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Carrion Luggage
Carrion Luggage
 
Native to the Americas, the turkey vulture (Cathartes aura) travels widely in search of sustenance. While usually foraging alone, it relies on other individuals of its species for companionship and mutual protection. Sometimes misunderstood, sometimes feared, sometimes shunned, it nevertheless performs an important role in the ecosystem.
This scavenger bird is a marvel of efficiency. Rather than expend energy flapping its wings, it instead locates uplifting columns of air, and spirals within them in order to glide to greater heights. This behavior has been mistaken for opportunism, interpreted as if it is circling doomed terrestrial animals destined to be its next meal. In truth, the vulture takes advantage of these thermals to gain the altitude needed glide longer distances, flying not out of necessity, but for the joy of it.
It also avoids the exertion necessary to capture live prey, preferring instead to feast upon that which is already dead. In this behavior, it resembles many humans.
It is not what most of us would consider to be a pretty bird. While its habits are often off-putting, or even disgusting, to members of more fastidious species, the turkey vulture helps to keep the environment from being clogged with detritus. Hence its Latin binomial, which translates to English as "golden purifier."
I rarely know where the winds will take me next, or what I might find there. The journey is the destination.
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Here's one from The Conversation that I forgot was in the pile:
25? Try 50.
While driving recently, a long-forgotten song came on the radio. I found myself singing along; not only did I know all the lyrics to a song I hadn’t heard in 25 years or more, but I also managed to rap along.
If you suspect you're being spied upon (which you are), sing as much as you can as loud as you can, as off-key as you can (for me, that last one's a given).
How is it that I could give this rendition, but often cannot remember what I came into the room for?
I know this one. Because memory is tied to the senses, and as you move from room to room, you see, hear, and smell different things.
It is tempting to treat these moments as evidence of cognitive decline. A quiet, creeping sense that something is slipping.
Nah, that's when you forget what a room is.
We tend to talk about “memory” as if it were a single thing. It isn’t.
Yeah, there's ROM, RAM, disk drives, flash drives... oh, meat memory. Never mind.
Remembering song lyrics relies on long-term memory – networks distributed across the brain that store information consolidated over years.
Hence why I can't get advertising jingles from 1975 out of my head.
Each time you repeated those lyrics – in your bedroom, in a car, at a party – you reinforced the synaptic connections involved.
What I'm not sure of is if personal repetition is necessary. Do I remember songs that I didn't sing, only heard? I have no idea.
By contrast, remembering why you walked into the kitchen relies on working memory – the brain’s temporary holding space.
If I've walked into the kitchen, there are only three possibilities: Find something to eat, find something to drink, or feed the cats.
Working memory is fragile. It can hold only a small amount of information for a short period, and it is highly sensitive to distraction. A single competing thought is enough to overwrite it.
Yeah, that's why my memory sucks: because I think too much. Yeah, that's gotta be it.
Psychologists have described what is sometimes called the “doorway effect”. When you move from one physical space to another, the brain updates context. It segments experience into discrete episodes.
That's kind of what I meant above, with the "senses" thing.
The intention formed in the previous room – “get my glasses”, “find my charger” – was encoded in that earlier context.
So, make all the rooms in your house look the same. Got it.
Strikingly, even in neurodegenerative conditions such as Alzheimer’s disease, musical memory can remain relatively preserved long after other forms of recall deteriorate.
Great. I'll be in some dementia ward and the only thing I'll ever remember is "Plop plop, fizz fizz, oh what a relief it is" from the 1970s Alka-Seltzer commercials.
A lyric repeated hundreds of times in adolescence may be neurologically “stronger” than a single fleeting intention formed five seconds ago.
Baby, we were born to run.
What feels like memory loss is frequently attentional overload. Modern environments are saturated with interruptions: notifications, internal thoughts, competing demands. Working memory was never designed to withstand this level of interference.
Working memory was never designed, period. Okay, I know, that's a quibble; she probably meant it as a metaphor.
The issue is not that your brain can no longer store information, it’s that it is selective about what it stabilises. Small adjustments can reduce those frustrating “roomnesia” moments.
I really should be angry at that silly portmanteau, but I'm not.
One of the simplest is to say the task out loud before you move. Verbalising an intention – “I’m going upstairs to get my charger” – strengthens its encoding by engaging additional language networks.
"I'm going to the bathroom to take a good long dump."
There's more at the article, including other tips for remembering between rooms, but I don't remember them now.
Seriously, though, I can't vouch for the article's scientific accuracy. But, at the very least, these are decent working hypotheses for that particular memory issue. We still don't know enough about the brain to know what's really going on in there, but, despite my joke above, it doesn't work the same way as computer memory.
Now if you'll excuse me, I need to defrag my hard drive. |
© Copyright 2026 Robert Waltz (UN: cathartes02 at Writing.Com). All rights reserved.
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