One of the first things to ever fall out of my poor, porous brain was the Periodic Table of Elements. As it slipped away, it left behind a few stragglers: gold (Au), silver (Ag) and iron (Fe).
Then I started losing the names of old classmates, though for some reason I retain their initials. At least I think I do.
When the Olympics are over, I'm going to do an assessment to see if I really am losing parts of my mind or if, perhaps, I've just been working very long hours and sleeping very short hours for so long that I've put my brain at a severe disadvantage when it comes to some key tasks like, well, thinking.
It seems I have very little control over my brain's filing system. Not only how things are filed, but even if they're filed. And yet certain things are apparently going to be with me forever, like the driver's license number of one woman I waited on in 1980 when I was a clerk at Sears. Or which page I was on in a Trixie Belden book, for Pete's sake, in 1967 when Mom called me down from the treehouse.
I read not long ago that people who are pack rats are probably that way because they don't have well-developed memories; they hang onto every little thing physically because they need the triggers to remember events and they're very sentimental people. They don't want to forget. They're just not wired to remember. It makes sense to me.
My brother Ken is just the opposite, hard-wired to retain every detail. It is the most aggravating thing in the world to have to call your big brother and ask him to recall what should be your childhood memory because you can't do it. "Ken, who was my fifth-grade teacher?"
He's inherently tidy, too. Grrr.
I've been thinking about memory because I don't want to forget the past couple of weeks.
I can't say the Olympics exactly "lit the fire within" at first for me. I was pretty sure it was going to be just one more job to get accomplished — and a big one, at that. Reminds me of the only time I ever voluntarily stepped out of a moving plane: I worried I would throw up, wet my pants or pass out. I had a blast. In the seemingly endless ramp-up to the Games, I've been so concerned about terrorism and editors and deadlines that it really didn't sound like too much fun.
To top it off, on Day 5, I came down with a genuine case of flu, complete with a really frightening fever and general misery, in spite of the fact I'd had a flu shot. A doctor at one of the venue clinics told me I'd picked up one of the secondary strains floating around. Great.
So, completely exhausted, I've forced myself out into the world every day for almost two weeks and —without fail — had a ball. Go figure.
When the Games are gone, I'm going to miss the stoic National Guardsman who has watched me go through the magnetometer probably 25 times down at the Main Media Center. He started out with a blank expression, which slowly warmed to a "Hello, Ms. Collins," and eventually arrived at "Looks like you're feeling better, Lois."
I'm going to miss the baritone boom of the guys on the street corners who don't make eye contact with anyone and don't vary their inflections as they intone "Anyone got tickets to sell? I'm buying tickets." Some don't move their lips.
It doesn't even bug me anymore that the Salt Lake Organizing Committee thinks it owns the word "team," though I still think an event's being taken a little too seriously when someone demands that flowers planted in the shape of the Olympic rings be dug up.
I've fallen in love with people like the friendly faced local who shyly approached a trio of young Asian men, each clad in a white jacket with a red back panel on which was written in yellow letters at least 10-inches high, "CHINA." "What country are you boys from?" she asked.
It's been fun watching how good the thousands of volunteers have gotten at their jobs. The first time I went to the Delta Center, it took more than an hour to clear security. Yesterday, with even bigger crowds, it took about 20 minutes.
I've seen parts of a couple of the sporting events, and they've been great. But they're not what I'm taking with me from the Games.
You just have to love an event that is somehow so big and so exciting that people will burn their vacation time parking cars on North Temple or becoming sidewalk sweepers just to be part of it. I've met volunteers who are spending the bulk of their time running a copying machine or standing in the middle of Second South directing traffic so that journalists don't step in front of buses.
The way my memory works, it won't be long before I can't tell you who won the gold or the silver or the bronze.
But I guarantee I'll never forget the Salt Lake 2002 Winter Olympics.
Deseret News staff writer Lois M. Collins may be reached by e-mail at lois@desnews.com
© 2002 Deseret News Publishing Company