Memories Matter
Featured blog Posts
READ THE LATEST POSTS
“Pop’s Pie”
Is a grandfather’s love the missing ingredient to the best key lime pie? A young mother delves into memories of the treats her beloved Pop made just for her.
Maybe it’s a grandfather’s love that is the missing ingredient to the best key lime pie...
Smells & tastes conjure memories in a most primal way, and can transport us right back to our childhood kitchens. As such, they are excellent jumping-off points for writing or talking about your memories and crafting them into a story for generations to come (not to mention, the kids will be thrilled to have those cherished recipes actually written down).
In this first contribution in our new series, A Taste of the Past, a young mom remembers her beloved grandfather, and the sugary treats he often made just for her. Oh, how sweet the memories...
A Taste of the Past
The writer's first birthday, Oct. 29, 1981: Three generations—grandparents Catherine & John, their daughter Joann, and her daughter Christine—celebrate with one of Pop’s pies (rest assured, there was a first birthday cake, too, as Mom is quick to point out!)
Pop’s Pie
By Christine Tarulli Mugnolo
I’ve always been a sweets person. That is to say, I’ll be happy with dessert for breakfast, lunch, and dinner. I believe I have my grandfather partly to thank (blame?) for that…and for my own sporadic hobby of making delectable treats.
My grandfather and grandmother eloped to Colorado in 1942. Soon after, as an officer in the army, he was stationed in Anzio, Italy, for the remainder of World War II. In between the fighting, Pop did what he did best—he cooked. He became the chef for his fellow officers and higher-ranked officials. And when he was finally home, he was head chef for his family.
There was nothing that Papa loved more than watching us devour what he made on any given day. And he never, ever forgot dessert.
I always felt Pop made dessert especially for me, his chubby, sweets-loving granddaughter. I would sometimes catch him beaming at me, all messy-faced and sticky-fingered. How his smile and hearty laugh would light up the entire room!
While I loved his cookies and his pretty lattice cherry pie, Pop’s key lime pie was my absolute favorite. It was always amazing: thick, buttery graham-cracker crust, sweet yet tart filling, and just a few twisty limes on top as garnishment.
As I got older, the pies seemed to get even more delicious, prettier, and, ultimately, simply perfect.
Pop passed away on December 16, 2001, when I was a senior in college. I was—I still am—devastated. I always will be. We lost our family’s heartbeat, our core, and I lost my Papa.
I think that’s when I started to bake. And I baked all the time then—for my family,
for my friends and boyfriends. I adored watching them taste all the goodness that
I (lovingly) shoved in their faces.
I don’t remember when my grandmother gave me my grandfather’s key lime pie
recipe. But when she did, it was as if she were handing me the damn Holy Grail. It’s been about 14 years, and I still cannot get it just right. I make the pie once or twice a year; it’s my special time with him. No TV, no one else in the room...just the two of us. How I curse that Pop didn’t write down what he really did to make his pie so great!
Eventually, I made my own tweaks. While my pie is good, it’s not as good as I remember his to be…and not nearly as beautiful. But that’s okay; it doesn’t have to be.
I have his—our—faded and butter-stained recipe, which, to me, is more beautiful than any pie. And I take it out every time I make it.
If I could have a few more hours with him, I’d introduce him to my daughter (oh, he would just eat her up!); I’d dance with him and not give him a hard time about it; and we’d bake together, so I could finally learn his secrets to the best key lime pie I have ever had.
Love and miss you always, Papa.
-----------------------
Christine Tarulli Mugnolo is a wife to a traveling husband, stay-at-home-mom to a very active toddler and two rescue pups, and in her spare time, a freelance editor. She thinks there’s no better smell than that of an old book from the library.
Pop’s Key Lime Pie Recipe
Crust
1 1/2 packs graham crackers, crushed
2 tablespoons margarine
Filling
8 eggs, separated (yolks only)
2 cans condensed milk
6 ounces lime juice (from about 6-7 limes) or Nellie & Joe’s Famous Key West Lime Juice
green food coloring (optional)
To make crust:
Combine graham crackers and melted margarine in bowl, then press into pie pan. Chill 30 minutes before pouring in pie filling.
To make filling:
Preheat oven to 350°
Combine egg yolks with condensed milk in medium bowl.
Mix well. Add lime juice a little at a time until smooth and creamy. Add a touch of food coloring until filling is desired color. Pour into pie shell. Slice a lime very thinly and add slices to top of pie before baking. Bake at 350° for 20 minutes.
The writer’s grandfather, John Carl Esposito (April 25, 1922 - December 16, 2001), in uniform in Pueblo, Colorado, where he was stationed before going overseas; 1942
A taste of the past
Smells and tastes conjure memories in a most primal way, and can transport us right back to our childhood kitchens. Our recipe for preserving your food stories.
Smells and tastes conjure memories in a most primal way, and can transport us right back to our childhood kitchens. As such, they are excellent jumping-off points for writing or talking about your memories and crafting them into a story for generations to come (not to mention, the kids will be thrilled to have those cherished recipes actually written down).
Delve into your food-related memories if...
you have a living relative who can be equated with the family hearth: recording those recipes, techniques, & special foods while you can is an invaluable gift for future generations
family holidays center around the table
milestone celebrations come back to you in waves every time you smell a certain dish
you want to preserve your culture
Foods Stir the Memory
On Tuesday we will be launching a new series of posts, A Taste of the Past, in which food plays a starring role, leading us down a path of reminiscence and reflection.
In the first contribution, Christine Mugnolo recalls her grandfather's singular key lime pie: Why can't she recreate it just so?
“It’s been about 14 years, and I still cannot get it just right. I make the pie once or twice a year; it’s my special time with him. No TV, no one else in the room...just the two of us.”
In another post, Kaitlin Ahern pays tribute to her mom’s spaghetti and meatballs, and you'll raise a glass with her to toast the memory of a mother gone too soon (and I guarantee you'll be uncorking a bottle of red, picking some basil from the garden, and putting on a pot of red sauce yourself—and, if all goes well, you'll be conversing around the dinner table about your own favorite handed-down recipes).
In “Billie’s Famous Foods,” Melissa Finlay recalls how her Gramma kept a jar for bacon drippings on her stove, used it liberally, and kept it full. “She knew everyone’s favorite foods and provided them—often.”
I hope these and other upcoming stories will inspire you to want to record your own memories. When you've gathered enough, or decide you'd like our professional help in recording them for posterity, an heirloom book is the perfect place to preserve them.
Related Reading:
If the idea of bottling memories of your ancestors' foods appeals, you might also want to check out:
Grandma's Project ("Sharing the World's Most Delicious Heritage"), in which filmmakers from around the globe cook with their grandmothers—and elicit evocative stories of the past along the way
Dinner: A Love Story, a so-much-more-than-a-blog compendium of recipes, kids' lunch ideas, and more from book author Jenny Rosenstrach; she occasionally hones in on the power of food as love, too, such as in these three lovely posts: Sense Memories (her husband's recollections of the birth of their first child and chicken salad, not necessarily in that order); The Napkin Note (about her mom and lunchbox missives); and Absolute Value (about her dad, Oyster Bar, and chocolate marzipan bars)
The Dinner Party, a glorious, long-time-coming community of mostly 20- and 30-somethings who've each experienced significant loss, who get together over potluck dinners to talk about the ways in which it continues to affect their lives and how to thrive in #LifeAfterLoss—an inspiring, real-life example of the power of a shared meal to heal and create community, even (maybe especially) after the death of a loved one.
Why genealogy is not the answer to finding yourself
Genealogy is history on a personal scale. It helps satisfy a deep need to understand how we fit into the broader world around us. But knowledge of our ancestors does not define us. Read on for musings on why we should collect stories, not ancestors.
Genealogy is history on a personal scale. It helps satisfy a deep need to understand how we fit into the broader world around us. Nonetheless, knowledge of our ancestors does not define us.
It has been written about plenty: Genealogy is the second-most popular hobby in the United States, just behind gardening. Genealogy sites are second only to porn on the Internet.
Genealogy and the search for family history can be a big part of what we do here at Modern Heirloom Books, especially when a family wants to tell the stories that have passed through generations of descendants and preserve them for the children.
And I am not immune to the quest: Having almost no knowledge of my family beyond my grandparents (“We’re American,” my grandmother would tell me when I asked about where we came from), I can sit for hours scanning census records and clicking on those enticing “hint” leaves on Ancestry. I watch Finding Your Roots and Genealogy Roadshow, too.
Genealogy is fun, and it has great value. However, having a knowledge of your ancestry does not define you as a person.
You are making your own path.
Over Father’s Day weekend I saw an article, “Searching for Our Roots,” and was troubled when I read this quote from a man who has no ties to his blood relatives:
“When asked if he felt ‘incomplete,’ Giddins replied, ‘Definitely. I knew nothing about me. Can you imagine growing up knowing nothing about your health, your family? You’re nothing.’ “
I have read similar sentiments before from individuals who are not connected to their roots, including from adoptees as well as from folks whose parents simply did not talk about the past. “How can I know who I am when I don’t know where I came from?” the thinking goes.
While knowing your family’s past can be empowering, even liberating, it should not be a prerequisite for knowing oneself. Especially in our digitally dominated lives, self-reflection is becoming more and more rare. Perhaps we should look inward more often. Journaling, writing letters, having tech-free conversations with friends, are all powerful ways to connect both with loved ones and with our inner self. You, whether you are aware of your ancestry or not, have important stories to tell.
If there is a lesson in genealogical research, it is how interconnected we are to one another. (A personal aside: If only this message were so widely accepted that intolerance were a thing of the past, but headlines deem otherwise.) This is a profound lesson, but isn’t it one we can get as well from stories of individuals whose names do not appear on our own family tree? (Listen to The Moth podcast for proof.)
Don’t collect ancestors. Collect stories.
It’s the people you want to know, not just their names. Their struggles, their triumphs, their foibles and follies. You can’t get those stories from a branch on a family tree (though you will almost certainly get clues that lead you to those stories if you are persistent!).
Look to loved ones in your present, not just your past, to define who you are and what is important to you. After all, you are living your life, making memories, and creating stories to share with your own children one day!
So sure, click on the green “hint” leaves, gather names and census records, even take a DNA test if you’re so inclined (I did). Just don’t pin your own identity on what you find—and don’t lose sight of the people behind the names. The journeys of those people have led to you. And your journey is continuing, right now.
Oh yeah: And tell your stories as you go. Talk of them around the dinner table, record them, preserve them. As the research indicates, it’s the sharing of family stories that helps kids be resilient and contributes to a healthy sense of identity. You may be depriving your future generations of a grand genealogy adventure by giving them their lineage instead of a mystery to be solved...but that’s a good thing, right?
#Legacy Links: June 10 - Photographs, Memory, and Life Lessons
This week's top 4 legacy links all focus in some way on the enduring power of photography—the power to connect us with the past, to inspire, and my favorite, to reveal stories and truths.
Our top 4 #legacy links for the week ending Friday, June 10, 2016
1 - Families photographed with images of their descendants make a powerful connection to past.
A photography exhibit, on view until tomorrow at El Tejar del Mellizo community center in Seville, Spain, presents photographs of the living descendants of those who lost their lives during the Spanish Civil War. Organized by the Our Memory Association, “DNA of Memory—Graves from the Franco Regime” features photographs by more than 30 Spanish artists. The images capture descendants carrying photographs of relatives killed at the beginning of the Civil War, and they are more provocative and moving than I could have imagined. If you don't happen to be in Seville tomorrow (!!), I urge you to click on the photo below to view the various photographs on HuffPo.
In a photo from the "DNA of Memory" exhibit, Narvaez Hernandez holds up photos of his parents, Enrique Narvaez Borrego and Concepcion Hernandez Garcia, who both died in Marchena, Seville, when Hernandez was 3 years old. Photo by Javier Diaz, courtesy Our Memory Association
2 - How a personal quest to find family resemblances turned into something more.
This one's not new, but somehow I missed it when it made the viral rounds last year. See what fellow personal historian Rachael Rifkin discovers when she undertakes a unique experiment to recreate eight photos of her relatives. Her musings on the nature of descendancy are as enticing as her photo recreations.
According to a family tree, Rifkin's cousin Ibolia, left, died at Auschwitz in 1944. Rifkin estimates this picture is from sometime in the 1930s. Image courtesy Life Stories Today
3 - One decade, one family, one photographer: This is a photo book I am looking forward to.
Thanks, Family Search, for bringing this one to our attention. Photographer Thomas Holton's book The Lams of Ludlow Street \, which chronicles one family through 13 years' worth of photographs, will be published next month.
"As Mr. Holton got to know the family, the project became more personal. He would pick up the children from school. He visited the Lams’ relatives in Hong Kong and China. When he married, Cindy was his flower girl,"
writes Annie Correal in the New York Times article. Make sure to click through the accompanying slideshow!
4 - What happens when a suitcase of photos sends her on the storytelling adventure of a lifetime.
In the vein of "Finding Vivian Maier," a North Carolina woman hit the found photos jackpot when she discovered a suitcase full of one man's life effects, including photos, letters, and other ephemera—and then began a journey of discovery as she sought to uncover the stories his things revealed. Her site is wonder to behold.
Read an introduction to her photographic treasure hunt on the ever-interesting Save Family Photos:
"Handling these seemingly random artifacts serves as a constant reminder that the sometimes cryptic, occasionally awkward, and often amusing snippets of the past were once as alive and vital to their creators as my own emails, journals and vacation photos are to me."
“His are the sepia eyes that passed through me.”
“His is the broad nose, the high cheekbones, the determined mouth, the face not like an oval or a heart, but like a square. He died long before I'd ever meet him, but I carried him in my blood.” In Beth Kephart's contribution to our “Pictures Into Words” series, you’ll find inspiration for writing about a photograph that holds more mystery than memory. Sometimes it's the wondering, the imagining, that brings life to an old photo—that carries your ancestors from the past into the present and finds the narrative thread in our connected lives.
When it comes to writing your own life stories, sometimes what's called for is inspiration, plain and simple. Sure, you can get plenty of tips on how to approach the process; there are some notable books that can guide you on the journey, and our blog regularly offers advice on the topic. But beautiful words, strung together like pearls and simply telling a story, may be a far richer bounty.
With that in mind, here is another installment in our “Pictures Into Words” series, contributions from other memory-keepers who know the joy and process of using a photograph as a prompt for writing. Each provides not only a wonderful short read, but a fine and unique example of how you too may approach telling the stories behind your family photographs.
This short piece by author Beth Kephart has been previously published; it was the opening to her 2002 memoir Still Love in Strange Places. In her poetic contribution, you'll find inspiration for writing about a photograph that holds more mystery than memory; sometimes it's the wondering, the imagining, that brings life to an old photo—that carries your ancestors from the past into the present and finds the narrative thread in our connected lives.
Pictures Into Words:
Photo courtesy Beth Kephart; pictured on right is Carlos Alberto Bondanza, the grandfather of Kephart's husband, and the man whose stories captivated her imagination
“Torn Photograph, Sepia Stained”
By Beth Kephart
The tear runs like a river through a map, hurtling down toward his right shoulder, veering threateningly at his neck, then diverting south only to again pivot east at the fifth brass button of his captain's uniform. Below the tear, two more brass buttons and the clasp of his hands, and below all that, the military saber; the loosening creases on his pants; the shoes with their reflections of the snap of camera light. He is one of three in a sepia-colored portrait, and someone had to think to save his face. Someone had to put the photo back together—re-adhere the northeast quadrant of this map with three trapezoids of tape so that his left hand would fall again from his left elbow and he would still belong to us. We suppose he is the best man at a wedding. We suppose that it was eighty years ago, before the matanza, before he was jailed and then set free, before he saved the money to buy the land that became St. Anthony's Farm.
“Did I ever tell you what my grandfather did the year the farm first turned a profit?”
“No.”
“He threw the money into the air, the bills, and they got caught up with a wind.”
“And so?”
“And so he ran after those colones through the park. Chased his own money through the leafy streets of Santa Tecla. Imagine that.”
I do. I am often imagining that. Imagining that I know him—this man whose likeness is my husband's face, whose features are now borne out by my son. His are the sepia eyes that passed through me. His is the broad nose, the high cheekbones, the determined mouth, the face not like an oval or a heart, but like a square. He died long before I'd ever meet him, but I carried him in my blood. Just as the land carries him still, remembers. Just as St. Anthony's Farm will someday, in part, belong to my son, requiring him to remember what he never really knew, to put a story with the past. Words are the weights that hold our histories in place. They are the stones that a family passes on, hand to hand, if the hands are open, if the hearts are.
“You look like your great-grandfather.”
“I do?”
“Yes. Come here. See? That’s him, in the photograph.”
“Him? My great-grandfather?”
“Yes.”
“But he looks so young.”
“Well, he was young once. But that was a long time ago, in El Salvador.”
We remember. We imagine. We pass it down. We step across and through a marriage, retrieve the legacies for a son.
-----------------------
Beth Kephart is an award-winning author of 21 books of fiction and nonfiction, including Handling the Truth: On the Writing of Memoir, which we recommend in a previous post. Her current book is This Is the Story of You (Chronicle). The above was excerpted with permission of the author from Still Love in Strange Places: A Memoir (W. W. Norton, 2002).
Kephart has recently launched Juncture, writing workshops where the locale plays an integral role in inspiring and enabling the writing process. Sites have included
an experience-enriching Pennsylvania farm and, in the fall, a sunny gathering place along the coast in historic Cape May. “Participants will learn what memoir genuinely is—and what it is not. They’ll study the words of the greatest memoirs ever written, respond to daily prompts, and work toward a fully developed memoir prologue that summons both the themes and tone of work yet to come,” details her site.
And they will enjoy the unique surroundings of their chosen environs, gathering formally and informally for readings, conversation, and inspiration.
Why tell our stories? Wisdom from RootsTech 2016 & beyond
There are likely a million reasons to share personal stories. We've collected 10 nuggets of priceless wisdom from #RootsTech 2016, from inspiring love and empathy to helping us raise resilient children. Stories are gifts—are you sharing yours?
Sharing stories of your own childhood—including times your overcame hardships—helps your kids be more resilient (not to mention get to know you better!).
Stories help us connect with our loved ones, and glean insights into ourselves and our history. Stories have myriad benefits beyond that, too:
Studies show that kids with a knowledge of family history have higher self-esteem, lower levels of anxiety, and fewer behavioral problems. Children of parents who regularly reminisce about their own childhoods have been shown to be more empathetic to others. And teens who have been exposed to family stories are more confident, with better coping skills.
Fundamentally, stories help us remember. And photographs often provide that spark that helps transport us back in time—like the smell of your grandmother's banana bread or Hanukkah latkes. When combined, your pictures and stories have tremendous power!
Last week, tens of thousands of people gathered in Salt Lake City, UT for RootsTech 2016, where the theme was #STORYTELLING. Kudos! Some nuggets of wisdom on the topic from those who were there, and those who wished they were:
1. "Stories unite us; they help us recognize ourselves in others."
2. Family stories are gifts to our children.
Not only do the stories we tell our kids help them relate and feel like an essential part of the family, they strengthen them and make them undeniably more resilient. As keynote speaker and author Bruce Feiler wrote in a viral NYT piece from 2013:
"When faced with a challenge, happy families, like happy people, just add a new chapter to their life story that shows them overcoming the hardship. This skill is particularly important for children, whose identity tends to get locked in during adolescence.
The bottom line: if you want a happier family, create, refine and retell the story of your family’s positive moments and your ability to bounce back from the difficult ones. That act alone may increase the odds that your family will thrive for many generations to come."
3. Stories help us preserve our history for future generations.
"What will our grandkids and great-grandkids know of us?” wondered Jens Nielsen, president at Pictureline, in his talk at RootsTech 2016.
We love all the reasons that are designated in the above article shared by Family Search, but two of our favorites:
• You and your family are important to somebody, probably many somebodies.
• Family trees are abstract. Stories add depth.
4. Stories keep alive in spirit those who have since departed. #legacy
5. Stories uplift us.
6. Stories make us feel love.
7. Stories tap into the wisdom of humanity, impart lessons painlessly, promote empathy.
8. Stories are free entertainment.
“Best of all, unlike stories from books, family stories are always free and completely portable. You don’t even need to have the lights on to share with your child a story about your day, about their day, about your childhood or their grandma’s. In the research on family storytelling, all of these kinds of stories are linked to benefits for your child. Family stories can continue to be part of a parent’s daily interactions with their children into adolescence, long past the age of the bedtime story.” —The Atlantic
9. Stories are part of our everyday lives. #dinnerconversation
9. Stories are meant to be shared.
10. And last but not least: You gotta eat.
So tell your stories. Be generous with them. As we tell our young kids: “It’s good to share.”
Using technology to help you share your family’s stories
There is plenty you can do to ensure that you are—easily!—capturing bits and pieces of your family history on a regular basis. Even if a photo book is way off in your future, take steps now to make life easier later with our recommended memory-sharing websites. With weekly emails prompting a family elder to share personal stories, and options for video, audio, and other customization, creating your personal digital archive is simpler than ever.
A recurring theme here at Modern Heirloom Books is that while we are drowning in our digital images, most people are not doing anything really worthwhile with their pictures. That’s a main reason we exist as a company—to help you curate your pictures and craft them into stories you can share through exquisitely designed books.
What of those stories, though? There is plenty you can do to ensure that you are—easily!—capturing bits and pieces of your family history along the way. Even if a photo book is way off in your future, take steps now to make life easier later.
“There is plenty you can do to ensure that you are—easily!—capturing bits and pieces of your family history along the way.”
In the last few years a host of memory sharing sites have arisen to help tech-savvy families record and share their family memories. Some have evolved over time, while new ones continue to hit the app store in an attempt to simplify the process with more elegant and engaging interfaces. Many of them are too labor-intensive or convoluted to warrant your time, however (and I doubt they’ll be around in a few more years).
One Memory-Sharing App That’s Worth Your Time—and One to Watch (IOHO)
You know those fill-in-the-blank memory books that tempt on Barnes & Noble bookshelves, or the beautiful journals that promise to leave your story for your children? (You know, the one that sits on your nightstand with just two pages filled in?) They’re a wonderful idea, if only we’d truly sit down and answer the questions. StoryWorth is like a digital version of these books, but with so many more benefits.
Options for good old-fashioned fill-in-the-blank memory journals abound—but they're useless if no one fills them in!
StoryWorth recipients receive a weekly email prompting them to answer a question based on their life experiences. The array of questions is vast and evocative, though users may always choose to answer a question they themselves craft. When a reply is input, answers are emailed to a preset list of people (so, as many family members and friends as you want to designate may receive your stories).
The value? It’s easy and fun to answer these prompts, whether a subject types a response on the website or via email, or chooses to record an audio clip over the phone. Photos and audio files can also be uploaded to the site, and stories—all saved on StoryWorth and available for printing or download at any time—are editable and secure. Remember: These aren’t biographies you’re crafting. They are nuggets from your (or your mother’s or grandfather’s) life—the time you hitchhiked across the state, the first time he flew on an airplane, that time none of the kids could find the hidden Easter eggs—colorful tales that the rest of there family will be thrilled to discover.
The site has a few packages ranging from $39 to $119 per year, and they offer a one-month free trial (you don’t even have to enter your credit card to start your trial). Check it out.
If your memories are all over the multimedia map and you want something more dynamic and mobile-friendly, I venture to guess that the imminent app I Rememba might be a good choice. I can’t say much more, though, as the app is still in development; I have signed up for access to their beta launch, so I’ll update you when I’ve eventually had time to test it. Why does it warrant my interest? Well, I am right there with the founder’s inspiration:
““Today, I’m 34 yrs old and have a 3.5 yr old daughter, of whom I have more than 25GB of pictures and videos…and due to the sheer speed with which we’re creating new memories, we don’t really care about them as much as we used to. Can you imagine, when my daughter grows up, what it would be like for her to Search and/or Share just the BEST memories of her life?? ….feels like trying to find a needle in a haystack…””
The launch site promises ways to preserve, capture, and share memories, in whatever format (video, audio, photo, text, and even family tree charts), and to “leave your legacy through time capsules.” I Rememba, like Modern Heirloom Books, is about preservation of memories and connecting generations. I’ll be watching them!
Family History vs. Family Stories
There is a place for memoirs and full-fledged biographies: the library.
Your own stories should not be told in minute detail, covering every life decision and milestone. I am not insinuating that your accomplishments and experiences are not worthwhile—truly, I am not. But for most of us, that…long…story would be rather…boring.
Perhaps it is important for you to chronicle your heritage, and I value a detailed family tree as much as any genealogist. For me, though, the personal tales that inspire a smile or reveal a person’s character are of even greater value. As the cliché goes, no one wants to sit through two hours’ worth of family vacation video, but a highlight reel is always welcome! Likewise, your descendants don’t want to feel like they are reading a 100-page history lesson, but rather as if they are being introduced to the interesting, unique people who came before them.
“No one wants to sit through two hours’ worth of family vacation video, but a highlight reel is always welcome!”
The memory-sharing apps mentioned above are great options for capturing the memories that matter. You’ll know which stories resonate when you get responses from your family members. “OMG I had no idea you were such a rebel soul!!” “I always knew you had a generous spirit, but this is above and beyond.” “LOL you are the same now as when you were 6yo!” “Now that I’m a mom I do the same thing!!”
“You’re not faced with thinking about your whole life or even what story you want to tell,” Nancy Mills told the NY Times about her experience with StoryWorth. “It’s like you’re having a conversation.”
And editing out stories that are less impactful—meaning that when you read them months later they don’t make you feel something—is easy.
I was lucky enough to inherit a book in which my mom recorded some memories the old-fashioned way—a true treasure.
Whether you actually sit down and use a good old-fashioned pen to record your memories (my mother did, and the book she left me will be forever cherished) or you subscribe to StoryWorth or another tech-aid, just do it. Get your stories down, and saved in one place.
Then, when you’re ready, let’s turn them into something even more special.