When memory fails

by Rick Blechta

Yesterday was a very busy day with hours of driving around the Toronto area. First, we had to pick-up our grandson (PA day for school) in neighbouring Mississauga and bring him back to our place — in rush hour, not a pleasant thing since we can’t use the highways at that time (or most of the time given Toronto’s horrendous traffic congestion).

Then I had to pick up one of our sons way downtown at a job interview and drive him to his apartment to change for his current job. It was pouring rain (good that I did him this favour!) and the downtown traffic was its usual horrible mess.

Fortunately in an earlier part of my life, I drove a cab nights for about a year-and-a-half, so I know the city rather well. Yesterday, I called heavily on that knowledge through a host of dekes and shortcuts to get it all done as quickly and efficiently as possible.

Finally it was back out to the west end of the city to pick up my granddaughter and take her from her morning program to her caregiver for the afternoon.

All-in-all I was in the car from 6:45 to 12:45 and never got farther than 20 miles from home! Actually, I felt like I was driving a cab again — which I guess was what I was doing.

Now here’s my tale of woe: While waiting for my son’s interview to finish, I had a terrific idea for my novel, a little something to plant in maybe the third chapter, just a word in passing really, that could take root and blossom towards the end of the story. As I sat there, I could see it branching all over, possibly becoming Very Important in the end.

Then my son came out, and since time was tight, we hot-footed it for his apartment. I had no time to write down my clever idea on a note in my smartphone. I have a good memory, I thought, I’ll be sure to remember something this good!

Wrongo. By the time I got to my son’s apartment, I’d forgotten it. All the way to pick up my granddaughter I cast back into my memory to pick up the dropped thread that would lead me to writerly nirvana. No luck. Not even an glimmer of the trail.

I spent an hour this morning right after waking up — when things tend to float up in my mind — and my terrific idea has completely and depressingly disappeared.

Time was, I used to carry around one of those little recorders. It was always stashed in a cup holder when I was driving or in my pocket or briefcase when I was teaching. Click it on, say a few words, and put it away again. Easy-peasy. My idea was safe until I could write it down that evening.

I am so depressed! Think it’s time I dug that recorder out again.