorable, and useful, little amusements to discover. I recommend starting out in midtown, at Kinokuniya USA, a giant bookstore whose basement level is almost entirely devoted to notebooks, pens, and letter-writing sets. You can then trek to the East Village, to niconeco zakkaya, a cute-as-a-button spot that specializes in journals, sticker books, rubber stamps, and washi tape.

The New Yorker Daily                     By Rachel Syme

There are many platforms for the many disciplines of self-expression.

Journaling is a way to get control of your life or at least chronicle its natural disarray. Generally, the journal is used to report to oneself on oneself.

In my books, it’s separate from the  blog posts I share with others. [There is an intended pun in there.] My writing is often a chronicle of my life, but the one I post is more organized than it would be in a journal.

Here, I try to make some order of it all. My posts, whether poems or opinions, intend to make a point.

My preferred “journal” is Samsung Notes. I type, therefore, I can read what I wrote. In my long hand, yesterday’s entry would remain a mystery; well, not just yesterday’s but most days’.

Nonetheless, I am attracted to the paperback book journals Rachel Syme describes and recommends.

AMNH & Environs

Most all my memories of the museum of natural history are lovely.

There were the times I took my best friend’s little boy to free Fridays at which I learned so much. My husband and I were fond of the planetarium as a date destination.

To illustrate how long it’s been since I was there, the other day, I realized in passing that the planetarium had been redesigned.

Nice visiting the neighborhood. Again.

Dated

The year before I completed college.

1971 draws a blank for the moment.

In 1967, I had a roommate who matriculated. She was finished with her studies a year ahead of me.

It’s a little game, silly, really, that I like to try. The universe hands me a date and I connect it to a memory.

The idea is not just to stay sharp but also to keep the timeline of my personal history fresh.

The latter has a way of slipping as time passes. It comes in handy, keeping a grip on who I am.

I was remembering

So today, I was thinking of my days teaching kindergarten. There was a boy named Chris Cohen, and as if it weren’t confusing enough for him, he somehow had a Chinese grandmother. Chris [yes short for Christian] had been adopted as a baby. His father was the aforementioned Cohen, but his mother appeared to be a shiksa.

Neither parent was Asian and Chris himself was black.

As I ruminated on this aspect of my life, I also realized that other people’s memories may not hold all that much fascination. Do you find that to be true?