Memory Lane

by Stephanie Black

Today is my birthday. And, like Julie, I have a Milestone Birthday this year. Free book to the first person who guesses how old I am! Just kidding. No free books today, but if someone wants to send me a book for my birthday, I’m cool with that (hint: I want The Maze Runner, by James Dashner. Or Murder By the Book, by Betsy Brannon Green).

So it seems like a good day to ponder age, or maturity, or something. If I ever get mature, I’ll let you know what it’s like, but for now, I’ll discuss my amazing memory.

We decided to watch the First Presidency Christmas Devotional online this year. They have REALLY upgraded the whatever-it-is that makes online broadcasts work at lds.org—wow, what a clear picture. We plugged my computer into the stereo and had great sound too—none of that alien bell choir background sound that we used to get with the choir numbers when we’d listen to General Conference online (my engineer husband calls it aliasing, which I’d explain to you, except that I don’t understand it. Something to do with bandwidth, whatever that is, and little bits of data, and magic). So we sat around the table and drank hot chocolate and ate popcorn and peanut M&Ms and watched the broadcast, and President Uchtdorf was speaking, and my sixteen-year-old daughter said, “I’ve heard this before.” We didn’t pay much attention to her. “I’ve HEARD this before,” she kept insisting, and finally my husband checked, and what do you know—we were watching last year’s broadcast. Oops. So we switched to this year’s broadcast, and how embarrassing is that that it took my daughter pointing it out before we realized the error? I could probably have listened to the whole broadcast and thought I was hearing it for the first time. My sister remarked that she would have been the same—only if it had been the wrong prophet would it have tipped her off that she was watching an old broadcast.

I should go re-read the Agatha Christie mysteries that I read when my oldest daughter was a baby. It would all be fresh and new--no way would I remember whodunit. Well, except for the murderer in The Murder of Roger Ackroyd. And Murder on the Orient Express.

So my memory is a wonder to behold, but I think this has little to do with age and more to do with being a space cadet. I remember attending a seminary council reunion party about four years after graduating from high school, and my friends were talking about things we’d done, and already there was so much that I’d forgotten. I figure if I ever became a suspect in a crime, I’d be doomed. The police would say, “Where were you on the night of December 1st from 7-9, and I’d be, like, I have no idea. (I’m sitting here right now trying to think what I was doing on December 1st. That would be a Tuesday night . . . um . . . nope. I haven’t a clue. I assume I was just at home trying to get my nine-year-old to do his homework, but I’m not sure that will hold up in court).

I'm thinking I'd better not hide the Christmas presents too well.