I’ve been looking back through my Facebook “memories” lately, and if there’s one thing I learned, it’s that I now live much more in the meme than I did before.

Time was, I made posts about what my husband and I were doing, what was happening with our cats, meals we’d cooked, and how I felt. I even had a series of posts – “Who the Hell Cares” Headline of the Day, Stupidest Headline of the Day (So Far), and a few other labels.

Now I don’t bother.

It may be because I didn’t get much response to the things I posted, though that may be attributable to how few Facebook friends I had back in the day as compared to now. It may be because I studiously avoided posting anything political or religious, topics sure to invite controversy and responses. Cute kitten pictures was about as socially conscious as I got.

Once I tried to make my own memes to promote my blogs. I didn’t really know how to make memes and tried to do them in Powerpoint, which didn’t really work all that well. I’m sure now there’s some kind of meme creator program that everyone but me knows about.

Another problem with my self-made memes was that they weren’t short and punchy. I tried to mine my blogs for content, but all I came up with were long sentences with lots of punctuation, things like “Children’s literature crafted with imagination can free the spirit in adults as well as children. It’s something we all need.” I even accompanied that one with a photo of a book and some imaginative children’s toys – dragon, spaceship. But it wasn’t snappy. It wasn’t memorable. 

Here’s another one, which I didn’t even have a picture for: “The mind and body and soul are inextricably intertwined. We know this to be true. Depression affects them all.” Then just my name and the address of my blog. Wordy. Unmemorable.

I’m not sure I could do much better now. My blogs resist mining for gems of wisdom. And I still don’t know how to construct not-very-good memes in Powerpoint or any other program.

Besides, there are lots of memes that resonate with me and are already there for me to like and pass along.

“If art is how we decorate space, music is how we decorate time.”

Or political or social justice memes that I am no longer so shy about having on my own timeline:

While you’re worried about the “bad apples”

We’re wary of the roots

Because no healthy tree

Naturally bears strange fruit

That is brilliant. It’s a whole poem, conveys an important message, and contains an allusion to “Strange Fruit,” which was a Billie Holiday song about lynchings. No photo or fancy artwork even needed. Just the words, sufficient to think about, expressed succinctly and cleverly.

I do comment on other people’s blog posts and even get into conversations with them. I post links to my blog to Facebook and any appropriate groups I belong to. People like or comment on the memes I post and sometimes even pass them along themselves, especially now that I’ve somewhat gotten over my avoidance of political and social justice memes. (I mean, if Ted Nugent can share his opinions on politics, why shouldn’t I?)

Perhaps I shouldn’t worry about only passing along others’ content instead of creating my own memes. I have plenty of other stuff to do online, like writing my two blogs, and offline, like the novel I’m writing that I haven’t gotten back to in quite a while. (I sometimes wonder if I should abandon this blog, which doesn’t have what you’d call a large following, to work on that instead. But I digress.)

There’s something satisfying to my soul about the blogging and the novel in a way that creating memes just doesn’t have. Still, perhaps I should share more about my life than pictures of my adorable cats. On the other hand, that’s giving the people what they really want.

Almost universally, parents experience the ritual of teaching children to say the “magic words”: please and thank you.  Many children get the idea that there is only one magic word: “please-and-thank-you.” It’s considered a triumph when children begin to use the words spontaneously.

However, the practice of calling them “magic words” seems to convey to children that if they use them, their wish will be granted. They will receive the candy, the toy, the outing, whatever is the object of their desire. This may be because the desired object is something a parent already intends to give the child. In essence, this is a bribe intended to get the child to say “please-and-thank-you.”

When the magic words don’t work – when the child is asking for something the parent is unable or unwilling to give – little Evan or Marguerite is disappointed, even upset to the point of melt-down. It’s a sad lesson in life that there really are no magic words that result in wish-fulfillment.

Instead of bribing kids into saying please and thank you, I recommend using another old standby of child raising: The notion that children imitate adults.

But how often do children really see please and thank you – and that other essential phrase “you’re welcome” – used in the home or by parents? Manners can become a little lax when you see someone every day.

How difficult is it to say, quite naturally, “Please pass the salt” or “Please help me put away these groceries” or “Please keep the noise down. I’m going to have a nap”? And then thank the other adult when she or he complies. How often do we say, “You’re welcome” when you give someone something they have requested? And how often do we say “please” and “thank you” sarcastically, as if they shouldn’t have to be said at all? 

While family life gives plenty of opportunities for demonstrating the proper way to use the magic words, so too do interactions in the outside world. How many of us remember to say “thank you” to the server who brings our food? How many forget the “please” in the simple sentence, “Please bring me a glass of water”? When thanked by a person you’ve helped in some way, do you answer, “You’re welcome” or at least “No problem,” the modern-day equivalent?

Personally, I think that the most important time to use the words, “please,” “thank you,” and “you’re welcome” is within the family. They are words of acknowledgment, appreciation, and good will that surely our family members deserve. If it feels weird to say these words to your partner, ask yourself why. Do you feel that less politeness is due to family members than to a stranger? I think they deserve more. 

Of course, in daily interactions, it’s easy to forget saying please and thank you to someone you know so well. Their compliance is assumed, so much so that the sentence, “No, I can’t help you with the groceries” is shocking.

But that’s another thing that children need to learn – that sometimes their requests, even prefaced with the magic words, will receive a negative response. Then they have a chance to learn the words “I’m sorry,” as in “I’m sorry. I didn’t know you were on the phone” or “I’m sorry. I can’t help right now, but give me ten minutes and I will.”

My point is that please-and-thank-you aren’t magic words at all, that you’re welcome and I’m sorry should go along with them, and that using them as everyday words within your household is the best way to teach them.

After all, don’t we also say, “Children learn what they live”?

In the last 15 months, I have lived in five different places: a Red Cross shelter, a budget motel, a hotel suite, a rented house, and a one-bedroom apartment. A couple of weeks ago, we moved back into our home again.

It’s not exactly the same as our old house, though it is on the same lot and same foundation. In the aftermath of the tornado, we were able to make a few modifications to the plans. We enlarged the master bedroom to accommodate a reading nook with two comfy chairs and a standing lamp. We enlarged the downstairs bathroom and put in a shower. This made my study a little smaller, but the convenience has proved to be worth it.

My study (or “the smallest bedroom,” as our contractor called it) is a definite improvement over where I did my writing at the last place we lived, the one-bedroom apartment. There I had to do my work and write my blogs in the apartment’s supposed laundry area, with my computer propped up on four totes and two boards. The cat box was located there too, which inspired me to write quickly.

Much of our furniture was ruined in the aftermath of the tornado, so we had a veritable shopping spree replacing it. What we acquired was an eclectic mix of new high-quality items (the insurance paid for these), secondhand or antique furniture such as a huge hutch and a grandfather clock (one of Dan’s lifelong dreams), plus assorted cheap-o stuff that we ordered off the internet. (My study’s comfy chair turned out to be a pleasant surprise, being as comfy as advertised and fitting in beautifully with my warm spice-colored walls.)

It was during one of these furniture deliveries that my husband learned something he had never known about me. When our furniture and appliances were delivered, I tipped the delivery guys for their sometimes-considerable efforts. Dan’s curio cabinet was a different matter.

The delivery instructions only covered placing the huge (already assembled) item inside the front door. It needed to be upstairs, in my husband’s study (“the small upstairs bedroom”). As we gathered inside the front door and looked at the giant package, I piped up, “I’ll give you $20 if you take it upstairs.”

“Where upstairs?” Delivery Dude asked.

“The room right at the top of the stairs.”

The two guys looked at each other.  “Okay, ” they said. (Little did they know that I would probably have given them $20 or thereabouts simply for having toted it down our long, sloping, unpaved driveway.)

Dan looked at me in astonishment. Apparently he had never imagined that I knew how to bribe someone.

My career in bribery is not extensive, but I have had my moments. Once – before 9/11, of course – I bribed a curbside redcap to put my bag on a plane other than the one I was ticketed for. (My boss had made me change my departure time to arrive at the business convention earlier than planned.)

A coworker had described the official procedure, which was to dangle a $10 bill from the hand that clutched the handle of the luggage. I added my own twist to this by clutching the money with one hand while I dug in my purse for the elusive ticket that “I was sure my boss gave me.” A little helpless female pantomime (which I loathed myself for), and the bag and I both traveled on the earlier plane. (I exchanged my ticket once I got inside the terminal.)

It turns out, of course, that my husband was grateful for my underhanded skills, since it got him his curio up the stairs without his having to strain his back. But I don’t think he’ll ever look at me the same way again. After over 35 years of marriage, it’s good to know that I can still surprise him.