Where it Went and How it Got There

Copyright November 2010 by Ruth Lampert


I have attended a lot of professional seminars on topics such as “New Research on the Brain,” “ Latest Findings on Memory,” and so forth, which explained,with charts and diagrams and scientific terminology, the vagaries of memory including the kinds of exasperating experiences expressed in “Where the blankety blank did I put that blankety blank cup of coffee? (The use of “blankety blank instead of shorter, more pungent jargon is a clue to the age of the forgetter.)

Impressive though these scholarly theories are, I suggest a simpler explanation, one which tandems with my understanding of the loss of energy that accompanies aging. Here, then is “Lampert’s Law of Disappearing Objects.”

In order for inanimate objects (e.g. the check you just wrote for a bill due two weeks ago, or the cup of coffee you put down to answer the phone which is not where it is supposed to be, etc) to accomplish their mischief of quickly moving from where they were last placed to some highly unlikely location, extra energy is required. Where do they (the things) get this extra energy? Answer: They drain it from the very victims they are tormenting! Thus, elders are constantly looking for things we just put down this second. And we’re always tired.

In other words, forget (no pun intended) all that stuff about synapses and bundles and stuff. If my hypothesis seems simplistic, remember Ignaz Semmelweis who maintained, in the face of the medical establishment’s scorn, that childbed fever was caused by invisible organisms that doctors carried on their hands from the dissecting room to the delivery room. “Wash your hands! Wash your hands!“ he kept hollering, but to no avail. . His theory was deemed unscientific, and they laughed at him just as you may even now be laughing at my advice regarding disappearing objects.

Try it. Play a little game. Instead of standing there moaning “But I just had it in my hand a second ago!” adopt a relaxed posture, gently close your eyes, and call out pleasantly but firmly, “Come out, come out, wherever you are!’ Then pretend to forget about it and go do something else while you wait for the magic to happen, and the missing item travels to the refrigerator, where you will find it hours later while looking all over the blankety blank place for the blankety blank jar of peanut butter, which you just this second put down when the phone rang (where is that stupid phone?)

There is an alternative remedy, which has a special appeal to me as a Gestalt therapist emeritus. I sit quietly, with awareness, and fold my legs (no, not in the lotus position, haven’t I already acknowledged I am getting long in the tooth and stiff in the knees?) and imagine that I am the missing object.

“I am Ruth’s hairbrush (or stapler, or magnifying lens, or mascara tube, or whatever)” . I murmur softly. “ I wish to avoid being engaged by another person , but my defenses are quite primitive. . So, in order to achieve isolation, I am hiding…. (in the toilet brush holder, stack of papers to be recycled, or wherever )”

Scoff if you like, but it’s worth a try. Just don’t tell your therapist.
Or anyone.