On memories and memes

Grandma Bachman loved to play Yahtzee so much that I cannot think of either her or the game without connecting the two. Because my grandfather had been born in 1889 and died in 1974, Grandma was a widow for many years, in fact for almost all of my memory. She lived with my Uncle Paul and Aunt Chick most of the time, but she would rotate living with her other three sons throughout the year. So, while she would come to see us for two weeks to a month at a time annually, we rarely went to Chicago to see her.

Perhaps it was because I knew her primarily to be a guest in our house that I have such a strong connection between her and the sound of rolling dice. Because we moved every two or three years, our home was almost always new to her. She simply had nothing else to do in our strange homes but wait until one of us would play with her.

While at the table, Grandma also loved to tell stories about her memories of when she was younger, so naturally I also have a few of those tucked away in my brain. However, she would recycle the same dozen or so stories, and my memories of her, Yahtzee aside, are really rather limited to what she was willing to share with my sister and me.

I think memes are like that in a way.

The collective knowledge of stuff is really limited to what people are willing to put out there. One reason why blogging is important in our culture of ubiquitous communications access is so that voices of real people can be heard. I hate to think of corporate America limiting our culture to fabricated memes. People's voices should be what is remembered.

It reminds me two adolescent novels worthy of your time: The Giver by Lois Lowery and Feed by M.T. Anderson

I don't know if this makes sense to you, but this is where my mind wanders when I ponder modern life late at night.