The importance of memory recall and retrieval, essential for everyday conversations and the completion of basic tasks, has become a talking point in our family.
As short-term memory sadly wanes for some, presenting as muddled confusion, we have been reflecting on the importance of staying sharp.
Remembering names, even of people who I have just been introduced to, remains a bugbear.
I am fortunate to have met many people through various professional and volunteer roles, yet I am quite sure not all their first names are Mate!
I dread the moment they catch-on, "You don't remember me do you..." offered as a statement rather than a question.
To a person, they are delightfully polite and offer kind excuses for me. I remain relieved when events require name badges.
The US National Library of Medicine informs us about memory via their website:
"The three major classifications of memory that the scientific community deals with today are as follows: sensory memory, short-term memory, and long-term memory.
"Information from the world around us begins to be stored by sensory memory, making it possible for this information to be accessible in the future.
"Short-term memory refers to the information processed by the individual in a short period of time. Working memory performs this processing.
"Long-term memory allows us to store information for long periods of time. This information may be retrieved consciously (explicit memory) or unconsciously (implicit memory)."
I am five.
My first memory is my fifth birthday, and it is reinforced by a photographic slide that remains in a canister somewhere downstairs at our family home.
The slide has a plastic frame and I remember it clearly because the cardboard surrounds are always stuck in the projector, annoying my father.
People tell me that they have memories from much earlier in their lives, but not me - I am five.
I'm in my short pyjamas sitting in front of the oil heater, which is not burning because it's summer.
The oil heater is an enigma, a contradiction. It is warm when given time but that is far longer than I am willing to wait. I am too young to be patient - I am five.
I love when the oil heater tank requires refilling. The oil truck arrives during three of the four seasons to fill the tank outside our backdoor.
I am intrigued by the hose, which runs over the front fence and down the slope of our front yard like a hose on a petrol bowser just much longer.
I was five but I can still taste the oil heater smell and it triggers memories.
I know I am five because the card on the oil heater ledge says so.
I am sitting in front of the oil heater and dad is taking my photograph with his treasured camera which we are not allowed to touch for fear of an accident.
My hair is so black it will look blue when the photograph is developed - my mum tells me so. I am gifted a Stormtrooper, the army who protected the Dark Side of the Force in the Star Wars franchise.
I was a good kid, yet I received a bad character - I question why but not in a way that could be heard.
I am five, and I am grateful.
There is also a tool kit with a plastic drill that requires batteries. We'll have to find those later in the day or maybe we could borrow some from a transistor radio.
I love the toolkit and look after it dutifully - it has screws and nuts and bolts and drills and screwdrivers and pieces to join.
My children would play with the kit nearly 30 years later.
I was five.
Artists call on their memories to create.
Sometimes they may use photos to assist but I prefer those who create purely from memory, not using a slide like I did because I am petrified of inaccuracy.
Two quotes which greatly appeal to me provide insight into the importance of memory and they, coincidentally, were articulated by two painters, Salvador Dali, and Edvard Munch.
Dali, with his eccentric moustache, offered, "The difference between false memories and true ones is the same as for jewels: it is always the false ones that look the most real, the most brilliant"; while Munch, a leader of the surrealism movement, detailed his artistic process, "Painting picture by picture, I followed the impressions my eye took in at heightened moments. I painted only memories, adding nothing, no details that I did not see. Hence the simplicity of the paintings, their emptiness."
The idea of creating art from memories appeals to me.
The honesty that comes from leaving a story or painting or drawing or dance or piece of music with parts bare aside from what you can remember leaves room for audience interpretation, it's the most genuine form of creativity.
Perhaps as our memories fade or become confused we are more truthful.
Sadly, we can finally live in the moment because remembering the moment doesn't require as much struggle.
I focus on listening to stories from those who remember because if I don't those memories will die.
I was five.
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