What is your earliest memory of your life?

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My earliest memory is either slightly after the age of two, or possibly slightly before, depending on which one came first, and if it was the latter, when it happened.

Memory with a date on it: We were in a big building with high dim halls. They took me to a window into a room. There was someone there, touching a baby in a glass box. That was interesting. They pointed at another baby, in a crib right below the window. She was wearing a blue blanket. It was my little sister.

My little sister was born not quite three months after my second birthday.


Memory without a date: I was downstairs in the Big House looking up the hole they'd made in the second floor for the stairs. I was MAD. I wanted to be up there too, but Mama had said I could not be, because I was too heavy and I would fall through. I knew they were pulling one over on me, though. THEY were bigger than I was, and THEY were not falling through. It was untrue, and therefore, they were lying to me.

Many years later, I brought this up to Mama. She explained: they had just put the plywood down, but it wasn't nailed yet. They were walking very carefully, making sure to stay over the beams. If they'd gone running off like I surely would have, they'd have fallen through. But they couldn't trust me to not go running off, so downstairs I stayed. MAD. (Mama was impressed that I'd remembered that. It had made an impression, though.)

One of the things I really want to do is take good photos of the places I go, the buildings I deal with, the plant life, the landscape, the sky. I want to remember how these things look for after I leave. There are so many photos of the people, and I write so much about the events -- what I want my eyes to remember is the lay of the land, the way that building sat right in front of those trees, the way the little mountain was, the rocks, the crack in the sidewalk...

What I'd really love to do, if I were feeling particularly irresponsible and cheery, is take photos of the beats I walk, then put them on Petridish with Google map link complete with satellite photos and exact coordinates. You could find the places I stood, years later, with a GPS and my photos for a guidebook.

... That's what I'd like. A mobile device that knows where it is at all times, GPS and compass in one, complete with camera and upload system. Take photos, tag them with location, date, time, direction, people, keywords, commentary.

In the discussion about memory technology in the Harry Potter universe, there was a comparison between Obliviation (and similar things) and rape -- and the follow-up that rape is more vandalism, desecration, and invasion than it is theft, really. A physical assault is an attack that "takes" feelings of security and safety, yes, but it accomplishes this by creating traumatic memories that override previous experience, rather than actually removing events that had led to the feelings of safety. An Obliviation takes away memories, rather than creating new memories that change emotion.

Tangent much? Yes. Sort of. I've been puzzled by the intense feelings of traumatic violation I get when someone or something has messed with my data. I pride myself on my memory, but I know my good memory is an illusion, carefully crafted by the fact that I keep very detailed records of what I'm doing, where I've been, who I know, and who I am. I keep my memories on my computer. An invasion of my computer is not only an invasion onto a personal body part, but risks damaging my memories. Keep your memories in your shoes.

I read Cyteen too young, I think, because once I'd read it, I started hoarding information about myself -- not quite the way an obsessive and mentally ill person might save old pizza boxes and assorted garbage, but with a disturbing dedication and fervor. I want immortality, but I don't think I'm going to get it in this body. I want to be remembered -- more than that, I want to remember me. I want some girl in the future to be able to look through my memories, look through my eyes, and use where I left off as a point where she can leap into places where I won't be able to reach quite yet, but I can almost see if I stretch hard enough...