Memory Lock, PINS and Mozart

Perhaps it’s a physiological precursor to a permanent memory malady (unintentional alliteration).  I didn’t get home until the late afternoon on Friday.  Sooo? After working out, I was STUCK (safely) in the gym’s locker room for a time. I SPACED the combo on the bright, green-colored lock. POOF!  Just like that…whaaat?  Hmmm. Okee dokee. It’s all good…right?

Casually pacing the locker room, I filled my water bottle from the fountain near the sink. The mirror reflected my soggy, red-faced image finger-combing my short hair, undeniably growing whitish-gray by the DAY! Mentally skimming through my nifty-fifty-plus, experiential reference file while maintaining my composure, I remembered that this wasn’t the first time my neuro-database momentarily GLITCHED. 

I was thinking (in pinball machine fashion): Don’t panic just because your car keys…and sundry stuff…is resting behind the locker door taunting your sorry, middle-aged memory AND you can’t leave in order to finish your PRESSING itinerary. Thus, I was alive and well in a deadlock.

“Are you going for another run?” asked Mable, the really, really, young, beautiful and super-friendly gym associate. “Which way are you headed on Murrieta Hot Springs this time?” she asked, typing something into the computer.

Seriously, I sometimes think people can read my MIND; for a moment, I expected Mable to hand me a tiny slip of paper bearing the lock’s three-digit secret. The 24-Hour Fitness peeps graciously HELP ME with incidental fluff because I’m ever-so-special, in my own, forgetful mind.

“Well…I’m not sure,” I said, totally preoccupied with my lapsing dilemma. “I tried running earlier, but since I pulled a hamstring a couple of weeks ago, Walimping is a better term.”

“Just rest for a little while. You’ll remember the combo…just like that,” Mable said, snapping her fingers. Wise, yes?

To begin with, I purchased the BRIGHT, GREEN-COLORED LOCK because it’s visible among the mass of locker doors. I kept spinning the tumbler, coupled with positioning myself at a short distance so I could SEE the teeny-tiny numerics, to no avail.  Exasperated, I sat on the bench for a minute, recounting the digits and the method aloud: left-right-left? Right-left-right? Upside down-sideways-backward?  I wonder if they have a BOLT CUTTER?

Noooo! I don’t attribute much to aging, save for creaking joints and humility where I was once downright BOLD. Rather, I attribute this ISOLATED, temporary memory loss to both the myriad personal identification numbers (PINs) stored in my head AND to being perfectly imperfect.

I searched the Web for tips and tricks to remember COMPLETELY OBFUSCATED DIGITS OF ENCRYPTION (CODE) as described by http://www.madoverlord.com/Projects/PINCODES.  I’ve been practicing memory sessions on Lumosity - http://stories.lumosity.com/  I’ll be right back…

Now I’m memorizing license plates when I’m stuck in traffic, just for the FUN of it. Accessing the gym is perfectly simple as I enter my phone number and press my right, middle finger (I have my GENTLE rationale) on the computer pad. Sometimes ATM cards, user names and passwords spin me into an identity dither, especially when I have to make a phone CALL to reset the darned things.

I’ve had the same user name and password for years and years, jostling it this way or that, per the request of service providers.  As an example, updating banking passwords must contain a minimum of six letters, one or more numbers AND one character, like a hash tag (#). 

Confirming that I’m the bedraggled owner of the password, I must further decipher two, fuzzy, obscure words, say…cyborg pizazz. Where are my reading glasses when I need them?

Of late, FREAKY audios accompany the password conundrum tempting me to LOG out, which I do. Then I brew some ginger-lemon tea and crank on classical music. Both are supposed to polish my genius capability, restoring my waning memory and my scant patience.

According to ScienceDaily.com (2011) and the American College of Gastroenterology, physicians performing a colonoscopy increase the detection rate of precancerous, intestinal polyps while listening to Mozart.

Theoretically, the music helps to improve spatial temporal reasoning. The importance of removing polyps during the colonoscopy is the “cornerstone of the American College of Gastroenterology’s 2009 screening guideline as a critical prevention intervention.”

http://www.sciencedaily.com/releases/2011/10/111031114955.htm

I don’t know how I went from sharing the story of a memory vapor lock to Mozart and colonoscopy, but while I’m touching on this subject -- as an RN -- allow me to remind those over 50 years of age to schedule an exam. You won’t REMEMBER ANYTHING about the procedure!

Meanwhile, the locker room suddenly began buzzing with women after a Zumba class. I bumped into my petite, buffed friend, Zoe, a raven-haired, gorgeous, middle-aged, matching gym-wear fashionista.

“How’s your son? Love your shoes,” Zoe said, opening her locker door with ease.

“He’s fine. Love your outfit,” I said, sitting glumly on the bench. We conversed about the Zumba class, sports injuries, and my chiropractor, Dr. Shaw.  Bidding goodbye, I stood, briefly hugging Zoe, when I spied ANOTHER dangling, bright green-colored lock way across the locker room. 

Ahhhh. I remember, now. The locker was one of the FEW available when I arrived, ever-so-slightly changing my routine. I experienced one of those easy, breezy moments of enlightenment, reminding me that I’m not the ONLY ONE on the face of the planet with the same lock (idea, dress, occupation, floor plan, watch, vehicle, malady), ad infinitum. All along, I had been trying to open THE WRONG LOCK.

I intuitively figured that the OTHER lock was mine because I sensed a wave of relief, like when I take my first sip of fresh, creamy, sweetened coffee in the morning.

34-27-9. Right-left-right. Sweet freedom!