Keeping Travel Memories Fresh

Travel, especially foreign travel, is a great way to broaden your horizons and enrich your life. I’ve been especially fortunate to have the opportunity over the last twenty years to visit every continent except Australia, and have all sorts of great stories to tell of my experiences.

One of the best way’s I’ve found to keep these memories from fading is to write about them, but when I am constantly barraged by one spectacular sight after another, ongoing connections with fascinating people, and an endless stream of unfamiliar surroundings, it all blurs together, even before I get home.

I’ve often begun a trip with a fresh notebook in hand, intending to journal events on a daily basis. Once I managed to do this for five whole days. I can use precious time to immerse myself in the adventure, sleep, or journal. The bottom priority never gets done!

Our recent trip to China went much better in this respect, because I used multiple streams of input to record experiences rather than relying on a single mode:

Daily event sheets — Unlike previous trips which we’ve mostly done on our own, we made arrangements to go to China with Vantage Tours, and happily give them five stars for performance. One of the many reasons for this rating was the daily event sheets our guide provided. Each one detailed times and destinations, with brief notes about what we’d be seeing and doing. What a valuable memory jogger!

Mini-notebook — As an after-thought, I stuck a tiny spiral-bound notebook in my bag. It fit in my small hip pouch. Our guides often used bus time en route to daily destinations for short lectures on local customs, history, and such things. It was so easy to whip out my little notebook and capture the content.

Voice recorder — I stripped most of the music content and took along a Zen Plus V mp3 player for making quick voice notes about amazing things I saw, impressions, smells, sounds, and other things that wouldn’t come through in a photo. The Zen conveniently hangs around my neck, so it was easy to keep track of. It’s not a good choice for audio you want to share, and it’s not as easy to use as a dedicated recorder, but it’s better than nothing. Many cell phones, cameras, and other mp3 players also include this function.

Photos — Between the two of us, we have nearly 10,000 photos. Many of mine were quick shots made for memory joggers, not sharing. It’s easy to get carried away with digital, especially if you carry along a laptop! We made lots of separate folders for downloads, to keep track of the location for each batch, and I synchronized the clocks on our cameras so we can pool resources and sort by time. A few of these photos will find their way onto a website and into a slideshow for sharing at libraries and similar locations.

E-mail — I don’t recommend spending lots of vacation time writing e-mail, but I kept a document for recording thoughts that I could quickly paste into e-mails later, and added to it while photos downloaded.

Standard journal — I even wrote a few pages in the larger spiral I took as an official trip journal.

What will I do with this wealth of information? I may take time to compile a complete document with the story of our trip, or I may not get around to it. That doesn’t matter. Recording the details helps cement trip memories in my mind, and will serve as reference material if questions come up later. I took the notes primarily for myself, and if others benefit, so much the better.

Write now: about a fantastic vacation you took. It may be recent or far in the past. It may involve overseas travel, or a trip to the park across town. Include descriptions of the scenery, impressions of the people you saw, the place you stayed, any smells you remember (food, flower fragrances, etc.), weather, comforts, discomforts, memorable events, travel challenges, and anything else you remember. Include photos if you have them.

Where Do You Start?

“Where do you start?” “How do you start?”

These may be the two most common questions people ask, specifically about writing their life story, but the questions apply to any type of writing project.

You start by writing, and you start anywhere. Start with the first thought that comes to mind. Write about that and keep writing. If you can’t think of anything else to write about, write about not knowing where to start, and keep writing. Words will begin to flow, and a story will slowly take shape. One word, one thought, will lead to another.

I can’t credit a specific source for those words, they are universal, but Anne Lamott and Natalie Goldberg come to mind. Anne mentions this concept continually in her classic, Bird by Bird, and Natalie hits on it regularly as she develops the concept of Writing Practice in her best-selling series of books about writing: Writing Down the Bones, Wild Mind, and Old Friend from Far Away.

Last week I found this concept of just starting — anywhere at all — useful for cleaning the garage, a project I could easily put off for a decade, a situation quite similar to writer's block. Faced with an overwhelming task, I started quite simply, by consolidating flattened boxes previously set aside for recycling and adding more to the pile. That led to sweeping a tiny patch. Then I had room to rearrange the shelves behind the pile ... and so it went. Even without a project plan, each step led to another. I’m not done, but the the project has shape now, and momentum is building. I'm actually getting excited about it and look forward to going out there to work again.

The Heart and Craft of Lifestory Writing began the same way, but it didn’t begin as a book. It began with a single flier describing the first life story writing workshop I ever taught. I had no idea where to start when I wrote that flier. It grew from there, through many phases that included stacks and piles of handouts with overlapping material, and more stacks and piles of stories and essays.

That finished book barely scratches the surface of my reservoir. Several other projects are taking shape that will tap more of its contents. Since I don’t work on each project regularly, they get cold and I lose my sense of direction. When I go back to one, I must start fresh, but not from scratch. Each time I’m a little bewildered about where to start, but it’s getting easier. Soon I'll make a commitment to a single one and finish it.

No, it doesn’t matter where you start. Just get those fingers moving, over paper or the keyboard. Let the words flow. Stories, even finished projects, will happen.

Write now: about a time when you had trouble getting a project started and how you handled this. You might write about a writing project or another one. Every project is the same. It has to be started, and it’s not always easy to know how.

Chinese Clothes Dryers

Most apartment buildings in China have balconies, and a large percentage of the balconies we saw were decorated with drying laundry. I was fascinated at the diversity and universality of these displays, and followed the urge to snap many photos, a few of which are included in the slideshow above.

As I stared at building after building decorated with drying dainties, I wondered how long it will be before America adopts something similar. How long will it be before snooty neighborhoods that don’t allow yards to be marred with such plebian amenities as clotheslines change their thinking? How long will it be before clothespin sales hit record levels, as bicycles sales are already doing?

I was reminded of our visit to Ireland a couple of years ago. All the B&Bs we stayed in featured clotheslines in the yard, and most were in use. One hostess explained Ireland’s rate system for electricity. Initial costs remain low, to enable families to heat their homes, cook their food, and light a few bulbs without undue strain on their budgets. Above that minimum, rates go up a graduated scale, similar to our income tax structure. The incentive to “dry green” is strong!

Back in the fifties, I grew up with clotheslines, and spent my share of time attaching clothes to them and removing them again. I remember hanging lingerie on center lines between larger items so they wouldn’t be visible to the neighbors. My first experience with automatic dryers was in a college dorm, and later in the laundromat during our Boston apartment days. I loved the convenience of dryers, but I never considered that I’d have one of my own. I agonized for months over what the neighbors would think of my dingy sheets when I hung them on the line in our new home when Hubby finished grad school. I studied television commercials to learn of new products for getting them sparkling white.

Imagine my surprise when the new house we moved into in Richland, Washington did not have a clothesline. Instead, it had a laundry closet in the hall with space for both washer and dryer. Within less than a week, that space was occupied by a matched coppertone Kenmore washer and dryer set, perfect for the dozens of diapers I had to wash each week. My worries about dingy sheets were over, primarily because the new washer got them cleaner than the laundromat machine. But even if they’d stayed dingy, nobody would have seen.

Except for rare occasions on camping trips, I have not used a clothesline for ... never mind how long. But in this “thinking green” era, I’m becoming nostalgic. Those ubiquitous clothes hanging from balconies in China fed my desire for the fragrance of sun-dried sheets towels. My yearning rose even higher when I read Pat Flathouse’s Thankful Thursday blog where she mentioned that hanging sheets to dry is one of her favorite things to do. I’m cogitating the best place in our steeply sloping, seriously shady yard to install this post-modern appliance.

Write now: about your experience with laundry and clotheslines. Did you ever hang clothes out to dry on a cold winter day? Did you dash out to gather them from the line just as it began to rain? Did you hang them on the porch or in the basement when it was raining? When did you first use a dryer? If you have always been fortunate enough to avoid laundry duty at home, what about college or camping trips?

Apology to China

Shanghai skyline from bus crossing bridge

Shanghai riverside park

My face is red. I misspoke and must set the record straight. As you can see from the two photos above, the skies are not always white in China as reported in my last post. Flipping through some of the thousands of photos I took on our trip, specifically to find pictures of some of the stunningly beautiful high-rise architecture we saw (my title for the trip is China: Under Construction), I was shocked to see several consecutive pictures taken in Shanghai that featured blue sky. At first I thought that was caused slightly tinted bus windows, as in the first shot, but the second one was shot in the open air around noon.

How could that happen? How could I fail to remember the mild sunburn I got that day as we walked through a park and along the streets of a part of town that has been preserved as a living, fully functional museum of a historic Shanghai shopping district?

I share this story with you for three primary reasons. First, to set the record straight about China’s air and weather. But more than that, this incident reflects the way memory works. I began the trip noticing the white skies, and I can truly say this sunny day was an anomaly. To my mind, this beautiful sunny day was comfortably “normal,” like I’d expect at home, so to my programmed perception for the trip, it was hardly worth noticing. It did not stick in memory.

Ordinarily, the unusual does stick in memory, but for the purposes of this trip, my perceptions got turned around. The white skies that would be unusual at home became the norm for China, and that norm, being unusual in my overall life experience, is what stuck — not the single gorgeous day that lulled me into a sense of familiar comfort and knocked the sky out of awareness. (I hope you follow that!)

The third point is the value of having multiple modes of capturing your experience. If I hadn’t had those photos, I never would have remembered the sunny day. And ... if I hadn’t been focusing on white skies, I never would have noticed that one day was different. More about this in another post.

Our minds and memories are amazing things, as are the functions that focus what’s in them. I don’t want to turn this blog into a dissertation on brain function, fascinating as the topic is. If you want to learn more, specifically about the reticular activating system that continually scans our input for relevant information and helped me notice that blue sky when I saw it this morning, I recommend two books. The first is Train Your Mind, Change Your Brain , by Sharon Begley. The second is Liberating Greatness, by Hal Williamson and Sharon Eakes.

Was I untruthful in my earlier report of white skies? No. That is my primary memory, and although it’s not entirely accurate, it was my “personal truth” when I wrote it. It’s also generally true. In this case, writing about a country I’ve come to care about is not so different from writing about a person I care about, and I felt obligated to set the record straight. I can do this in a blog. It’s not so easy in print. I would not lose sleep if I’d immortalized that impression, but this is a good reminder to me and others to double-check what we can, if there is a way to do so, without becoming obsessive about details we can’t check.

Write now: about a time when you discovered a memory error, or remembered things differently from a family member or friend. Or maybe nobody called you on the error, but you found it yourself. How did you handle this? How do you feel about literal accuracy in your writing? Are you fact focused or impressionistic?

White Skies

Any three-year-old child will tell you, the sky is blue. That’s one of the fundamental truths in life. Even on a cloudy day, you know that blue sky lies above the clouds, soon to return. Blue sky, green grass, white snow, clear air. These are constants you can count on. Unless you live in China. Maybe other places in Asia too, but China is the one I know about. In China the sky is white. So is the air. Not white like snow, but white like pearl dust.

I’d heard about the air quality problems in China, and I expected to find nasty brown air when I stepped off the plane in Beijing last month. Imagine my surprise at finding pearly, milky mist, not the sinister, visibly toxic smog I had anticipated. Perhaps this is just an anomaly, I thought. Perhaps tomorrow the mist will clear. But it didn’t. It varied in brightness and luminosity, and we had occasional rain, but it never cleared. The same conditions prevailed in Xian, Shanghai, Hangzhou, Chongqin, and Guilin. They remained constant out in the country as we cruised along the Yangtze River through the three gorges from Wushan to Chongqin. Finally, in Hong Kong we saw patches of pale blue between the clouds.

To my vast relief, the visible air presented little challenge to breathing. I found it a source of continual fascination, more novel than being surrounded by cities too vast to fathom, an endless sea of Asian faces, and incomprehensible language and signs. The mist magnified the sun’s strength, diffusing it to generalized glare that taxed the limits of my camera and hurt my eyes.

Shanghai Skyline through hotel room window

The air absorbed the cities. In Shanghai our hotel room was on the 35th floor of a tower high above the city. Clusters of skyscrapers filled the landscape as far as I could see around an arc of about 120º. I have no idea how far this cityscape extends — the edges melted into the mist.

In contrast to the sky and air, the grass and trees were reliably, intensely green — the same green I know and love at home. The earth was brown, and water variable. These constants reassured me that I had not left Planet Earth.

I loved every minute of the twenty days we spent in China, seeing the sights, wandering random city streets, taking copious notes and thousands of pictures. I loved the openness of the people, who always returned a smile and nod, and often asked us, in halting English or simple gestures, to pose for pictures with them. Those who were able to ask were endlessly curious about our opinion of China. They are intensely proud of the progress their country is making, and Olympic Fever raged like the Spanish Flu. It matters immensely to ordinary people that Americans think highly of China.

In the end, it’s the white sky and air hovering above and around that sea of welcoming faces that I remember. China, the land of the white sky. It would be hard to get used to, and much as I loved my stay in China, it’s good to be home where the sky is blue, as it is supposed to be, even on a gray rainy day like today.

Write now: about a time when you were in a situation where some fundamental element of life was changed. Perhaps you visited the desert and missed the greenness of your part of the country. Perhaps you live in the desert and felt claustrophobic amid endless trees. Seashore, mountains, cities, country. Differences are good and help us appreciate our home surroundings. How do you react and handle these differences?

On Sabbatical

No, I am not taking a year off from blogging, but I am taking a few weeks off to pursue some web-free writing and complete a project that will keep me busy for the next month.

You'll hear from me again in mid-May. Stay tuned.

Write now: about steps you take to clear the decks for urgent projects. Write about steps you can take to ensure time to write the stories on your list. Write about how you deal with distractions in general.

It's Never Too Late

In January I wrote about the Follow Me Home Initiative that involved teaching senior citizens how to use computers. That's a topic I know something about. For several years I was president of the computer club at our local senior center, and I helped launch the club’s popular class offerings and taught several classes. Most of my computer mentoring time lately has been spent with lifestory writers, and it’s thrilling to see how successful some are at turning to computers for telling their stories at ages many would not think possible. Several deserve special mention.

One is Paul Ohrman. Two and a half years ago, Paul signed up for a lifestory writing workshop I led at the Monroeville Public Library. He made a commitment to have the story of his first 85 years written by his 85th birthday, twenty-two months later. Paul had never used a computer, but after his wife showed him how to turn it on, within two weeks he had mastered margin changing, centering, changing the font, and all sorts of wonderful things many people never venture to try. Nobody taught him. He just clicked around and tried things to see how they worked.

Paul met his deadline, though it took another couple of months to finish the layout so he could order copies of his book for family Christmas presents. You can see the finished product, and even download it as a free eBook at Lulu.com. It's definitely worth a look. By the way, Paul got hooked on life story writing. His second book, about his World War II experiences as an Army photographer in the war zone, is well under way.

Grandma Julia is another amazing example. She lives in the Philippines and left a comment on the blog about Spelling, which has attracted attention from around the globe. She is ninety years old, and just took up blogging. She writes eloquently, with great passion, in English, her second language. I urge you to pay her blog a visit. Her tales are timeless, and heart-warming.

Aunt Ruth is another success tale. She had been using her local library for e-mail for several years before she decided, at age 89, to buy her own computer. Uncle Walter’s health was failing and it was becoming increasingly difficult to find time to spend at the library. We found a good buy on a laptop, perfect for her tiny apartment, and placed the order. A friend helped her set it up. She quickly discovered that she can have a virtual afternoon in Paris on a whim, listen to opera, and have all sorts of adventures that had become difficult in person.

Last, but certainly not least, is my father. A couple of weeks ago I wrote that he has more cool tech toys than I do. He spends a good part of his time taking digital photos, some of them digital stereo. He’s not at the top of this list, because he's been using computers longer than the others. He became an Atari addict when he found one at a garage sale soon after he retired twenty some years ago. Today he is taking increased personal responsibility for keeping his own system tuned up, because My Brother, the Computer Guru is very busy. So, even though my father has been using computers for a couple of decades, his interest in staying on the cutting edge, and continuing to learn new things, is a great example.

It’s never too late to learn something new — unless you think it is — and learning new things keeps your brain healthy and growing. Writing is one of the best brain exercises, and learning new things about your computer while you create a written legacy of your life is icing on the cake.

Write now: about your experience learning to use computers, whatever your age when you began. Write about how you keep learning. How do you feel about learning new things, and about technology?

To Spell, or Not to Spell, That is the Question—Cont.

My last post on spelling and grammar hit nerves around the world. Comments varied, but one way or another, all support spelling. Some also exposed a couple of Inner Critic origins: fear of appearing stupid, and teachers (of all sorts) who feed that fear. Penelope expressed the thought in a comment that you can’t teach people to write from their hearts, “except, of course, to tell them to stop worrying about grammar.” Ybonesy recalled the horror of spelling bees. Pat shared the story of her son, whose creative writing instructor committed homicide on his desire to write. Leah, agreed that getting the story out is primary. Ken, a young man from Singapore, supports learning spelling and grammar, even if they are “broken” in daily use.

Experience supports claims such as the ones expressed in comments that teachers care often involved in the primary care and feeding of Inner Critics. When I have students come to class confessing something like, “I started to write ... ages ago ... but I took a writing class and when the instructor told us (we had to get up at 5 am every single day and write for two hours, or never to end a sentence with a preposition, or all work had to be in 12 pt. Courier font, double-spaced, or ...) I just gave up,” I get angry! My face turns red, and adrenalin flows. I flay those instructors to bits, for all to hear.

Write when you feel like writing,” I rage, waving my whole body. “Write in the middle of the night if you want. Write every day at the same time, once a week on Sunday afternoon, or only when your muse nudges you. The important thing is that you do write!” I go on to emphasize that the story is what matters, and until the story is written, there is no reason to even think about spelling and grammar.

When I work with students, whether that’s in a workshop or coaching, my primary focus in on contents. Most need help first with finding and writing their memories and stories. If some students have the basics down and wants to take their writing to a higher level, we can work on that, but only when they are ready and express that desire.

Those who do want to share stories more widely, and perhaps publish them one way or another, are likely to want to take their writing skills to a higher level. This is the time to get serious about editing. Even then, in classes and my book, I urge them to get the contents in good order, making sure they have covered the bases on the 5 W’s and arranged the contents to flow smoothly before they delve too deeply into grammar. Spelling is generally easy to do early in the game, with spellcheck. However, we all know that write, rite and right will all pass muster with spellcheck.

Believe this truth in your core: Write from your heart, and other hearts will understand. And be very careful who you listen to for advice. If a teacher, or anyone else, pours cold water or red ink on passionate writing, insert earplugs until you can flee!

Write now: about a time when criticism stopped you in your tracks. This doesn't necessarily have to be about writing. Write about your feelings after being judged harshly in any respect. Share the story or shred it, as you see fit.

To Spell, or Not to Spell, That is the Question

A flurry of blogs and articles have hit the Internet with thoughts on the importance of correct spelling and grammar. In a post on Idealawg, Stephanie West-Allen links to sources supporting both sides of this debate. An article in the (British) Independent argues it both ways. In her blog, Penelope Trunk squarely stands in the center of free-writing. I find her argument compelling, but not convincing.

Part of the equation for debating this issue is the fact that students are apparently not learning accurate spelling and grammar in public schools. Creativity and preserving self-esteem by accepting any form of personal expression is seemingly valued more highly than literacy. Or, perhaps we don’t want any child left behind? Or perhaps the teachers themselves never learned? Whatever the reason, a generation of functional illiterates is emerging with the belief that text-messaging code is appropriate for general communication.

As I write this, I must qualify it. My older grandchildren write brilliantly, so there is a glimmer of hope. Part of my hope is that this will put them at the head of the pack, but what good is that if the pack doesn’t know enough to recognize excellence?

Since my personal vow is to keep this blog focused on lifestory writing rather than political rhetoric and soapbox grandstanding, I’ll turn the corner back to task.

For the record, when writing anything for public dissemination, I firmly support correct spelling and grammar, and I also encourage these attributes in private writing. Attention to detail is never inappropriate, though it does matter more in some contexts than others. There's always room for leeway in e-mail and journals.

Having said that, I’ll flip to the other side of the coin and reiterate my constant reminder that concerns about grammar, spelling, and punctuation should never get in the way of telling your story.


Write those drafts as freely as they come to mind. You can fix them later. If fate intervenes and you never edit them, your descendants will cherish them anyway and recognize that they are rough drafts. Wouldn’t you be thrilled with a crudely written story from your (great-)grandparent? I am! Get the stories written, then correct them the best you can and don’t worry about it.

If you want to be a candidate for a Pulitzer, then read voraciously with a critical eye, and study everything you can get your hands on about writing. Seek coaching, and write your heart out. If your only concern is creating a legacy of stories for your descendants, let the words flow from your heart and they’ll spill into others. That’s quite enough.

Write now: about your experience studying spelling and grammar in school. Did you do well? Was it difficult for you? Did you enjoy diagramming sentences? What thoughts about this subject do you want to share with future generations? Write about writing lessons you’ve learned from reading other writers.

Capturing Family History

Like many old-timers, my father likes to tell stories about the Good Old Days. I’ve heard most of his stories dozens of times, but they are complex, and woven of detail as intricate as any tapestry in King Arthur’s castle. When I try to capture them from memory even an hour later, most of that detail has vanished like smoke rings in a gentle breeze.

Which bomber was he flying when that student nearly nosedived into the runway? Which uncle rode with Pancho Villa? Which lab did he buy that sodium pump from, and was his job title “Director of External Affairs” or “Director of Public Information”? My head spins as I consider the fact that the number of unanswered questions is increasing at a faster rate than recorded information.

During my recent visit with him, one answer to this dilemma was to keep my laptop near at hand. He doesn’t talk very fast when he’s reminiscing, and I can almost keep up with him. Fortunately it doesn’t seem to bother him to have me quietly clicking away when he’s recalling aunts, uncles, parents, and other people. I need to get those details, because he’s the only person still alive who remembers those family members.

I also made some cryptic notes on paper, and experience has shown that I’d better transcribe them within the next few days or they will become stale and confusing.

Ideally, I could inspire him to sit down at the computer and record it all himself. He has written some terrific stories, but they are about isolated events, and there are precious few of them. Realistically, I know that he’ll never write enough to plug the gaps in our “tribal memory,” and I’ll have to go into story catching mode to scavenge whatever is going to be saved.

Most my time with him was spent interviewing him and listening. Thinking back over the last several weeks, I realize that most of the people I’ve spent time with have been in “talking” mode, and most of my time has been spent listening. Some of these people have been family members — many people in my family are inclined to spend most of their time telling their own stories or venting — but many have been friends who are at difficult junctures in their lives, and their need to talk and be heard is compelling.

When I put these two situations together, two powerful reasons for writing my own stories emerge. First, I am the one with the best grasp of details and story flow. While it may be true that fuzzy legend and the general drift of things form the primary elements of memory and understanding, if I record my detailed account, my family will have it as a resource if they are so inclined.

The other reason is more subtle. My stories may pale in the face of someone's grief, stress, or gabby nature, but my stories are significant. They matter to me, and quite likely they also matter to that other person — just not right now. I honor myself and the value of my stories while also honoring other people’s current need by writing my stories for posterity, and staying present for friends and family when they need to talk.

There are so many more reasons to write, but these is enough to keep me firmly focused on ‘puter or paper: To honor my own stories and voice by preserving them.

Write now: about a time when you set your own story aside to listen to a family member or friend who was in a rough situation. Do you routinely do this? How do you share your stories? How often do you listen intently and encourage others to tell their stories? Are some people easier to listen to than others? Are some people easier to tell stories to than others?

The Power of Photos

Few things have the memory kicking power of digging through old photos or audiotapes. I’m in the middle of a visit with my father, and I’ve been sorting through old slides and photographs, keeping the scanner whirring. What a thrill to discover dozens of photos I missed last time I went through this collection. Many of them were pictures of me wearing some of my favorite clothes. One of the pictures shows the skirt I made the first year I entered the Make It Yourself With Wool contest. That’s quite a story, and it reminds me of several memories centered around wearing that specific skirt and sweater.

Other pictures star my baby brother. He was just the cutest kid, and I’d want lots of pictures of him in any event, but some of those pictures have a bonus. In the background I see various rooms of the house we lived in when he was born. What a jackpot! I am currently compiling a collection of stories about growing up in Los Alamos, and these pictures will help me add more vivid detail about the house and general area, and I can include some of those pictures as illustrations.

The next blast from the past occurred when I began transferring some very old cassette tapes to MP3 format using the tape deck my dad has connected to his computer. The very first tape I transferred has music my brand-new husband recorded on reel-to-reel tapes the first summer we were married from records played at the folk dancing club we attended. I’d been dancing with that club for two or three years before I met him, and this music pops me right back in that room at the Los Alamos Community Center from seven to nine on Tuesday evenings. About twenty years ago I transferred those songs to cassette tapes, just before the reel-to-reel recorder died. Now any form of tape is an endangered medium, but the MP3 recordings should remain accessible indefinitely on a DVD disk.

I also have some tape-recorded conversations with long-dead grandmothers, and it’s eerie hearing their voices again. More memories to store in the digital collection! I strongly urge you to record some family history chats with your relatives, and I suggest using a digital recorder or a microphone plugged into a laptop with the free Audacity audio capture program running.

By the way, you may have picked up on the fact that my dad has even more cool tech toys than I do. He never touched a computer until he retired about twenty years ago, but he’s certainly made up for lost time. It’s never too late to start using computers.

The last find of the day may be the most stunning. In 1992 I went to Japan on a Total Quality Management study tour. We spent a weekend in Kyoto, and I had totally forgotten that I had tape recorded many highlights of that weekend, including our visit to the Emperor’s Palace and a couple of other places. I found that on the reverse of a tape that holds some of my husband’s family history narrated by his mother. I got goosebumps when I heard my own voice describing Japanese tour bus protocol. There is no other way I could have recorded those thoughts and observations so accurately and immediately. Now I can add to the story I wrote about that trip shortly after I got home. I probably recorded over half my audio notes, because I had not labeled the tape. Lesson learned!

Write now: rummage through your collection of old photos, music, videos, and similar things. List and write about memories you find.

Don't You Just Hate it When . . .

Don't you just hate when everything blurs together? When your stories run together, and memories fuzz up? The other day I read that something has changed in the basic vibrational level of Earth. It's vibrating much faster than it did even twenty years ago, and the fact that time seems to pass faster than ever is not a figment of our imagination. Time actually is passing faster. The source that I was reading was not one I'm inclined to rely on, so who knows, but most people report feeling this is so.

Blurring definitely happens with stories. Earlier last week I sent an e-mail to my daughter with a story about something that happened sixteen years ago. The story involved a person I was working with at the time. We started discussing the story and the circumstances around it, and the people in that group. Although she was in college at the time and we spent little time together, her memory of my thoughts on matters back then was surprisingly sharp and a bit different from my own. As I think about it, I suspect that hers is the more accurate.

This brings up two points you can use in writing your stories. First, if you start keeping a journal, you'll have that to refer back to later for more accurate recall about feelings, opinions, and such things. Second, it's fine to ask others what they remember about the situation, but it will be your call what to accept and what to leave on the sidelines.

In this case, total accuracy is not important in telling the story, but in assessing my own feelings and digesting some quirks in the story, her slant pops things into sharper focus. If you are writing for self-discovery and healing, these other points of view may be especially valuable.

Write now: about a fuzzy memory you have that you shared with someone else at the time who is currently available for consultation. Relax and try to recall enough to flesh the memory out as well as you can. Then share your story with the other person and note any discrepancies. How were they different? Did you learn anything that prompted you to change your story?

or

Write an essay on your changing perception of time through the years.