I made the 30 minute bike trek into downtown Oakville yesterday to meet 2 "council" friends for brekkie. We ate at Sunnyside Diner which, many moons ago, was once Anne's Cottage Shop, a restaurant where I did the prerequisite postgrad waitressing gig of every aspiring artist whose ever gotten their B. A. in Fine Art.
Jan and I left Flo in a store looking for a scarf and walked down the road a bit before going our separate ways. Before splitting Janet mentioned that she had signed up to take Spanish; something that I have been wanting to do for years. I have maintained my poor skill level in the language and lack of advancement through sporadic bursts of self-taught efforts filled with: reading articles in Spanish, listening to TV programs, renting movies and playing them with Spanish subtitles ON or making use of the dubbed version.
I was excited when I heard that the lessons are: reasonably priced, located nearby and scheduled at a time that fits nicely into my week. Yes, I was very excited until I heard where they are taking place; at the Seniours' Centre. AAAACCCCCCKKKK, mentally I was running, not walking, away screaming, "I'M TOO YOUNG TO BE A SENIOUR."
Janet, sensitive soul that she is, could see the panic in my eyes. "The centre is for anyone 50 and older. Not everyone is 90. You'd be a "young" seniour."
Too late! My mind had already propelled me forward to a time in which I was trapped in a room full of memory challenged individuals who couldn't remember what was said 5 minutes ago in English much less in another language; and this was my Spanish class. " Mmmm, I'll have to think about it," was my non-committal response before we parted.
Before tackling the bike ride back, I stopped in at Starbucks to take a pee. It's one place I can slip into and out without making a purchase guilt-free as I'm virtually a coffee imbibing "regular" there.
Business done, I knelt down to unlock my bike. And, as I did so, the question/consideration briefly breezed through my mind like a whisper in the wind, I wonder if I should take the course at the Seniours' Centre? And, at that very moment a family walked by speaking SPANISH.
The universe has spoken.
So, I'm now signed up to take Spanish at the Seniours' Centre. Wish me buena suerte!
Showing posts with label memory. Show all posts
Showing posts with label memory. Show all posts
Tuesday, September 13, 2011
Monday, November 8, 2010
CAR, BALL, MAN
I'm warning you now.
Read the words in the title and commit them to memory because somewhere down the road, maybe 20, 30, 40 or perhaps 50 years from now, you will be sitting across a table from someone who, almost immediately, upon meeting you, will tell you to remember those 3 little words. You will feel nervous, confused, insulted, patronized and perhaps experience something akin to "performance anxiety" as they then proceed to run you through various mental challenges. About 5 minutes after you are stirred up enough they will then ask you what the words were that they gave you to remember. And despite the increased intensity of emotion, self-doubt and confusion the words will bubble up from your long term memory and you will be able to say calmly, "car, ball, man". The thing is they will assume that these words are new to you and that you have stored them in your short term memory and you will have passed this portion of the test.
Just giving you a heads up.
OK, it might not play out exactly like this but after hearing those words first repeated in 1998 and every year thereafter at each of my parents' cognitive assessment evaluations, I can assure you that they are etched in my brain. Every time I accompanied my folks for "their" assessment all I could think was, please don't change the 3 words because I am so primed to remember them that they will block out any new incoming ones. I bet ya that almost everyone who's accompanied their parent or loved one to a geriatric assessment from this particular team has these three words burned into their brains too.
This all leads me to these observations about memory retention.
When trying to remember something state it - short, simple and to the point. Let's say I have to remember a grocery list consisting of: milk, bread and cheese. There is no need for me to say, "remember to get milk, bread and cheese". Because I am anxious about my ability to remember, using the word "remember" (in this context) triggers my belief that I have a bad memory and that I'm going to have difficulty remembering. Feeling that I won't be able to remember the list; I become anxious.
ANXIETY IS A MEMORY KILLER!
To embed this kind of memory it is best to feel relaxed and happy. So:
Now I just have to remember where I parked my car!
The key for this - I have to be MINDFUL of parking it in the first place. I liken it to getting out of "passenger" mode. It is less likely that, as a passenger, I will remember where the car was parked because I tend to rely on the driver to do this. So I have to shift to "driver" mode and note my surroundings. Since I can be an easily distractible, multi-tasker, mindfulness is something I have to come back to constantly. I call this "applied meditation" practice.
Since, in the scenario I have just described, I have a vested interest in the things I want to remember I am more motivated to recall these things. In the case of my grocery list - these items will allow me to make a meal and that makes me feel good. And since I'd rather not wait til the parking lot is sufficiently emptied before I can find my car I'm highly motivated to take note where it was parked in the first place.
In contrast, "car, ball, man" meant nothing to my poor parents who were full of anxiety at the time of their assessment. And, when the time comes, it will mean nothing to you too. So practice those 3 words now.
There will be a test!
COMMENT ON THE CARTOON. I'm not proud to admit this but, unlike some people, I will pick out the longest line at the checkout so that I can browse the "brain candy" mags. And I often memorize where I left off for the next visit to the grocery store.
Read the words in the title and commit them to memory because somewhere down the road, maybe 20, 30, 40 or perhaps 50 years from now, you will be sitting across a table from someone who, almost immediately, upon meeting you, will tell you to remember those 3 little words. You will feel nervous, confused, insulted, patronized and perhaps experience something akin to "performance anxiety" as they then proceed to run you through various mental challenges. About 5 minutes after you are stirred up enough they will then ask you what the words were that they gave you to remember. And despite the increased intensity of emotion, self-doubt and confusion the words will bubble up from your long term memory and you will be able to say calmly, "car, ball, man". The thing is they will assume that these words are new to you and that you have stored them in your short term memory and you will have passed this portion of the test.
Just giving you a heads up.
OK, it might not play out exactly like this but after hearing those words first repeated in 1998 and every year thereafter at each of my parents' cognitive assessment evaluations, I can assure you that they are etched in my brain. Every time I accompanied my folks for "their" assessment all I could think was, please don't change the 3 words because I am so primed to remember them that they will block out any new incoming ones. I bet ya that almost everyone who's accompanied their parent or loved one to a geriatric assessment from this particular team has these three words burned into their brains too.
This all leads me to these observations about memory retention.
When trying to remember something state it - short, simple and to the point. Let's say I have to remember a grocery list consisting of: milk, bread and cheese. There is no need for me to say, "remember to get milk, bread and cheese". Because I am anxious about my ability to remember, using the word "remember" (in this context) triggers my belief that I have a bad memory and that I'm going to have difficulty remembering. Feeling that I won't be able to remember the list; I become anxious.
ANXIETY IS A MEMORY KILLER!
 |
| Cartoon copyright Nance Thacker 1991. Click on image to enlarge |
- My memory prompt is SIMPLE: "milk, bread, cheese".
- I REPEAT these words at least 3 times while tapping my watch (Since I am inclined to look at my watch numerous times before going to the store, each time I do it is a visual prompt for memory. In hypnosis we call this anchoring).
- Each time, while repeating and tapping I VISUALIZE: the items (perhaps getting really specific about the images) and me picking up the items and paying for them at the checkout (this takes only a few seconds).
- And, I FEEL how good it feels to have accomplished the task.
Now I just have to remember where I parked my car!
The key for this - I have to be MINDFUL of parking it in the first place. I liken it to getting out of "passenger" mode. It is less likely that, as a passenger, I will remember where the car was parked because I tend to rely on the driver to do this. So I have to shift to "driver" mode and note my surroundings. Since I can be an easily distractible, multi-tasker, mindfulness is something I have to come back to constantly. I call this "applied meditation" practice.
Since, in the scenario I have just described, I have a vested interest in the things I want to remember I am more motivated to recall these things. In the case of my grocery list - these items will allow me to make a meal and that makes me feel good. And since I'd rather not wait til the parking lot is sufficiently emptied before I can find my car I'm highly motivated to take note where it was parked in the first place.
In contrast, "car, ball, man" meant nothing to my poor parents who were full of anxiety at the time of their assessment. And, when the time comes, it will mean nothing to you too. So practice those 3 words now.
There will be a test!
COMMENT ON THE CARTOON. I'm not proud to admit this but, unlike some people, I will pick out the longest line at the checkout so that I can browse the "brain candy" mags. And I often memorize where I left off for the next visit to the grocery store.
Saturday, November 6, 2010
CARTOON BREAK
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| cartoon copyright Nance Thacker 1991 click on image to englarge |
It came to me when I was reading an article about a 86 year-old woman who went skydiving for the first time. She figured she had nothing to lose. Which made me think that I might like to go skydiving myself when I reach 86, not right now cus I'm afraid that the chute won't open but, at that age... well why not? And then Dotti's voice came into my head and a cartoon was born.
I love how the subconscious plays with my brain!
Wednesday, January 28, 2009
The Flypaper of My Mind
My mind is to movie trivia what flypaper is to flies. And I blame my mother for that.
Back in the days when the whole family (parents and children – in our case that meant 7 people in “cinema #1”) gathered together in the flickering glow of the TV’s blue rays to watch THE BIG MOVIE OF THE WEEK or some such program my mother would educate us on the careers, loves and lives of the stars that appeared before us. She might give us some background info about: the film itself – the challenges and process of making it, the original story upon which the film was based, its director or writer, the caterer, the makeup artists, the music etc.
She was the living embodiment of the SPECIAL FEATURES selection on your DVD. Only there was no button to turn on or turn off the program so, while we were focused on watching the movie her running commentary would be heard subtly in the background.
Did you know that Bob Cummings of LOVE THAT BOB fame was a health fanatic who took multiples of multiple vitamins, observed a strict diet and daily exercise regimen? Bet you didn’t.
Or that Charlton Heston was an artist’s model and Burt Lancaster a circus acrobat before becoming movie stars; that Montgomery Clift’s beautiful face was scarred in a horrible car accident and his career was never the same afterwards; or that Allan Ladd was such a tiny little guy that movie sets would appear like virtual irrigation fields the troughs dug so that his leading ladies could walk alongside him and appear smaller than he?
Well…I do.
But Mom is 87 now. Her flypaper is drying up and, the flies are dropping off. When we watch a movie together the sound of her uttering, almost to herself, “He looks familiar. I’ve seen that actor before.” and the sight of her brow furrowing with the effort to reclaim lost memory turns on my SPECIAL FEATURES function. And as once she did for me I now do for her. I fill in all the details. But the flies I lob her way don’t stick and she pushes my play button repeatedly.
I read somewhere that seniours respond best to old movies. The pace is slower and there’s less overlapping dialogue than in contemporary film. But there is one drawback.
They have prompted her to ask a new question. After hearing my commentary, now there’s a pause, a moment in which the realization of her advancing age and mortality rises up. “I wonder if he’s still alive.”
Now, we’re going back to the 50’s, 40’s and even the 30’s. So you can guess what my answer most often is.
“No. No Mom he’s dead.”
“Oh,” she says dejectedly.
Remember her flies aren’t sticking, so after 2 hours or so of this we both get pretty depressed. I’ve even, as my sister-in-law suggested, tried declaring in advance - “Dead. Dead. They’re all dead.” This still didn’t stave off the inevitable repeat question.
I thought perhaps a musical, filled with singing and dancing and wonderful costumes, would solve the problem. Mom loves to sing and will sing along with virtually anything. And what could be better than a movie with Ginger Rogers and Fred Astaire?
I was right! We sailed through the movie without her pushing my SPECIAL FEATURES button even once. Feeling very self-satisfied I turned to Mom and she said, “They looked familiar those actors.”
“Yes, Mom they’re Ginger Rogers and Fred Astaire. You remember them.”
“Oh yes” she said cheerily. “I wonder if they’re still alive.”
“No they died quite a while ago.”
“Ummm. Must have been from all that dancing.”
We both cracked up. Some flies stick longer than others.
Back in the days when the whole family (parents and children – in our case that meant 7 people in “cinema #1”) gathered together in the flickering glow of the TV’s blue rays to watch THE BIG MOVIE OF THE WEEK or some such program my mother would educate us on the careers, loves and lives of the stars that appeared before us. She might give us some background info about: the film itself – the challenges and process of making it, the original story upon which the film was based, its director or writer, the caterer, the makeup artists, the music etc.
She was the living embodiment of the SPECIAL FEATURES selection on your DVD. Only there was no button to turn on or turn off the program so, while we were focused on watching the movie her running commentary would be heard subtly in the background.
Did you know that Bob Cummings of LOVE THAT BOB fame was a health fanatic who took multiples of multiple vitamins, observed a strict diet and daily exercise regimen? Bet you didn’t.
Or that Charlton Heston was an artist’s model and Burt Lancaster a circus acrobat before becoming movie stars; that Montgomery Clift’s beautiful face was scarred in a horrible car accident and his career was never the same afterwards; or that Allan Ladd was such a tiny little guy that movie sets would appear like virtual irrigation fields the troughs dug so that his leading ladies could walk alongside him and appear smaller than he?
Well…I do.
But Mom is 87 now. Her flypaper is drying up and, the flies are dropping off. When we watch a movie together the sound of her uttering, almost to herself, “He looks familiar. I’ve seen that actor before.” and the sight of her brow furrowing with the effort to reclaim lost memory turns on my SPECIAL FEATURES function. And as once she did for me I now do for her. I fill in all the details. But the flies I lob her way don’t stick and she pushes my play button repeatedly.
I read somewhere that seniours respond best to old movies. The pace is slower and there’s less overlapping dialogue than in contemporary film. But there is one drawback.
They have prompted her to ask a new question. After hearing my commentary, now there’s a pause, a moment in which the realization of her advancing age and mortality rises up. “I wonder if he’s still alive.”
Now, we’re going back to the 50’s, 40’s and even the 30’s. So you can guess what my answer most often is.
“No. No Mom he’s dead.”
“Oh,” she says dejectedly.
Remember her flies aren’t sticking, so after 2 hours or so of this we both get pretty depressed. I’ve even, as my sister-in-law suggested, tried declaring in advance - “Dead. Dead. They’re all dead.” This still didn’t stave off the inevitable repeat question.
I thought perhaps a musical, filled with singing and dancing and wonderful costumes, would solve the problem. Mom loves to sing and will sing along with virtually anything. And what could be better than a movie with Ginger Rogers and Fred Astaire?
I was right! We sailed through the movie without her pushing my SPECIAL FEATURES button even once. Feeling very self-satisfied I turned to Mom and she said, “They looked familiar those actors.”
“Yes, Mom they’re Ginger Rogers and Fred Astaire. You remember them.”
“Oh yes” she said cheerily. “I wonder if they’re still alive.”
“No they died quite a while ago.”
“Ummm. Must have been from all that dancing.”
We both cracked up. Some flies stick longer than others.
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