The Woman Who Can't Forget Read Online Free PDF Page A

sparked by what scientists of memory call retrieval cues, such as a date being mentioned, a song on the radio, or a name coming up. The other day, for example, the song “Jessie’s Girl” came on the radio, and instantly my memory went to the first day I heard the song, March 7, 1981. I had just gotten my driver’s permit and I was driving my friend Ronni home after she spent the night at my house. Often it’s a smell that will take me back. For example, when I walked into the house the other night, the first thing I smelled was a baked potato in the oven, and it brought me right back to when I was two years old, sitting in the living room in our apartment in New York City and watching Walter Cronkite on the CBS Evening News . For forty years that is exactly the moment that the smell of a baked potato always takes me back to. It’s not the same if a potato is microwaved; the memory isn’t triggered. It has to be baked in the oven.
    Sometimes I’m aware of what the cue was, as in those cases, but many times I’m not. My recall is so automatic that I’m not truly conscious most times about why I have started remembering something.
    According to one of the leading theories, normal human memory makes use of retrieval cues in this way too, probably because those words or sounds or smells were stored in the long-term memory at the same time the memory was. The more specific the cue is, the more effectively it tends to call up a memory. For example, if you went on a great trip to Yosemite Park, you might not find yourself remembering that trip if a friend just said the word park , but if she said Yosemite , the chances that your mind would flash onto that trip increase. I’m sure you can remember instances of a memory popping into your head that way when you heard a song or a place name. They’re called involuntary memories, and one study showed that most people have about three to five of them a day. Ironically the memory of having these memories fades quickly for most people, so you may be able to recount only a couple of particular instances.
    One of the things that seems to be different about my memory is that many things act powerfully and automatically as retrieval cues for me, filling my head with involuntary memories almost all the time. When I’m watching TV, I may hear a product name that will set off a rush of memories; or driving to work, I may notice a place name on a road sign, and my mind will take off. I have many, many more than three to five memories a day; they pop into my mind continually. Another key difference in my involuntary memories seems to be that normally, most such memories are of positive experiences, but mine are all over the map, from great times to horrible ones.
    A key question about my memory, in fact, is whether I remember so much because so many of my long-term memories get stored with such a richness of cues. It may be that we all encode into our long-term memories as much information about our lives as I do, but that my mind has a much greater ability to pull those memories out of storage. The problem with how many cues set my memory off is that the process is constant, and my mind doesn’t just flash on to those memories and then quickly get back to the present moment.
    In many ways, my memory has been both a blessing and a curse. When I’m feeling down, I often revisit favorite memories, which I call “traveling,” going back especially to the happiest years of my life as a young child in New York City and suburban New Jersey. I wouldn’t give my memories of those years up for anything in the world; they give me great comfort during my most difficult times. But my memory has also caused me quite a bit of pain through the years. Remembering so many of the moments of my life means I recall not only the joyful, fun times: the times of wonderful family closeness and friendship and sharing, and the esteem-building moments of