“Memory is a complicated thing, a relative to truth, but not its twin.”— Barbara Kingsolver
I haven’t gotten far on my memoir, no surprise there—at 15 minutes a day, I’m just five pages into the project, but my mind isn’t letting me write very much at a time. Its octopus tentacles often prefer to wander off the page, yet I’m putting the minimal time in as a discipline. What has been happening is that I find the exercise of writing does open my mind to memories…but perhaps at other times of day, most likely when I’m not sitting at a notebook or the computer. It’s as if that morning writing time is a key to a portal that peeks into the secret garden of the past. I’m opening myself to the possibility that memories of life with Vernon will chose to flit through, to honor me with their presence, perhaps in the afternoon, perhaps another time. Memories of the early years—so sweet, but fiercely scattered. They are much like little hummingbirds, catching my eye in the sunlight, and as I get close, they skirt away again…perhaps not to return. But another might come through later—when I’m dressing, or exercising, or driving, or painting, a postcard memory will come through. I’ll have a sense of that distant place for a moment, and think: I really should write this down. But even as I reach for the keys, it may have passed. In a way, these are more like waking dreams, which I’ve always been terrible at catching. I’ll have to rest in the glow that they were there, just outside the net of words, and be moved that I remembered for a moment.
My hope is that they’ll accumulate into something I can tuck away and access like a favorite story book or an old letter. This strange new season is teaching me to be open to the echoes of memory as they play across the screen at the back of my eyes. And I am a little more open to them every day, learning to enjoy the light scattering off of tiny jeweled feathers for the moment they are there, keeping the gate open so they can come any time….and maybe putting out a little sugared water, dyed red.
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Lovely, I think that’s so great! You already have so much practice writing because of the blog, and you have the discipline, the blog shows that too, to keep at it, it will slowly grow, and before you know it’s the right size. What you describe is why I write, I love thinking about stories during the day, it’s like gardening, you get caught up in it. Looking forward to talking to you soon:) x
looking forward to talking to you about writing and other things soon. I bought a new pair of shoes for hiking and walking…so Im set to go! 🙂
i love that idea…like gardening! 🙂
Allison I love the metaphor of the memories being like hummingbirds flitting in and out of your mind. That whole idea touched my heart, so be sure and get it down on paper….not just for me but for others as well. When someone has left this earth memories become so much more treasured as its our connection to them. I go there often and remember things my sister and I did together and I know she loves that because we are still so connected. I’m just so glad you had such a lovely man to remember and cherish!
Keep at it. A little bit at a time and you will have down what you need to have down.
The hummingbirds are so neat. Have fun with Synnove and enjoy the travel.
I was reading the book your Dad made for his Mom and Dad last night and it is so neat to have a book like that to remember them by. They were precious people.
Love,
Becky