What we think of today is not necessarily important, but what is remembered tomorrow most certainly is.

Information flows at a faster rate than ever before, in a volume greater than we are able to control, comprehend, or absorb. Scientists have resolved that human beings take in five times as much information than we did 30 years ago; the equivalent of 175 newspapers (given the dwindling size of today’s newspapers, this comparison is indeed subjective).

Not including what we take in on a need-to-know basis in our working lives, it is estimated we process more than 100,000 words, or 34 gigabytes of data, daily, exclusive of the idle hours spent in front of the television, or clicking away at video feeds on our laptops, tablets and mobile devices.

The impact of this information overload not only impacts our memory, but our memories. I am fascinated not only by what we can remember, but also by what we forget.

The human mind is an amazing commodity. We can marvel at what we, or others, think of, but even more remarkable is where our memories come from, or how they are stored. In the most simplistic terms, our memory is a filing cabinet where we tuck away thoughts with scraps of knowledge, addresses and directions, useless facts, and an assortment of utter bullshit. A more digital representation is one of folders and files we store on our organic hard drive.

It was once thought there was a central point in the brain that stored all this data, but developments in recent years indicate there is not one particular place, but memory is distributed, albeit inequitably, throughout our grey matter. Further confusing is that several parts of the brain must work together to remember one simple task.

Remember the adage It’s like riding a bike? Well, that alone requires the brain to use several components of this stored memory. The recall of the body’s physical motion comes from one part of the brain, the memory of how to operate the bike from another. It becomes further complicated when you throw in the reason you climbed on the bike in the first place, and decide where to go (the nature of how much thinking is required to ride a bike further reinforces the need to wear a helmet).

So why do we remember what we do? And why do we forget the important stuff, or what may have been important at the time? Age, and absorption of facts and figures, does enter the equation, but it still does not account for both the trivial and important information within our recall.

For instance, I cannot remember many (read most) of the periodic table symbols I was forced to commit to memory in high school, but I can remember brand logos of ski equipment, beer, and record labels from the same era.

I can’t remember the name of the company’s recently appointed regional vice-president (whom I have met twice), yet I can easily recall the name of original Police guitarist Henry Padovani, or the redheaded girl I had a crush on in Grade 7. I remember her address, her brother’s name, and, damn it; I remember the hurtful words telling me I wasn’t the one.

The names of musicians who played on hundreds of albums easily come to mind, but I cannot list all of this country’s prime ministers. I remember all 14 victims of the Montreal massacre (and can’t forget the man responsible for the slaughter), but could not tell you an equal number of newspaper colleagues I worked with at the same time.

My phone number from 40 years ago, or 20, is lodged in my head, but I can’t recall numbers I dialed regularly as recently as two years ago. Granted the convenience of storing the digits on a mobile device has made life so much easier, but that’s beside the point.

I remember my sister’s birthday ever year, but usually forget to send a card.

It has to be more than selective memory for, if that were the case, I’d remember more of the better and far less of the worse. Also, the short-term and long-term rationale seems to be hit and miss. Why do we remember what we do, and why do we retain some of the useless stuff (see above Police guitarist) and allow the important information to get lost in the files and folders within our minds?

There is a theory of limitations about what we can take in during a day, and much of the time the internal files fill up or become corrupted by the useless questions, comments, and responses that just happen every day. Do you need room for dairy in your coffee? Do you have a rewards card? Do you want fries with that? Can you spare a dollar? Slight, random, seemingly innocuous interruptions, that are not only harmful to the thought process, but they hinder true progress or performance.

It’s like trying to squeeze an extra 4.0 gigabytes of data into the 16 GB on your phone, or jamming another 156 pages into a 1.5-inch binder; there simply is not the space, and you will have to take something out to fit it all in.

You also have to remember to leave the important stuff where it is, and not overlook its importance as the new material comes along.

With all these questions, all this information, coming at us, we are forced to put aside what may be truly important, just to get through the day. We also have to decide if it is important, or valuable, enough to be remembered, while we are paying attention to what we truly need to know.

Once remembered, will it be remembered when it needs to be remembered?

I believe that in dealing with the daily decisions, directions, and distractions forced upon us, as it comes at us, we seldom take time for mindful thinking and processing of what is truly important. There is not enough meditation or contemplation; just outright sitting and thinking of what needs to be thought, and not struggling with in-box clutter and credit card statements that simply prove what we bought.

If forced to think, or over think, make sure you find time to make some of the thoughts good. If it is important, make sure it is more than a memory.

©2015 j.g. lewis

                 dialects         accents
   enunciation

                                  vocal inflections
we speak
     one language or another

       our mother tongue
                                                   among others

we understand
                         what we can
        we listen               we read
meaning into messages

         communication
         takes effort                 how can I explain?

     we criticize another human’s
                            broken english
not considering the words
     are foreign                and she or he
                          or they
     speak another language

naturally

                       where I speak only one language
             I cannot fully understand
   any of the others

                         they are foreign

                                                                 to me

© 2022 j.g. lewis

What ever happened to
the peace and love we spoke of,
decades before? Our realism of idealism
before capitalism; humanity above profit.
Conscious thought. Truth.
Was this a concept
within a dream, altered by greed
and get-rich-schemes
that became the way of the world.
Do we know how it happened?
Can we understand? Why?
Each generation judges those before,
every generation knows a state of war.
This reality becomes hard
when the violence is right there
in your backyard. Fact.
Something is not the same.
We were young once. Age
now testimony to where we have been,
what have we witnessed, and
how we have failed those
who shall follow. Evolution.
How do we speak of freedom?
Can we hold a stranger’s hand?
Are weather-beaten symbols and
time-ravaged slogans relevant any more?
Honesty. Do we remember
how to make love, not war?

© 2019 j.g. lewis

     A little too little, a little too late

     for crunchy brown lawns and fields of sickly corn.

August rain.

         Heat didn’t help. Heat rarely does,

   not like this.

                         Parched.

We wake when we sleep, then wake up wondering.

     Another day of humidity, give-and-take forecasts,
     and questionable economic news. Speculation.

         The lies we must live with, and the hope,

       so little evidence.

                     Puddles were temporary most of the time,
         this year

                             dry as dust.

                    Drought.

         Precipitation,
         evaporation,

rain less of a problem than more of a solution.

                      This year

when it happens, it happens.

Untimely response. Unfortunate.

         While we wait for an answer.

© 2022 j.g. lewis

“August rain: the best of the summer gone, and
the new fall not born. The odd uneven time.”
                                         -Sylvia Plath

Before the Dear,                                                  before the date,

a letter is nothing more than a receptive, yet vacant, page; nothing
there except intention and will to communicate.

All those thoughts, where you were, what you sought, a point
of view, daily news, perhaps of no consequence to someone who
was not there, and that may be the whole point of a letter.

Handwriting, immediate, as it was, scratches steadily across the
paper. An occasional pause, yet the mind flows freely. Topics 
appear out of nowhere; the weather, where you are, how is it there?

Of course you write, of course you care, you tell it like it is, you’ve
got something more to say, and no better way to say it than a letter.

Your Truly
j.g. lewis

Do you write letters, collect stamps, and maintain a relationship with a penpal across the globe?
I do. Monthly-ish letters from a gentleman across the waters, over the past couple of years, have broadened my perspective and enriched my personal life.
We are looking to form a small, yet effective, letter-writing group with an international flavour. There are two of us, right now, but we are looking for a few more dedicated souls who will, with some regularity, share words and thoughts, memories, and a little bit of themselves.
I tried setting this up a number of years ago but, perhaps because of the number of people who were first involved, the exercise dissipated to what it is now: two guys sharing life stories from the other side of the globe.
Both of us believe it could be more. We envision five or seven people responding or replying, writing among ourselves, and sharing a connection that surpasses the theme-like groups you find of Facebook.
This will be unlike electronic communication. Letter writing takes time. There is always a wait for the postal service (some countries are swifter than others) but when a personally addressed enveloped arrives in your mailbox you get a feeling that simply cannot be matched by an email or text message.
We have no real expectations of the group (other than a bit of commitment), but seek writers who will respond, by hand, to letters they receive. We intend to let this unfold as it may, and hope it will take on a life of its own. We hope to begin group activity in the fall.
This will be a non-judgmental group where courtesy is respected and respect is expected.
If this interests you, send a few sentences telling us why you think you would be a good fit to soultalk@mythosandmarginalia.com
This initial email will be the only “electronic” communication we anticipate being required in getting this group off the ground.