That Damn Door

Spring!  That is such a wonderful word, and I am doing OK.

I have read, and so much want to believe, that walking through doorways plays with one's mind. This assures me that it is not my brain, but rather the fault of the architect who built my house who has caused me to question my sanity. In an article in Scientific America, researches at the University of  Notre Dame tested subjects (absent minded professors, perhaps) and found that the doorway effect suggests that there is more to remembering than just what you paid attention to, when it happened and how hard you tried.  They point out that some forms of memory have a shelf life and the brain purges that information in favor of new stuff.  They call this kind of memory representation an "Event Model", and propose that walking through a doorway is a good time to purge your event models because whatever happened in the old room is likely to become less relevant now that the venues have changed.  This seems similar to my pantry, where dusty jars of spices (I only needed one teaspoon) and cans of olives purchased for a long ago party, find their way to the back and are forgotten about.  I am fortunate to live in a home whose main floor is very open and rooms flow into each other, except, of course, the bathroom. So far, I have not forgotten what my mission is when entering through that door.  It is, however, when I go upstairs and downstairs that the problem seems to arise.  Doorways abound and I am left with the question, "What am I doing here".  I then run back to where I was and look for a hint of what my mission was.  It usually comes back to me but then I have to huff and puff all the way back up and down the stairs and a decision is made as to whether it is worth it.  On days of ambition, I might do it.

So maybe the answer to my brain farts is to move into a one floor, one room house.  Less doors, no stairs, and maybe there will be more room in my mind to store information that will help me find my glasses.