I just addressed a get well card to a friend’s mother. She’s in the hospital back in my home town, so I went online to check the hospital’s mailing address. As I copied the street number on the envelope, I realized I didn’t need to check the zip code, even though I haven’t lived there in many years. Like my first phone number (Howard 6 3817) and the lyrics to my favorite songs from junior high, those bits of information seem to be permanently embedded in my brain, available for instant recall.
But memory is a funny thing as you get older. Here’s what happened to me last week:
I stopped into Heinen’s to pick up a few groceries and recognized the young man packing the bags as the son of my hairdresser. I’ve been going to Lisa for more than four years now and see the school photos of her three kids at every visit. They’re smiling at me, affixed to the wall next to her mirror. I knew Joe worked at the store and recognized him immediately. But here’s what I said:
“Aren’t you Joe, Rosie’s son?”
“Um. I’m Joe, but I don’t know anybody named Rosie,” he replied, looking understandably puzzled.
I realized my mistake, corrected myself, apologized, then went on my way.
But where did “Rosie” come from?
Well, Rosie was the colorist in a salon I frequented in my early forties – more than twenty years ago. I told Lisa on the day I first met her that she reminded me of Rosie. They’re both pretty, petite Italian women with dark hair, big brown eyes, and even bigger smiles. But I haven’t seen Rosie since the mid 1990’s.
What kind of crazy trick was my brain playing by bringing up her name instead of Lisa’s?
I’ve done that with the names of other people, too – usually when two people have a vague physical resemblance and have played similar roles in my life. Jean has been coming to clean my house once a month for the four-plus years I’ve lived in Willoughby. But if my son asks me what I’ve got going on tomorrow, there’s a fifty-fifty chance I’ll tell him Tammy’s coming to clean. Tammy used to clean my house in Madison.
I don’t know if these memory glitches are normal or if I should mention them to my doctor (anyone care to weigh in on that?). I’m not worried so much as curious. If this is normal – why does it happen? And isn’t the mind a remarkable thing?
If I forget to come back here before December is over, I wish you a joyous holiday season and good health and happiness in the year ahead. Thank you for visiting my blog!
Kate Mahar writes . . . 
Oh, I do this, too! My worst is when I refuse to remember someone’s name who doesn’t look like the name they’ve been given. I don’t even have the good sense to give them another name. They’re just nameless unless my brain relents and reluctantly gives it up to me.
I’ve tried all kinds of tricks to make me remember but nothing works. If they don’t look like their name, they shall remain nameless.
OMG! Now, that’s hilarious! Or, did you ever mishear someone’s name when you were first introduced and as a result, you remember that wrong name FIRST every damned time for the rest of your life? Aaaaaargh!
Well if there is something your doctor can do, let me know. I am a tad younger and doing this weekly with all kinds of things, names, tools, food items, argh.
Yes, Cindy, I think it’s just a case of TFO for me!
You always crack me up.
Why, thank you, Tina! You always crack me up, too. But in person.
Yes, happens to me all the time. I worry, but I think it’s fairly normal. At least I hope so!
Seems to be happening to all my favorite people, Chris!
Merry Christmas to you and your family Kate. Keep up the blogging, I always look forward to reading them 🤗
Thanks so much!
I’d mention it to ur doc. There r also on line test u can tame to see how you compare to peers. With two parents that had/have dementia I know if it is a problem there are ways to slow the progression.
Thanks, Mary. I’ll do that. And I’ll look for that online test.
Names are the worst, Kate! And like you, I question myself when these memory lapses present themselves. But it is normal after menopause – names and nouns become difficult to recall. Think about the fact that you knew this young man was Lisa’s son – that takes memory cells that are firing on all cylinders. And you connected Lisa with another hairdresser, not a plumber. Merry Christmas!
Thanks, Molly! And a very Merry Christmas to you!