It came to mind the other day, for no apparent reason, suddenly and completely.
I go to Camp Deerwood, so pity me.
There’s not a boy in the vicinity.
And every night at 9 they lock the door.
I don’t know what the heck I ever came here for.
I’m gonna pack my bags and homeward bound.
I’m gonna turn this camp right upside down.
I’m gonna smoke and drink and neck and pet
So what the heck, to heck with the whole darn camp.
There I had it: My psuedo-rebellious camp song (somewhat sanitized here), which I sang for two months in 1969 and 45 years later remember perfectly.
But my Apple ID and password? The whereabouts of my sunglasses, or my keys?
Those I forget.
It is a conundrum of memory. We can lose our keys within moments of putting them somewhere and forget new passwords almost as quickly as we pick them — but remember a song for decades.
Beatles lyrics, advertising jingles and TV theme songs of decades past — they’re all in our heads, perfectly preserved through the magic of the connection of words to melody.
Music makes an excellent mnemonic device; ask any young adult who learned the Schoolhouse Rock! Constitution Song and can still sing the Preamble.
And Jenny, Jenny — who among us of a certain vintage will ever forget her number? It’s permanently embedded along with the Tommy Tutone song: 867-5309.
So not long after my Camp Deerwood ditty bubbled up in my mind, a thought occurred: What if I could remember where I put things as well as I remembered that song?
Couldn’t any of us use the music/memory trick for practical purposes? Keep track of our possessions by incorporating them into songs, using melodies we already know to jog our memories?
And for those of us who have yet to store our passwords online — maybe because we can’t download the app because we can’t remember our app store password — could we use the same strategy to come up with an always-retrievable password?
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I think we can.
(To the tune of “Maria”)
The basement — I put the light bulbs in the basement!
Then suddenly I feared I’d never locate them again.
The basement — they’re right in a bin in the basement!
On the floor in the back, next to the old paint cans.
The basement! The place where all odd excess stuff goes —
Across from the racks of old kids’ clothes.
The basement — the light bulbs are down in the basement!
(Sung to the tune of “Born Free”)
Your keys — they’re still in the back door.
Or maybe that bowl where
You keep change and little tchotchkes.
Stay, keys, in one location
After vacation
It’s so hard to find a thing.
Your keys – keep them in the same place
So you don’t lose face
By never finding your keys!
(To the tune of, “She’ll Be Coming ‘Round the Mountain”)
Oh, the Ventra card is in my parka pocket
Oh, the Ventra card is in my parka pocket.
If there’s a change in weather.
I could lose the card forever
So I always have to check my parka pocket.
(To the tune of “Love and Marriage”)
Dog and address,
Dog and address —
The new password is the dog and address.
This I tell you, brother –
It’s not the maiden name of mother.
(To the tune of “On the Street Where You Live“)
I have often changed
My password before
But it’s always been some obscure name or word before
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Now at once I see
How nice it would be
If I make it the street where I lived.
Such a boring choice —
My head would hang down.
But it’s something I’d remember without writing down.
And though I should be leery
Of using a security query —
I’ll wimp out — it’s the street where I lived.
Join me in song, friends; we will climb every mountain and find all our keys.