My mind churns with a song I cannot remember the title of nor can I get the noggin to give up the name of the group. My mind's file system for music lacks finesse. Though I love music, cataloging titles and artists never happened. Oh sure, some songs I can almost sing backward I know them so well. Others float around with a snippet of lyrics or a tittle of melody. Sometimes Google can find a title with the bit of information I offer, other times I do not offer enough. Days later the information pops to the surface.
My memory in other categories could win the Nobel Prize for Recollection. I can usually pull the needed bit of information pretty quickly. Movie titles, book titles, lyrics swirl around my brain. Sports stats pretty much the same. Players I usually remember by a physical trait -- hair tops the list.
Journalism is a transitory profession. Most journalists hope to move on to a bigger paper. We all had hopes of the New York Times. Teaching lures many journalists because of the regular hours and holidays.
I digress.
After 30 years at one newspaper, I categorically can say I have seen at least a hundred Walter Winchells and Anna Quindlens come through Amarillo. I usually can bring up a face with a name.
Journalists, at least the ones I know, read and read and read. We fill our mind's file system with lots of useless facts that are well-organized because words help us relay information. Words -- the more you use them, the more refined your writing.
Words have their own Dewey Decimal System in my head. Of course, the drawer for a particular file occasionally sticks, and there are so many, sometimes it takes awhile to access them back there in the far reaches.
Thus ends another episode in my exciting life. On to the dishes now.
Later, Dude.
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