Thanks to my good friend, I am now hooked on memoirs. It’s intriguing to read someone’s personal story, told in a way that’s not textbook dry, but instead told like a good bedtime story. I just finished a book by John Grogan; his memoir. His first book, Marley and Me, was one of the best books I think I’ve ever read. (Apparently he’s helped spark a new genre of writing: dogoir.) When I ran across The Longest Trip Home at Goodwill, I snatched it up, figuring the writing would be just as intriguing and heartfelt as his first book. It was, and I’m beginning to wonder if he can write a book that doesn’t leave me sniffling and sobbing at the end. My poor husband was kept up last night as I sniffed my way through one more chapter for some much needed closure.

The more memoirs I read, the more I am impressed at how so many authors can write their childhood memories in such vivid detail. They draw you in as they recall minute, seemingly forgettable details such as the scratchy fabric of a winter sweater, the taste of Mom’s meatloaf, and sounds of birds chirping from a scene twenty years prior. It simply amazes me. I have vague, random memories from childhood, but just can’t seem to pluck those precise pieces from my subconscious that give the story real substance. Nor can I recall them in an organized, cohesive timeline.

I’m sure many people that attempt to record those memories stumble upon the same problem. It must take days and months of hard concentration, meditation, remembering and writing to finally get each individual story just right. I think I sometimes have the inaccurate picture of prolific writers sitting down and pumping out 100 pages per hour without any effort. This is probably not true, and I bet most authors would be happy to sit down and tell me about the painstaking process that their books take.

After working with seniors and hearing snippets of some of the amazing stories that some of them have and some struggle to recall, I am realizing the importance of recording my stories for future generations. I love hearing other people’s stories. Occasionally Drew will get a sentimental glint in his eyes (or a typical sly Drew grin; those that know him know exactly what I’m talking about) and he’ll recall a story from childhood, often revolving around his deceased father and some great lesson learned. I love hearing those stories because it gives me a glimpse into who he was and how it’s shaped him into the man I love.

I had a friend comment once that she loved reading the stories on the blog and wished that I would tell them verbally. I don’t work like that. I’m not quick on my feet and I think better when I have some quiet time to reflect. It’s why I write. I communicate best that way.

I’ve been inspired to attempt to record some of my memories; childhood as well as recent. Some of them may end up here, some may not. Here’s hoping the details will rise to the surface.