C'mon, Brain!

Yesterday, "relaxing" in the dentist's chair, waiting for the Novocain (or whatever it was) to kick in so that the staff could repair a broken filling, I was listening, alone, to the soft-rock music they were "sharing" with me through the sound system.

And then I heard some songs by Jim Croce (1943-73--died in an airplane crash, for those who don't recall), and I thought about a bunch of things, hearing them. Most prominent--back in the 70s at Harmon (Middle) School in Aurora, Ohio, I was teaching an elective in filmmaking (my students ran all over the place with a Super 8 camera and tripod), and one clever group of girls had decided to take Croce's song "Vincent" ("Starry, starry night" ... link to song) and to photograph relevant images of paintings from Vincent Van Gogh (whom the song was about). A great film; they won a Cleveland award for it.

But it wasn't Jim Croce, was it?

It was Don McLean, a friend of Croce's in college--and later. (Doesn't count, I know.)

But yesterday, in that chair, I was positive it was Croce. Only ... I could not for the life of me remember his last name. Just "Jim" was all my (fading?) brain would supply.

I sat there--thought, thought, thought. Nada.

Then, later, when two dental technicians had their hands in my wide-open mouth, I remembered. I almost shouted aloud--only, of course, I couldn't.

Over and over in my ... latter ... years I have had this problem of recall. I used to be really good at it--a dynamo at that game Trivial Pursuit (remember it?).

But now, say, sitting with my friend Chris at the coffee shop, I have to reach for my iPhone often to tell him about something I "remembered" but couldn't remember--the title of a book I read, a TV show we'd streamed, etc.

And so I realize: As I've gotten older, my brain is no iPhone; It's a flip phone.

No, worse ...

It's a dial phone...

No, worse, It's one of those really old phones--crank-and-call-the-operator type. I don't remember the official name of the device--I suppose I could check my iPhone?