I watched a Ted Talks last night with my husband on quantum levitation (http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=PXHczjOg06w). Boaz Almog shows how a phenomenon known as quantum locking allows a superconductor disk to float over a magnetic rail—completely frictionlessly and with zero energy loss. I watched with my jaw dropped and followed the explanation with only one pause to ask my scientific husband a few questions. He watched and decided that it would be a good addition to his lesson plans on electricity for his physics class.

This morning I wanted to tell you about it, but I found out that, once again, I am a victim of what I have come to call slimy learning. I follow the explanation as it is made—it makes sense to me—but when I try to repeat it, the details are too slippery to hang on to–hence the adjective. It reminds of my number-related learning classes in school. However, I can remember the visuals—and that a superconductor that expels magnetic fields and the possible applications for this discovery in quantum physics are pretty mind-blowing.

My husband’s mind works differently from mine. He remembers names, numbers, and equations. He has a calendar in his brain—this bill comes on this date and is this much, this meeting happens at this time and place—and don’t get me started on his linear, sequential thinking abilities. He has a storehouse of information that he readily accesses.

On the other hand, I remember things through visuals and story, demonstrations and smells, emotions and music. My brain is a warren of rabbit trails, all connected but access sometimes is only possible by following this trail and that until I get to the particular storage bin I am looking for. And don’t ask me to remember a date and time. Write it on the calendar, set the alarm on my phone, ask someone to call me when she leaves …

My coping skills are many and varied, and I have managed to do well in school and on the job. I have some things that need to be routine to happen, and I rely on that schedule.

It’s only in the latter half of my life, though, that I have come to really appreciate and thank God (with honesty) for the brain he gave to me. With it he also gave me a desire to do things well, and so I’ve had to adapt and adopt skills to make that happen. But I can go places and tie things together, analyze and comprehend, say “this is like that” (to laughter from green thinkers, but—oh, well), bring epiphanies home into my own relationships with the best of them. It’s a great mind, and I like its quirks and sharp corners, endless trails and deep wells.

So, slimy learning¸ I am no longer intimidated by you. I’ll take notes and review details as needed. I’ll say, “I apologize on not remembering, but will you remind me of your name again,” and then take a minute or two to make some crazy connection so I remember it next time. I’ll keep my calendar close at all times and fill it in religiously—the hard part is remembering to look at it.

My husband and I are a great Trivial Pursuit^© team: I remind him of the story and characters–he remembers the names and dates.