Some say the eyes are the window to the soul. I say my pantry is the window to my brain. Every inch of space is filled with stuff to the point where it seems like it can’t hold any more and more times than not, it isn’t as well-organized as I’d wish it to be.
From time to time I attempt to regain a semblance of order so that I can readily grab what I need. But just like my memory, I don’t always seem able to grasp the exact thing I’m in search of without moving a few things around first.
I try to keep like-things together; breakfast cereals, baking items, canned goods, etc., but there are a few things that either don’t fit with the others due to the shape of their packaging or because their uses cover many categories or they are so unique that they are only used occasionally. These are sometimes the items that take the longest to find.
Generally after turning on the light and moving a few things, I find exactly the things I’m in search of. Sadly, sometimes the thing is just not there. Instead, it was just a faint memory of something that was there but is now no more that sent me looking in the first place.
Seasonal items are the worst; things I only buy once a year or so. They tend to end up in the back, obscured by other things which often results in my replacing it before it’s gone leaving me with twice as much of something I don’t use very often. During canned food drives I am conflicted as to whether or not I should donate non regular food items; a jar of capers could be a treat to someone who is on a tight budget or of no use to someone who doesn’t use them.
My brain works pretty much on the same system. I shove so much data on so many different subjects that it makes memory storage challenging. I have always been a memory-hoarder; tucking away thoughts and impressions of places and events in my life. These, along with the stories from the many people I’ve met on my journey take up enormous bits of memories.
I cannot even begin to count how many human beings I have crossed paths with in my 59 years. There must be tens of thousands, possibly more. Although I may struggle to remember their names, their faces and a story behind the face is usually easily retrieved, especially if I’ve actually spoken to them. Names are just not as important as the person themselves; our stories are who we are, names are just a label.
Sometimes I wonder just how many terabytes of data the human brain can retain before the whole system crashes. Just like my pantry, some of the shelves are getting rather crowded and when a I shuffle things around, sometimes things fall off. Luckily, they only fall to the floor where I can pick them up and put them away, if I can find room on a shelf.