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In many of the childhood memories I’ve held onto, I’m just having fun. Like the times I used to play at the beach — that is, until a large wave slammed my small body onto the sand. Ouch.

One particularly happy memory from days gone by is of the Good Humor Man. Every summer afternoon of my childhood, sure as sprinkles, I waited to hear the tinkly tune from the Good Humor truck. For those of you who may have come of age after me, this was an ice cream vendor who drove his truck around the neighborhood selling ice cream bars. I remember half and half bars, vanilla ice cream coated in chocolate, for only five cents.

Though cash was chronically short (even thrift can be costly), my mom always seemed to have an extra dime to spare for two ice cream bars — one for me, and one for my little brother. (I always thought of David as my “little” brother, even when he grew up to be taller than me.)

Come to think of it, I haven’t seen a dime in circulation for years. And now, the U S treasury has announced that it will no longer mint any more pennies because they cost 3.7 cents each to manufacture.  (I guess that they finally figured that they weren’t going to make a profit with increased production.)

While dimes and pennies and nickels seem to be following the same course as the dinosaurs, Daveen and I still carry around quarters for — see if you can guess?

That’s right!  For parking meters. Because it is easier to drop in four quarters than it is to deal with the vagaries of using a credit card to buy time on a meter, which it seems, are often broken. (Parking tip: I frequently find available parking in a space with a broken meter. It seems other people don’t know you can park for free if the meter is broken – up to the maximum posted time limit.)

The Good Humor Man is long gone from the neighborhood I grew up in, as am I, but the sweet memories linger, of licking a cold ice cream bar on a hot summer afternoon.

In my world, back in those days, a nickel was all I needed to be happy.

Well, maybe a dime to buy a kite, from time to time.

Alan

What is the most important thing about … well, it felt important at the time … but now, I can’t remember what it was, much less why it was important. I’ve already forgotten it, kind of like last year’s income tax return (after it’s been filed and forgotten in the dustbin of history).

My memory used to have a half-life of thirty seconds. After thirty seconds I’d forget half of my thought, and then the other half no longer seemed to matter. Eventually, I’d forget the second half too. Oh well.  Now the half-life is … well … fewer than thirty seconds.

When he was my age, my father had already mastered the fine art of … ah, yes … remembering. He simply carried around a small notepad, and he wrote reminders to himself. His system worked well for him. Maybe I’ll give it a try, although I would use the notes app on my phone instead of a notepad, because I’d probably set that down somewhere and forget where.

But memory is a strange and fleeting ability. I can forget what happened ten minutes ago, but a memory from 40 years earlier will reappear uninvited. For example, just now I’m remembering a statement attributed to a famous classical pianist:

“If I don’t practice for one day, I know it. If I don’t practice for two days, my students know it, and if I don’t practice for three days, everyone knows it.”

So, what was my point?   Ah, yes. If I’d written it down immediately, I’d remember it. Provided that I can remember exactly where I wrote it down. These days, things can even get lost in the labyrinth of files in my computer. That’s why I’ve learned to use the word “Blog” in the title of the file for every blog entry. Type that word into the search field and like magic – every blog related file appears.

It’s been a nice weekend — I enjoyed watching several excellent playoff games in the National Football League.  But after the Super Bowl (that happens on February 8, if you care to write it down) woe is me. I’ll have to reestablish my relationship with the Los Angeles Lakers and NBA Basketball. (Is the “Dancing With the Stars” show still on TV – maybe in its 200th or so season?).

All right. I’ve avoided work long enough. I’m off to my office to … well, I’m sure I’ll remember by the time I get there.

Alan

As you may already know, I’ve been writing this blog for more than ten years, and that means I’ve almost exhausted the mother lode of stories that I had to tell.

And yet, I’m not planning to stop writing this blog any time soon. After all, I’m only 85.  My father and aunt both lived to be more than 100.

This means I’ll most likely need to come up with close to a thousand more ideas to write about.  But I often find now that Nancy, my editor and friend for more than 500 blogs, has a better memory than I do.  Last week she encouraged me not to write about two of the three ideas I’d proposed.  Why?  “Already used.”  (She must think she has the memory of a thirty-year-old.  I don’t even remember what that was like.)

That’s the Pre-face.

The real face is, “Would it help.”

To remind you, in the movie Bridge of Spies, Tom Hanks plays the role of an attorney defending Mark Rylance (the alleged spy Rudolph Abel).  Hanks asks Rylance if he understands that if he is convicted, he could be executed.

“I do,” said Rylance.

“But you don’t seem to be upset,” Hanks said.

Ryland’s answer will stick with me forever (or for the next 15 years, whichever comes sooner), “Would it help?”

I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again (possibly in another blog), if there is nothing further you can do to solve a problem, even one as serious as imminent death, why waste time and energy by worrying about it?

One way I achieve this is by staying in the moment.

My wife never asks me, “Did you miss me?”  She knows, by now, my answer.  I don’t miss people because I am focused on the person that I am with, not some phantom elsewhere in the universe.

And, as I’ve mentioned before, when a coworker asks me if I’m looking forward to a vacation, I know the polite answer is something like, “You bet.”  But my truth is that I begin to enjoy a vacation when I step into the airplane, and seldom a moment before.

So while I know there might be many things worrying you, this year I encourage you to immediately ask yourself, “Would it help?”  You already know my answer to that. (And, if not, maybe I’ll remind you next week.)

But my advice — don’t think about 2027 until about a year from now.

Alan