Memoirous

Holiday @ Home Parade It’s that time of year—back to school—when I recall the Holiday @ Home Parade in Kettering, Ohio. Here is a flashback post: from an earlier post:  http://memoirouswrite.blogspot.com/search?q=holiday+at+home Holiday at Home Parade Labor Day weekend. School was right around the corner. Which meant autumn was coming, falling leaves, and change. But things would never be different. Freshman year I was a nerd. As a sophomore I was a more experienced nerd. Junior year I entered school thinking halfway done, only 2 more years of being an ostracized nerd. Finally as a senior, I knew it was my last year. I'd never be popular but forever a nerd. But at least a nerd on her way out. The only good thing about Labor Day weekend was the Holiday at Home Parade. I looked forward to getting there early and finding a seat along the curb. Friends of my parents lived close to the parade route, so I rode up to their house and parked my bike in their garage. The Centervil...

from an earlier post: http://memoirouswrite.blogspot.com/search?q=holiday+at+home Holiday at Home Parade Labor Day weekend. School was right around the corner. Which meant autumn was coming, falling leaves, and change. But things would never be different. Freshman year I was a nerd. As a sophomore I was a more experienced nerd. Junior year I entered school thinking halfway done, only 2 more years of being an ostracized nerd. Finally as a senior, I knew it was my last year. I'd never be popular but forever a nerd. But at least a nerd on her way out. The only good thing about Labor Day weekend was the Holiday at Home Parade. I looked forward to getting there early and finding a seat along the curb. Friends of my parents lived close to the parade route, so I rode up to their house and parked my bike in their garage. The Centerville Elks marching band and Coed Drill team would be in the parade along with both Fairmont high schools, East and West. Schools from ...

Labor Day weekend. School was right around the corner. Which meant autumn was coming, falling leaves, and change. But things would never be different. Freshman year I was a nerd. As a sophomore I was a more experienced nerd. Junior year I entered school thinking halfway done, only 2 more years of being an ostracized nerd. Finally as a senior, I knew it was my last year. I'd never be popular but forever a nerd. But at least a nerd on her way out. The only good thing about Labor Day weekend was the Holiday at Home Parade. I looked forward to getting there early and finding a seat along the curb. Friends of my parents lived close to the parade route, so I rode up to their house and parked my bike in their garage. The Centerville Elks marching band and Coed Drill team would be in the parade along with both Fairmont high schools, East and West. Schools from as far as West Carrollton and even ones from Dayton, the big city, might show up. There were the floats and people I had no...

Corners in the Tiny House are so dark. So I turn on my plant grow lights. We all have SAD. I can see the rain splatter the deck and remember--- The blue jay and cardinal cavorting in the wet grass a moment earlier, the colors decorating the brown grass, and remember--- This too shall pass. My brother Steve sent, in a series of emails, Google pics of the houses our family lived in (not including the serial moves my parents made when fully retired). He used each image to riff on flash memories, really just skimming the surface, of what he recalled most about each place. He should commit to doing a writing study, micro series, of flash memoir using the images as prompts. I used the “the Kettering house on Hackney” to get an overhead view and found the name of the creek I fell into, that my mother had to come pull me out of. It looks like a cement ravine with a trickle of water running through it. Little Beaver Creek. Steve also sent an image of the Wick’s house, former neighbors...

Tuesday July 3, 2018, 56 km (35 miles) - Total so far: 1,918 km (1,192 miles) My alarm went off at 5 this morning. I was the only one sleeping in the hut so didn't worry about waking others. Last night a man and his little girl showed up. I asked if they were staying. No, just getting food. (The hut has a pantry where people can grab stuff and leave $$) We talked a bit about my trip. I told him I was hoping to make it to Sandnes. I'm from Sandnes, he said. He suggested I take the road to Lystbotn and then the ferry. I said I'd heard the switchbacks were crazy. (28 total) Not too steep, he answered, and I'd save a heap of KM. I would definitely make it to Sandnes. On the map the ferry goes through the fjord past Pulpit Rock. It sounded beautiful and a perfect way to end the trip. He mentioned there was some ups. But he seemed certain I could handle it. It took me 1.5 hours to relay my stuff out. Much better than the trip in, and cooler. It was 7:15 by the tim...

 A Sweet Memory--originally published Dec. 5, 2014 Do you remember these? Every Christmas all four of us kids would find a Book of candy Life Savers in our stocking. Right away I’d eat my favorites—what were they?—most likely wintOgreen and cherry. Then I’d move onto secondary ones. Until all that were left in the “book” were butterscotch and rum-flavored rolls. They might stay bookmarked well into February or March. Sometimes my sister and I would make trades. Swap one of hers for one of mine. The boys most likely gobbled theirs down before New Years. We came to expect the Book of Life Savers. Even the year Mom was in the hospital, we recognized that familiar oblong box sticking out of the cuff of our knit stockings. Even after we left home for college and one or two of us might return home for the holiday there would be a Book of Life Savers waiting for us. For my parents it might have been a throw-away gift, an easy pick, something they didn’t have to put much thought or effort ...

Do you remember these? Every Christmas all four of us kids would find a Book of candy Life Savers in our stocking. Right away I’d eat my favorites—what were they?—most likely wintOgreen and cherry. Then I’d move onto secondary ones. Until all that were left in the “book” were butterscotch and rum-flavored rolls. They might stay bookmarked well into February or March. Sometimes my sister and I would make trades. Swap one of hers for one of mine. The boys most likely gobbled theirs down before New Years. We came to expect the Book of Life Savers. Even the year Mom was in the hospital, we recognized that familiar oblong box sticking out of the cuff of our knit stockings. Even after we left home for college and one or two of us might return home for the holiday there would be a Book of Life Savers waiting for us. For my parents it might have been a throw-away gift, an easy pick, something they didn’t have to put much thought or effort into. But, for me, in the rearview ...

A repost from December 05, 2014 Do you remember these?   Every Christmas all four of us kids would find a Book of candy Life Savers in our stocking. Right away I’d eat my favorites—what were they?—most likely wintOgreen and cherry. Then I’d move onto secondary ones. Until all that were left in the “book” were butterscotch and rum-flavored rolls. They might stay bookmarked well into February or March. Sometimes my sister and I would make trades. Swap one of hers for one of mine. The boys most likely gobbled theirs down before New Years. We came to expect the Book of Life Savers. Even the year Mom was in the hospital, we recognized that familiar oblong box sticking out of the cuff of our knit stockings. Even after we left home for college and one or two of us might return home for the holiday there would be a Book of Life Savers waiting for us. For my parents it might have been a throw-away gift, an easy pick, something t...

This week I am excerpting holiday related sections of a new manuscript I am shopping to editors and agents. Survivor Guilt After the high school principal finds his truck on the roof of the school, prankster James Tiller is sentenced to sixty-six hours of community service at a local homeless shelter. Between punking people on Facebook and giving the check-out clerks at Walmart hell, his life is seemingly one big practical joke—until James’ mother is killed when a U-Haul slams into their car.Suddenly things become very serious.   Happy Turkey Day The director of the homeless shelter where I volunteered dropped Torrence off Thursday morning. Dad had been up since 6 a.m. working on dressing the turkey. I on the other hand was not dressed. I was still in my PJs. Torrence and I sat in front of the TV eating cold cereal and watching the parade. The one with the creepy, globular balloons. The one with Buzz Lightyear the size of a cruise ship. The one with a warehouse si...

Sunday July 5, 2020, 67 miles (108 km) - Total so far: 2,090 miles (3,364 km) Leaving the SP early, of course, I wanted to beat heat and wind. Almost immediately I began to climb. At first gradual, using my second gear, then things ramped up. Behind each rise was another behind it. I climbed for over 13 miles. Sunday traffic was light. After descending I noticed traffic picking up, folks wanting to beat it home after the long holiday weekend. It was nothing but campers and trucks pulling boats, etc. At times I had a verge and at times it disappeared. Around noon I finished a breakfast sandwich bought in Pomeroy. I also made up a lemonade bottle. This was all very prescient for what was to come. At 50 miles began another climb. Not sure but maybe 4 or 5 miles, after topping, I coasted into Dayton, WA. Covid is very much on people's minds. You are REQUIRED to wear a mask in stores. I have to get used to this instinct once again. In Dayton I was feeling a little sick, I think from t...

Right now I have 3 visitors staying with me from Baghdad. I know, Baghdad. the only place less safe right now might be Gaza. And, safe, it's just a relative term. I asked the girls how their families were faring. Without trying to be coy or evasive, Rand looked at me and said, "Growing up, during nearly two decades of war, if I only heard 3 bombs go off during the day--that was good." The girls were here for a vacation, so on the second day when one of them lost or had her wallet stolen, it was a real downer. She wasted a lot of time running around to the consulate and filing a police report (not sure why since the report contained little information about the incident--not even an official stamp). Anyway, the mishap reminded me of when my daughter was traveling and had her cell phone stolen. Kids--we're so worried for them when they travel. There are a multitude of things that can go wrong--and something usually does. And, because they are our kids, even a thousa...

Is it a coincidence that twice in one week I've been involved in conversations where people said they were so happy with the commercialization of Christmas? Some context here is necessary. Early in the week a woman addressed a meeting I was at. She and her husband and kids had spent the past three Christmases in Costa Rica. I swooned. Outside it was snowing and the temps hadn't risen above 17 degrees for . . . awhile. Anyway she shared that she had begun to miss the commercialization of Christmas. We all laughed. No really, she said. There just wasn't enough "stuff" there to remind her of the season or of home. Then just the other night my friend's son was home from high school abroad. In Norway he said they are more laid back about Christmas. He scanned the room we were in with the lights, the lit candles, the TREE. He said already there are more decorations in this room then you'd find in a whole house in Norway. The tree for instance might have one stra...

You have no idea what to do. He was the only person you could ever talk to. Your sister plays high school varsity basketball and attends Bible study: two things you know nothing about. He was the only person who didn’t treat you like a kid. Your other brother flicks you on top of the head with his hard fingernail and makes jokes about niggers and watermelons—which you don’t get, not because you’re naïve about racism, but because you don’t find his jokes very funny. He was the only person who ever listened to you. To get Dad’s attention you’d have to turn off the TV. He was the only person who ever understood you. Mom gets a confused look on her face when you mention you’d like to be a writer. And now he’s leaving. Remember that time you walked together in the woods and you told him you were thinking about getting an M.I.A. bracelet and he said it was just a ploy to legitimize the Vietnam War. You never sent away for one. Don’t go, you begged...

This Christmas had it all—see last post, plus enterovirus, which I would not wish on my worst enemy. It has taken me days to feel better. To feel like even being around food. I finally settled into the occasional banana, the off-chance ramen (half the package). Then . . . I came home from work last night and was hungry. I didn’t know what to do. I needed more than ramen or a banana. So at 8 pm made a casserole. My brain said this is crazy and feels late and also necessary. It was interesting this sensation of actually wanting food. The varying facets of one’s relationship to food—I’d certainly run the gamut this holiday the big dinner the plates of cookies, cakes, pies Nothing even the specter of food being repulsive I threw leftover bread etc out into the snow for the birds and squirrels purged the fridge of almost everything—except a 12-pack of ramen, a bunch of bananas Suddenly peas sound good!? I never eat peas Hunger.

Memoirous is about memories and using memories to tell stories. Memories are also unreliable. We unintentionally leave things out or embellish. Sometimes the more accurate memories have the ring of truth to them. What seems to resonate the most are universal experiences where readers can exclaim: Hey! The same thing happened to me! Sometimes we end up just giving life and words to the mundane and everyday. A few years back I picked up a small “poetry” book by Kyle White. It isn’t exactly poetry but more a hybrid of observations, comments, essays, criticisms, and poetry. There is line variation. This book is monumental in its scope: Wisconsin. I know, that line made me laugh too. It is about bundling up in snowsuits. Walking home with your cheeks stinging. Snot crusting inside your muffler. It is about the horror of returning to a normal schedule after Christmas break. Kyle White employs everyday memories in crafting Wisconsin: river of grace . Coming from the ...