see yesterday

I finished yesterday's blog. More tomorrow.

(Remember: blog  yesterday, blog tomorrow, but never blog today.)

prosopagnosia

prosopagnosia noun  Psychiatry:   the inability to recognise the faces of familiar people, typically as a result of damage to the brain.   ORIGIN 1950s: modern Latin, from Greek prosōpon ‘face’ + agnōsia ‘ignorance’.

I've told you before but I have to tell you again.  I have prosopagnosia.  It sounds like a spell that Hermione would utter in a Harry Potter escapade. It's not.  It's also not a result of damage to the brain, at least, not in my case. I've always had it. MIne pre-dates its appearance and recognition.   I can't seem to fix it. It keeps on being annoying and embarrassing, and often socially damning. 

I will explain, and illustrate.

When we moved to Stratford we went to a bunch of parties "to meet the new administrator of the Festival Theatre", and for us to meet people.  Those events, plus theatre parties, taught me quickly how to work a room, as they say.  One of the first requirements, of course, is to introduce yourself and to shake hands and make small talk: no politics or religion, no play analysis, no sex gossip.  I found one of the safest ploy was to ask what people liked to have for breakfast, especially interesting to travelling actors who had to make a home away form home so much and therefore to whom a comforting familiar breakfast was an important ritual.

So I approached a pleasant-looking woman a little older than I (I was at the time 37 years old), and said,  "Hello, I'm Bettyjane Wylie"  and she said, "That's the third time you've told me that this week."  You see, I had no recollection of her face, which at that moment, was not pleasant.  

It gets worse. I was selling a book to a new-to-me publisher and the publisher and his managing editor took me out to lunch when I concentrated on pitching my book and being as entertaining as possible. Later, I talked to the editor on the phone and then took some copy in to the offices.  I meet this nice woman in the hall and explained that I had been talking to the editor and brought this material in and she said,"I am the editor."  Oops .I  never had a good relationship with her after that.  It never stops and never gets better.

 This week I went to a Women's Caucus meeting of  the Playwrights Guild of Canada (PGC). I've been a member (founding member) of what was once Playwrights Canada,  then the Playwrights Union, then maybe something else and now it's PGC. I'm a Grey Eminence now. I keep turning up. So I said to the young, attractive and, I must admit, vaguely familiar woman who poured me a glass of wine, "Are you Monique?" She was the last hostess I met at that Playwright-Designer meeting I told you about a few weeks ago. "No, she said, "I'm Robin",  (the Executive Director of PGC).  Of course she was.

And for good or ill, I had told her before about my prosopagnosia, and she remembered that and was very gracious. "I'll keep reminding you," she promised me.

Perhaps more people will do that now that I am so old and they can attribute my lapses to Alzheimers. I sill have my marbles but there's a black hole in my face map.