Mymind seye7/26/2023 Specifically, the results show that recalling memories from an observer-like perspective-instead of through your own eyes-leads to greater interaction between the anterior hippocampus and the posterior medial network. It does happen."Our perspective when we remember changes which brain regions support memory and how these brain regions interact together," explained Peggy St Jacques, assistant professor in the Faculty of Science's Department of Psychology and co-author on the paper. I don’t seem to have thought anything today. She often ends entries as though she were writing a letter: “Love and laughs to everyone – JAN.” Or she exclaims: “There you go! Keep Smiling!” But I admire her admissions to occasionally feeling good for nothing, or this: “That’s odd. She is devoted to her antique car – a Morris Minor for a Morris major. She writes fondly about her late cat Ibsen – “friend and colleague” – and describes the lifelike concrete cat, purchased at a garden centre, curled on her sofa (sounds weird to me). Her world is full of friends – not all of them animate. She emphasises the importance of kindness (as an agnostic, this is no Christian initiative). She writes with blustery friendliness – the prose low-wattage. Morris describes herself as cynical but more often seems fierily nostalgic (especially, in a qualified way, about empire, subject of her bestselling trilogy Pax Britannica (1968-78). Old age has also brought with it, she complains, misspellings and an over-reliance on exclamation marks. And tray dropping could serve as a metaphor for the frustration of old age. You might justifiably dismiss this as inconsequential, only that it is random thoughts that make up the texture of a life. One morning, staring at her breakfast tray, she imagines what it would be like were she to smash it on the ground. Nowadays, she has a marmalade for every day of the week, each from a different part of Wales (if it is Monday, it must be marmalade from Tŷ Newydd … that sort of thing). The marmalade fixation is not a new thing – she went up Everest with a pot of Cooper’s. Yet I find more compelling her relationship to her books, her attitude towards sheep (unenthusiastic), her passion for marmalade. her autobiography, Conundrum (1974) described the transition Her verdict on Trump is of passing interest – she deplores his bigotry, his appearance and coarse speech, but reluctantly recognises the reach of his apolitical style. It is remarkable to be writing a book at 91, yet what grips is not so much her thoughts about the world (towards which she turns and turns away) but her sense of the rhythms of domestic life. Old age is not for sissies and Morris is a trouper, keeping faith with the writing life. It reveals so much about how to soldier on in your 90s. Today, Morris’s horizons are limited to what she remembers and what she sees at home in north-west Wales.īut it is its limitations that makes this book valuable and rare. Morris has written 40 books ( Spain is one of the most vivid evocations of cities I’ve ever read). In due course, she and her wife, Elizabeth, with whom she had four children, divorced but were reunited in a civil partnership ceremony and are still together in old age. Her autobiography, Conundrum (1974), described the transition. She changed sex in 1972 (she went to Morocco to have reassignment surgery, as this was forbidden in the UK if you were still married). What happened next in her own life was, in its own way, at the time, as radical as swapping planets. She admits now with chagrin (taking herself to task for unthinking presumption) that she had hoped she might be invited as a reporter to accompany astronauts on the first trip to the moon. For this is a woman who started life as a man, who made her name as a journalist, James Morris, reporting for the Times on the first ascent of Everest in 1953. They are mentally equivalent to the walk she takes daily: 1,000 paces up and down the lane, singing different songs as she marches – she learned to march at Sandhurst. These are short outings, limberings up she does not overdo it. For 188 days, Jan Morris, now 91, has written a page or more of whatever comes into her head.
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