Memory Glitch

Memory is an odd thing. There are happenings from my past that I remember with certainty, and I’d argue vehemently with anyone who suggested that my memories might be corrupted by time or experiences pre- or post-event. Or even that the memory wasn’t even my memory.

The truth is, though, that memories are subject to outside influences. Perhaps we’ve heard a story so many times that we believe we actually were part of the story. We’ve incorporated the ideas into our own psyches. I knew of this phenomenon, I just never had real evidence of it until recently.

Studly Doright and I were reminiscing the other night about an event that occurred twenty years ago when we lived in Great Bend, Kansas. Our dog had developed an infection in one of his toes and I walked him over to the veterinarian’s office just around the corner from our house. Our daughter, Ashley, accompanied me.

The vet took us back to the examination room immediately and looked at Snapper’s puffy paw. Apparently the dog had gotten some sort of seed embedded in his nail and it had become inflamed and contained a hefty amount of pus that needed to be drained. I held Snapper while the vet swabbed the dog’s paw with antiseptic and Ashley looked on, the scent of alcohol heavy in the room.

All went well until the moment the vet lanced Snapper’s paw and blood-laced pus came pouring from the infected area. I heard my daughter moan and watched her eyes roll back in her head as she began falling to the floor. I was holding the dog and grasping for my daughter’s arm to keep her from hitting her head on the floor. Meanwhile, the damned vet stood there laughing!

Somehow I managed to slow Ashley’s descent without dropping Snapper, as the vet calmly told a story about watching a big strong cowboy faint watching his horse undergo a similar procedure. Ashley still ended up on the floor, but not at full velocity. The vet bandaged the dog’s paw as poor Ashley lay unconscious. She was only out for a few seconds, but woke up thinking she’d overslept and missed a band concert scheduled for that evening.

We paid the vet (who I never took any of my pets to again) and slowly walked the block and a half home. Ashley, other than being a little disoriented, didn’t seem to have sustained any injuries, and we related our story to Studly Doright in full gory detail when we returned home.

Over the course of twenty years, Ashley and I both have told the story dozens of times. Never once has Studly Doright been at that vet’s office with us, that is, until he told the story during our little trip down memory lane. According to him, he was the one holding the dog. He was the one who kept Ashley from hitting the floor. He was the one who became exasperated by the vet’s silly nattering. No amount of arguing with him could convince him that his memory was false. Hell, I began wondering if I was the one with the faulty memory.

Then while at Ashley’s home in Illinois for Christmas I asked her to recount the story. She did, almost word for word the way I wrote it above. Studly couldn’t believe his ears; although, in the face of such strong evidence he began to realize that perhaps he had internalized the details of our story to the point he’d convinced himself that it had happened to him. He won’t quite admit that he was wrong, but he is no longer adamant that he was there.

It’s kind of fascinating, isn’t it? That the brain can trick itself into believing something. It makes me wonder what memories I have that aren’t accurate, or that aren’t even my own. Like that memory I have of Han Solo and me kissing on board the Millennium Falcon as we evaded Imperial ships on our way to Cloud City. Don’t you dare tell me that never happened!

Peace, people!

Today’s Activities Thus Far

Shower

Yogurt with bananas and honey for breakfast

Brush teeth

Commiserate over Studly Doright’s lack of sleep

Law and Order mini-marathon

Load dishwasher

Organize Studly’s pharmaceuticals

Remember that I forgot to get dressed, apply immediate remedy in the form of denim capris and white T-shirt

Scowl at reflection in mirror

Apply makeup

Smile at reflection in mirror

Locate favorite flip flops and place them on feet

Compile a list of items to buy at CVS

Locate purse and phone

Remember that I didn’t write a blog post for today

Take a few minutes to write something to assuage my conscience

Frown at the results

Find a picture to distract from the lackluster post

Realize that wasn’t the one you wanted

Stick with that one

Peace, people

Publish

The Scoop on Solo

Yesterday I wrote of my intentions to see Solo: A Star Wars Story and of my trepidations. Han Solo, as played roguishly by Harrison Ford in the original trilogy and in the more recent, The Force Awakens, has been the inspiration for many of my romantic sci-fi daydreams over these past forty years.

Han Solo has been my imaginary hall pass. In other words, if Han, as played by Harrison Ford, ever shows up at my door in the Millennium Falcon Studly Doright gives his permission for me to spend some quality private time with the scoundrel. No questions asked. Mighty open minded of my Studly, wouldn’t you agree?

The film, Solo, is set in a time before the original trilogy, taking us back to before Han made his fabled Kessel run in twelve or so parsecs. Obviously Harrison Ford couldn’t play the part of scoundrel Han, having grown too old to play the younger version. I was genuinely concerned about the casting choice of Alden Ehrenreich. In the trailers he appeared too short, too boxy, too callow, too “not Harrison Ford.”

But, I am happy to report that not only is Mr. Ehrenreich a perfect Hal Solo (too young for me to lust over, but that’s okay), but Donald Glover is a fittingly rakish Lando Calrission, and Joonas Suotamo is a marvelous Chewbacca. The entire cast, including Woody Harrelson as the thief/smuggler, Becket, and Amelia Clark (also known as Game of Thrones’s Khaleesi) as young Han’s love interest, Kira, is spot on.

The pacing of the film is reminiscent of Star Wars, A New Hope. It’s fast and fun and chock full of wise cracks and charm and surprises. I was transported back to that world I fell in love with as a young adult.

Now, back to Han Solo. There’s one brief moment in which our young scoundrel is shown in profile, almost a silhouette, and he’s the spitting image of Han as portrayed by Harrison Ford. It almost took my breath away. Han lives on.

Go see the film. Let me know what you think. I’m curious to know if anyone else saw that scene as I did.

Peace, people.

Solo, Solo

I’m off this morning to see the newest Star Wars movie, Solo. Studly Doright can’t go with me due to a silly thing called work, so I’ll be seeing Solo solo.

Studly will want to see it once the new has worn off, so I’m sure I’ll see it more than once.

I’m torn, though. Harrison Ford IS Han Solo, so how can this young whippersnapper, Alden Ehrenreich, even dream of stepping into his boots? I’ve got mixed feelings about this.

I’m willing to give him a chance, though, to become the scruffy looking nerfherder I gave my heart to a long time ago, in a galaxy far, far away. May the Force be with him. And with all of us.

Peace, people.

Trade Offs

Boxers or briefs,
Salad or soup,
Ranch or French
Alone or a group?

Introvert or extrovert,
Country or rock,
Canine or feline,
Piaget or Spock?

Switchers or fighters,
Whole milk or fat free,
Harley or Yamaha,
Democrat or GOP?

Star Wars or Star Trek,
Beatles or the Stones,
Connery or Craig,
Han Solo or Indiana Jones?

Life is full of trade offs
Everything’s a choice
So hurry, close the menu
And give yourself a voice.

The Force Awakened, But I Forgot To

If one placed Star Wars geeks on a numbered continuum with ZERO being anyone who’d never seen the films and didn’t particularly care to and TEN being someone who began spasming five years  ago when the newest sequel was announced and hasn’t had a particularly sane moment since, I’d fall somewhere around an EIGHT. 

You need proof? One portion of our bedroom is something of a shrine to Star Wars. I have action figures of Luke Skywalker, Leia Organa, and Han Solo, a large Yoda hand puppet, and a bank featuring a beeping R2D2 and talking C3PO. I have characters from the extended universe, numerous Star Wars themed mugs, tshirts, and books. My television remote is a light saber. I’ve seen Episodes IV, V, and VI hundreds of times each and can quote the dialogue verbatim. Yes, I’m a bonafide fan.

I remember the delicious thrill I got when I first heard the news of a new Star Wars film in the making. I might have squealed. Ok, I’m sure I squealed. Studly Doright thought I was a trying to pass a kidney stone. Good thing he didn’t go into medicine.

It felt as if those five years would never pass, but thanks to the Disney machine and Facebook there were plenty of hints and tidbits to feed those of us hungry for any link to the future release, and all of a sudden the day is here!!! Star Wars Episode VII The Force Awakens has arrived.

I played it cool. After all there was absolutely no reason for me to see the movie at midnight. I’d set my alarm and be in line for the 9 a.m. showing on Friday. 

My excitement last night was intense. Instead of singing Christmas carols I was humming theme music from the films. The coffee maker was set to make a nice pot of caffeine to help me wake up. My clothing for the event was laid out. And I overslept. 

After my initial, “Oh Crap!” moment I showered, skipped the coffee, threw on my clothes, and rushed to the theater only to find the line snaked around the mall. Crap. So I stood in another line and purchased tickets to the 11 a.m. showing that had decent reserved seats remaining. It won’t be IMAX 3D, but hey, I didn’t see episode IV in 3D. So I guess I’m going old school on this one. When Studly’s ready to see the film in a couple of weeks I’ll insist on 3D, but for now I just need to see this film.

As I’m typing this it is 9:49 local (Central) time. In a little more than an hour I will gladly enter a galaxy far, far away. So I had a slight malfunction. Han will make it better.  “Uh, we had a slight weapons malfunction, but uh… everything’s perfectly all right now. We’re fine. We’re all fine here now, thank you.” (Winces.) “Uh, how are you?”–Han Solo, Episode IV, A New Hope.

  

Peace, people!


Skewed Priorities

I’ve mentioned before that I have a tendency toward hypochondria. Any splotch becomes a melanoma, every cough a case of pneumonia, a brief lapse in memory is perceived as senility. My mind is my worst enemy. 

So this afternoon when I had two weird twinges in my chest I immediately turned to Studly Doright and announced that I was having a heart attack. I’ve already survived one fake heart attack, so I know all the symptoms. 

Neither one of us got too upset, until I realized that if I had a heart attack for real it might put me in danger of missing opening weekend for Star Wars The Force Awakens! I refuse to even consider that occurrence, so any heart attacks, real or imagined, have to wait until after the Star Wars franchise has run its course. I might live forever. 

May the Force be with you. And me. 

Peace, people.

  

Fangirl

There are things in my life that I get a little geeky about. I’m already trying to figure out how to justify going to see Star Wars Episode VII on Christmas Day. I have full color action packed dreams about Han Solo and Chewbacca. That’s geeky.

But this post isn’t about Star Wars, it’s about me geeking out over a favorite author retweeting one of my tweets on Twitter. (Sounds a bit like Rockin’ Robin, doesn’t it?)

When I find an author I like I will read any and everything he or she has ever written. One of those authors is CJ Box. Mr. Box doesn’t write scifi or fantasy, my two favorite genres. No, he writes what I’d call modern western novels, set primarily in Wyoming. One of his protagonists is a game warden named Joe Pickett. 

I know Joe Pickett better than I do some members of my own family. Joe’s one of the really good guys in this world, but he’s not perfect. I’d like to think Joe and I could be best friends, but he’d think I talk too much. He’d be right. 

While driving around Tallahassee today after getting a pedicure:

 

green and sparkly!
 
I saw a sticker on a car window that read, “Blind Eye Outfitters” and all my warning bells started ringing. Blind eye, eh? Does that mean the outfitter will ignore violations of game laws? Instantly I wanted to touch base with Joe Pickett, and see if he should investigate.

Of course Joe is fictional, so I did the next best thing and tweeted CJ Box. Imagine my delight when he not only favorited my tweet, but then retweeted it! This geeky fangirl squealed a little, I’m not going to lie. 

  
Maybe CJ will notify Joe for me. It could happen.

Peace, people!