Monday, Mar. 09, 2009 @ 8:26 pm
I was talking with Daniel tonight, me agonizing over the things that Grandpa has left behind, namely his clothes. Those tired woolen suits, the maroon polka-dot bow ties, all neatly hung up for Granny to deal with. His shoes... oh, for her to have to give away his shoes. And so on...
And he says, "What about the stuff that he's taken with him?"
His memories, his knowledge. All of that, his every thought, suddenly gone. No Rosetta stone capable of deciphering what's held in dead neurons.
Memoirs. I think that I remember him typing some memoirs? I'll have to ask Dad.
Wouldn't it be handy to have a 100 page report on everyone's life, stowed away in a central vault? Remember Great Granny So-and-So? Oh, she's Report #34556SMITH, you can find her in aisle 14. Included in her report is photos of her as a baby, child, teenager, adult, elderly. Report cards. Pay stubs. Medical records.
Or: none of this technical information. Simply a document written by the person, about the things they learned in life, or whatever they want to leave for others to read about. A page from their favourite novel. A grocery list for their favourite meal. A list of life goals achieved. Their prediction for the future.
I suppose that's what a blog is.