In the movie Gigi, Maurice Chevalier and Hermione Gingold sing a number together “Ah, yes, I remember it well”. Lovely reminiscence of tender and lasting moments, except of course, the two of them don’t agree on what happened. The latest research, I have heard, says that we alter our memories a bit each time we recall them. Ok, so he remembers her dress being one color while she says it was a different one. Does it matter?
Probably matters differently to different people. They are feeling loving and tolerant toward each other, so it may not matter much to either of them. Any adult children conclude their usual opinions that Dad doesn’t notice or can’t see or calls colors by the wrong names or that Mom usually remembers rightly and accurately. I am pretty sure that they dressed well for the occasion and the love and attraction made both look good so I don’t care.
I find that the details matter to my wife. We both tend to be lawyer-like arguers who search albums for evidence or appeal to others who were there to support one version or the other. Lacking good evidence, we conclude our usual opinions that we often disagree and that evidence, if it is uncovered later, usually supports her, damnit.
Once when we were playing cards, I needed a stake but was out of cash. I offered a deal that my win would mean I was right 65% of the time but my loss would mean she was correct that percentage of evidence-free disagreements. She won the game of course but I doubt I am actually incorrect very often. Trying to write about this now, I can’t even recall which questions I accepted the label “officially wrong” on. I’ve probably been so whipped and conquered that I forget I once disagreed.
I often think of the New Yorker cartoon where a couple is seated at a restaurant table. The man asks his companion, “Which one of us doesn’t like salmon?” He probably used to know but by now, they are so conjoined as a couple that their memories, even for tastes, have merged.
