Memory

When they ask you where you worked
You can tell them
And give them details.

When they ask if you have children
You can name them
And give them details

And so they say,
"Your long-term memory is good!"
And they smile and you smile and I smile.

When we go to bed
You can't remember which side you have slept on
For twenty years.

When you sit in my chair
In the family room
You don't understand when I ask,
"Do you want to sit there - or here?"
Where you have sat
For eleven years.

When you make coffee
You remember to use four scoops of coffee
But not how much water.
You can't find the teabags
Where they have been
For twenty years.

You marvel at how well I navigate
The route home from the doctor,
Through curves and roads with oddly-shaped turns.
A route you taught me,
On roads you have traveled
A thousand times,
But claim you have never seen.

What are long-term memories made of?