We were in the yard in early spring, the winter’s dog shit having recently melted into a foul dead-grass soup. Mom-Mom, my mother’s mother, was dozing in a lawn chair. By then she was in the haze of advanced Alzheimer’s, another way we humans lose control over our carefully tended selves.

QUESTION: The metaphor of selfhood as something 'carefully tended' raises questions about what identity actually consists of when memory and control deteriorate.

Naomi Klein, Doppelganger, loc. 138