DIANE MAKAR MURPHY Don't let the truth get in the way of a good memory

I read recently that each time you recall a memory, you alter it. For example, if you remember a speech you gave in the first grade, and your daughter asks, "Did everyone clap for you?"
And you reply, honestly, "Gee, honey, I don't remember."
"But, did you get an A?"
"Yes, I think I did. The teacher told me I did well."
"So everybody clapped a lot."
"Well, they probably did."
The next time you recall that first-grade speech, your memory will go something like this:
"I gave a speech in the first grade. The teacher liked it so much I got an A. I remember how everyone stood up and applauded."
Layers of memory: Memory, it seems, is applied in layers. Your original memory does not exist beyond its original application. Each time it is recalled, it is altered and laid down again.
This is why some people are falsely accused of crimes. The process is called false memory syndrome. Police officers have noted that a victim faced with a line up will often start out saying, "That guy on the end might be the guy; I'm not sure."
Move to: "I'm fairly sure it was the guy on the end."
And finally end up at: "That's the guy. No question about it."
As scary as this is, I find the research equally exhilarating. As I said to my husband John, "Do you realize the implications of this memory layering thing?"
He didn't, so I enlightened him.
"If we can inadvertently create false memories, why in great Caesar's gray matter can't we do it on purpose!?" Aha! Don't you see the potential?
Building memories: Can you imagine the twilight years if through our youth and middle age we carefully laid the groundwork for a rich, joyous false memory-filled life? A life any jet-setting, Swiss-bank-account owning, latte sipping, mogul might envy? My plan goes something like this.
Right now, today, I am going to remember that rather ordinary trip I took to the Sparkle supermarket this morning. But as I recall it this afternoon, I'm going to put that supermarket on L'Avenue des Champs-Elys & eacute;es. Paris! Paris, France. Yeah, that's right. That Sparkle was in Paris!
But, you know what, as I recall it again, it wasn't a Sparkle at all. It was the mus & eacute;e du Louvre! And I wasn't there buying cucumbers. I was there investigating the Venus de Milo and the impressionist paintings of Utrillo for a watercolor class I was taking at ... l'universit & eacute; de Paris-Sorbonne!
All right.
Other memories: Of course, I may have gotten carried away. That may have to involve four or five contiguous reflections.
Then, I think it would be terrific to recall my years as a columnist at The Vindicator ... no, New York Times ... no, syndicated columnist. Then, I can recall all the parties I crashed, was invited to at friend's houses, uh, mansions, and how genuinely funny Dave Barry is in person ... and how he spilled that drink on me ... and oh yeah, that was at the Associate Press Award ceremony in New York City, as I recall.
I see no end to this layering thing. Remember how the girls in high school used to be so attracted to you? Go ahead, picture them. Now, see them in their super model clothing. Now, see them walking down a runway and winking at you. Sure, that's your memory! At least, it will be when you're 85.
My husband hasn't warmed to the idea yet, but that's just because he hasn't thought about all the wonderful things we can reflect on during our retirement.
The first million we made, the journey to the Great Pyramids, our son's summa cum laude graduation from Harvard, our 24 grandchildren, our trek across the Himalayas ...
I'm really excited about this thing.
murphy@vindy.com