I used to be really good at remembering names. Apparently I’ve lost my touch.

A couple of days ago, I ran into a man who remembered me from a lunch we both attended last year. I had not only forgotten his name, but his face as well. I joked that all men looked the same to me, but I was irritated with myself for drawing a blank.

I was brought up to believe that remembering names is important, and faces even more so. And here I was failing at both.

I wondered if it was because I was older and my brain had less room than it used to as it filled up with day to day stuff.

I pictured the giant scarecrow my kids and I had made for Halloween last year and envisioned my head resembling his. The more hay that was stuffed in, the more that tumbled out with each piece of straw representing a memory of some sort being forced out.

Intent on recapturing my previous skill, I recalled my old trick of name association. When I’d meet a person I’d shake their hand and say their name back to them in conjunction with someone famous who also shared that same name.

“Diana? As in Princess Diana?” or “Gene? As in Gene Simmons?”

It would give me a combined visual of the new face and the familiar face and increase the likelihood that I’d remember their name. It also had the added benefit of being an ice breaker.

“No, not like Michael Jackson,” one man responded. “More like Michael Jordan.” Perfect. Now I had two iconic African American faces to associate with this short Irish guy grinning up at me.

But my trick was flawed. I’d have to think really fast for people who had unusual names or who didn’t have a famous counterpart.

Sometimes I could get personal: “Camille … like my Auntie Camille?” Or creative: “Emerson, like Emerson Appliances?” But sometimes I was hooped. Like when I met Xiomar.

I’m not sure if my late grandfather would have approved of my name game. He had tricks of his own, but he was more subtle and sophisticated about it.

“Make eye contact and say their name back to them after a good firm handshake,” he used to counsel. “And discreetly jot it down on a notepad with a descriptive word or two as soon as you can.” He must have been mistaking me for someone organized enough to carry a pen, let alone a notepad.

But I agreed with him that it was a talent worth honing. I liked it when people remembered my name, and if it was spelled correctly that was even better.

Years ago I had a boss who misspelled my name every time. I realize there are several ways to spell it, but after I would send an email to him signed Lori and would subsequently get a reply addressing me as Lorrie, Laurie, Lowry or Lorry, I’d have to shake my head at his inconsistency. With such sloppiness, it was hard to take him seriously.

But maybe he was just feeling similar to the way I’m feeling now: like an overstuffed scarecrow trying to keep the hay from falling out.

To watch my trick in action please watch the video that goes along with this column at LoriWelbourne.com.