Four Sides of a MirrorrorriM

"Is there someone else, Narcissus?"

Looked in the mirror lately? What do you see? Here are four stories about mirrors.

1) As a puppy, Smokey used to live in a house that had full-length mirrors covering closets and over chests. On our bed, he regularly used to check himself out, see what he looked like, or see what we were doing without having to turn his head from that comfortable position he was lying in (Dogs are practical). He knew at a very early age that the dog in the mirror was him. When he looked "over there" he saw himself, that it was an image, a reflection and not an actual object. Pretty big leap for a dog.

The other day, he hopped up on the bed and was startled by his own reflection in the mirror. He bounced over to it and went nose to nose with his reflection, sniffing (no doubt) to ascertain if it was real, then looked intently at it, turning his head from side to side, getting the details. He hasn't done that (that we know) since we've moved over a year ago. Was he seeing what had changed--that missing tooth, the few more gray hairs?

Can a dog have vanity?

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2) They do a lot of experimentation on primates-some benign, some not so much. One benign one that interested me was a rudimentary intelligence test (that is, the test was rudimentary). The researchers would put a mirror into the apes' play area--like a reflective monolith--and see what their reactions would be. The less socialized primates, the less intelligent, would look at the mirror, and interpret it as a window and go around it to meet the other ape. But there wouldn't be one, which would vex the ape, bum him out, whatever.

The more confident, socialized intelligent apes-the "self-actualized" apes, if you will-would look at the image in the mirror, look at themselves and then flop over and look at it upside down. This threw the researchers for a loop: "What are they doing? Performing? Going crazy?"

No. They recognized themselves immediately, and then having checked themselves out, bounced around to look at that side they'd never seen before--their butts ("Oh, so that's what that looks like!").

Then, curiosity satisfied, they'd go off to the nearest typewriter and write Shakespeare.

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3) Before my Mom was diagnosed with Alzheimer's, she would say some curious things that were troubling. She would tell us about a neighborhood woman who would walk in and spend time in the house. Who was it, we asked. She didn't know, but she came by "a lot." As I said, troubling.

Alzheimer's patients regress. Their short-term memory is like swiss cheese and their long-term memory comes to the fore.

The entrance to her house had two full-length mirrors in the entry-way that stood side by side, floor to ceiling to give the illusion of more space. As Mom passed those mirrors (or any mirror) she would catch a glimpse of this old woman who was walking by that she didn't recognize, certainly not as herself. Her long-term memory held the self-image of a much younger person. This person in the mirror was 80+ years old. It had to be someone else.

In the years since, I wonder about that. Did she try to have conversations? Did she just assume the other woman moved in and made her peace with it? When she left the house to get the mail, would she not lock the door in consideration of her "room-mate?" Did this other woman give her comfort, or distress? I never feel comfortable with these thoughts, but curiosity and the strange-ness of it keep taking me there.

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4) K. told me a story about the mother of a friend who went to the mirror one day to check her hair, and couldn't see herself. There was no reflection in the mirror. Nothing. Unless she'd had an abrupt on-set of vampirism, it was very unusual. And either way, it was pretty damned scary. So, she went to a doctor.

The doctor, surprisingly, wasn't surprised. In fact, he was very casual about it. He told her she was suffering from "disassociation," or "dissociation," prescribed some medication and sent her on her way. After a few days of popping pills, she again saw her reflection in the mirror.

K. paused at that. "So....how was your hair?"

"Fine," our friend's mother replied.

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