Yesterday I had a great time at an Alaska backyard potluck/music party. As everyone did, I think, until our hostess got a phone call that her mother in Missouri had just died.

My memory will say that I had a great time there, her memory will remind her that this was the year and day when her mother died. Our memories will be totally different.

Some years ago a musician friend of mine developed a bleeding aneurysm. He survived it and he is still a sweet, talented man (if a banjo player *g*) – but his short term memory is gone. He not only cannot tell you what he had for dinner, he also is not sure if he had dinner.

I read somewhere that the way to ensure a happy old age is a bad memory. Facetiousness aside, would that be literally true? I suspect that memory is what makes us.