We all have our memories, but I confess JB’s memories of a time and place I have never known seem so exotic to me!!
Christmas is coming and the geese are getting fatPlease put a penny in the old man’s hat;If you haven’t got a penny a ha’penny will do,If you haven’t…
Christmas Past!
So, today Judith is discussing the difference between Memory Writing and writing Memoirs. Is there a difference? I thought I knew. Now? Not so sure
“Every man’s memory is his private literature.”
Aldous Huxley, English writer and philosopher.
1894-1963
Several years ago I devised and ran a course on Memory writing, Take a Trip Down Memory Lane. The first course was run in 2009. Since then I have presented this course in several places, my own home included, and for a variety of organisations.
But yesterday I began to think, or ask the question, What is the difference between Memory Writing and Writing Memoirs?
Memory writing is just as it says. We write down a memory that we want to keep to pass on to future generations or in some instances, simply for ourselves.
My introduction to the course read “Stories have been used throughout history to pass on information and beliefs to following generations. The books of the major religions of the world tell stories and our history books tell stories. What about cave drawings found all around the world? Life in story form. These all depicted life as it was lived then. Younger people learned from these stories. They learned how life was lived by earlier generations and what was important to the people of those earlier generations.”
But compare this to Natalie Goldberg’s The Practice of Writing Memoir. * Natalie’s introduction reads “There is nothing stiff about memoir. It’s not a chronological pronouncement of the facts of your life: born in Hoboken, New Jersey; schooled at Elm Creek elementary; move to B Flat, New York, where you attended Holy Mother High School. Memoir doesn’t cling to an orderly procession of time and dates, marching down the narrow aisle of your years on this earth.
Memoir gives you the ability to plop down like the puddle that forms and spreads from the shattering of a glass of milk on the kitchen floor. You watch how the broken glass gleams from the electric light overhead. This form of memoir has leisure enough to examine all of this. “
I have taken several courses on Creative Writing over the years. I have recently completed a course on Memoir writing and have read and followed Natalie Goldberg’s book/course Old Friend from Far away.*
But as I look into the question I come to the decision that for me there really is no difference. In Memoir writing, we may look at what came before the visit to the annual fair. Who was there with you and why. And where did you go after? But this can also be the structure of a written memory and it often is.
So do you see there is a difference? Can you explain it to me
Boys to men and precious are those memories!
Reading Chris’ post entitled In my park 11 years ago I started thinking back to a similar day with three of my grandsons. July 2022 and a really …
A Day with the boys
Commit to a Writing Process – A Challenge
“Write about the three most important songs in your life — what do they mean to you? and
Today, try free writing. To begin, empty your mind onto the page. Don’t censor yourself; don’t think. Just let go. Let the emotions or memories connected to your three songs carry you.”
Three most important songs is easy.
When I was 13 and about to move from senior Public to High School we had a dance club at our school. It was called Club 78 and was held in our gymnasium at J.F. Carmichael Public School and was held once a month I think.
Paul Anka 1959 – A Canadian boy who struck gold.
Now 13 is a strange age for kids. Girls are often taller than boys. A boy asked me to dance (which was a good thing back when girls lined up against one gymnasium wall and boys lined up against another. I remember that dance and that I was tall enough that when we came together on the dance floor I could almost taste the Brylcreem (of the ‘little dab’ll do ya’ fame).
I don’t remember the boy – how I wish I did – but I remember the dance.
When I lived in South Texas for two years this was a popular song sure to be played on every jukebox. At the time I found the red-neck attitude of many rather charming and working in Health Care different but rewarding. Everyone had their own bar they went to after work. Doctors, lawyers, and judges gathered for a drink and hors d’oeuvres daily. Never for a long time but it was a ritual.
After the first year and a half constant sun, wind, bad tempered rattlers , scorpions and homesickness started to wear on me and whenever I heard this song I started to feel like a prisoner – ‘You can check out any time you like./ But you can never leave.
I knew it was time to return to the flora and fauna and family in Canada.
Personally I am getting a little sick of the fight and plight of women. The struggles are real but the constant in your face blah blah blah of it all is tiresome. Having said that, Helen Reddy’s song released in 1972 strikes a chord of eternal strength. Time, and fashion has no effect on this song about wisdom, failing, overcoming, and strength. Words like ‘you can bend but never break me,’ I know too much to go back an’ pretend,’ ‘And I come back even stronger’. No loud shouting or braying but soft and steely. I stand a little straighter when I hear this song.
Yesterday I posted a letter written by my uncle, who was fourteen at the time, to his brother, my father who was in the army.
My uncle was a pack rat and when he passed away his basement was crammed with all kinds of treasures, that my cousins had to sort through. Amongst his belongings were three letters.
The other two letters I have are from my father to his mother, my grandma.
I have no idea where overseas he was when these were written. The letters are on official Canadian Army stationary and are fully intact with the original envelopes. The first letter was written April 16, 1943 and the second May 2, 1943. Reading the lingo of the day they make me think of a scene from a black and white movie. They also give me a perspective I wouldn’t otherwise have of this boy who would become my father. They touch my heart as a mother, as a grandmother and as a woman. I don’t see this boy as my father. He is a young man who enlisted too young and went to a war that left permanent marks.
He loyally signed up with my someday to be my Uncle Harry who when he returned from the war would marry my Aunt Elaine. My aunt is the last aged member of that generation and she tells me to this day how awful the war was for these teenagers. She says they were different people when they came back and I can see she mourns the loss of who they once were. When I lived in the USA I dated a man who had been in the Vietnam war and while he was a wonderful accomplished man he still carried memories that invaded his dreams.
I have felt for a long time now that the only casualties were not those who died. Living victims. I think it is wonderful that Post Traumatic Stress Syndrome is recognized but I do not know if that recognition makes it any easier to deal on a day to day basis.
Whoa! That was a surprise melancholy trip. Now back to the letters that are not at all downers. The second letter does show just how homesick this boy was.
Anyway: April 16/43
Dear Mother
Hi Mom how are you doing? Fine I hope. Now here I am to make a request. I need some more toilet soap and would be very greatful if you could get me some and send it to me. The limey soap gives me a rash of something.
I found out where Bobby is so as soon as I can get a leave I am going to see him. O’ yes I haven’t had my leave as yet but am sure hoping. I expect I will need it if I don’t go crazy waiting. O’ yes haven’t received any cigs yet but am hoping for that too. Well must go to bed now.
Tons of Love
Your son
Raymond
PS a X (hug) from me to you.
Love Raymond
********
May 2/43
Dear Mom
Hi Sweet Heart and how are you doing? Fine I hope. Say do you know something. In 49 days Mrs. Gingerich’s dark haired warrior will be 19 and I have heard from some ot the fellows he is going to get drunk, really pie eyed for about 2 days. Well mom I guess I didn’t need to remind you of that awful day. But I guess you can remember it.
Well enough of that. Well today is Sunday and like the good boy I am, I never wen t to church, and you know I was worried but I don’t know what happened I just didn’t get to church. Well here I am beside a nice fire and having a swell time. I was thinking what a swell time a fellow could have if he were home for awhile. it would be swell. I’d like to meet all the new friends we have now. It would be swell.
Well Mom, I guess I will close for now.
Tons of Love Sweetheart
Love
Raymond
I am not sure that anyone outside ‘the family’ would be interested in this particular post, so don’t feel bad if you pass it by.
Today when looking through some of my writings I came across copies of letters my father had sent to his mom in 1943, and one letter from his younger brother Dick to him. My father enlisted in the army in 1941 when he was seventeen years old. Not at all unusual for young fellas back then to enlist underage and to be accepted to go to war. The Second World War was firmly entrenched and in its second year. The government made enlisting sound exciting, patriotic and gosh darn it, the right thing to do.
A year later, August 6, 1942 my uncle Dick sent my Dad a letter to his training site in Niagara on the Lake in Ontario. A few months later my Dad was sent overseas. These letters are of interest to me of course, because they are a link to a time and people I never knew. My uncle at the time was about fourteen years old. It is a nice little look at the times. Spelling, grammar and stroke outs are as in the letter.
The envelope is addressed: Pri Raymond Gingerich
Reg. No. A-76033 C. Comp
Scots Fusiliers of Canada
Niagara on the Lake M.P.O. 203
Dear Raymond,
I received your letter last night and I would have answered then but didn’t have time. The scouts went swimming at the pool, and but I didn’t have much fun. I passed my swimming test and now I just have a couple more tests to pass and I’ll be a second class scout. I have quite lots of fun these days. Ostell’s are back from Wo Wasaga beach and now I have someone to play with because I don’t pl;ay with Stan Flaherty anymore because of his “old man”. One day Stan and I were behind Flaherty’s with some water in bottles and old man Flaherty said, “It is only babys that play with water,” and I said, “goo” and he sold told me to get home and I said it will take a hell of a lot more than him to make me, so I don’t play with Stan anymore. I would like to be up tere if there is lots of fishing and especially swimming.
Last night when we were at the pool I met a nifty girl and when I was diving off of the board I was loo looking at her when I hit the water I almost killed myself. I am enjoying my holidays but thery will soon be over and school will starts start again; although I think we will have more fun this year because I will have more fun this years because I will have old lady Neu Neuman for my teacher. Please excuse all thos those strokes up there but I wrote one line twice.
We, meaning Johnny Ostell and I are going to save our money to go on hikes this summer and we may get lost and wander down to the canal so if we do , (we will) come and see you. We are going on a hike some time next week and we have everything cha planned to go to the other side of Preston and we ,if we get tired we will thumb and if I get a ride with a guy thats going to you yu vicinity I’ll go with him and I not worrying (were about where to sleep or coming back.
Oh, well enough of fooling because I wouldn’t even start to get to Niagara because I likely wouldn’t be ablt to find you anyhow. Well, I guess I will say So long because I want to try and write to Harry yet to-day sooo……..
So Long,
Your brother
Dick
P.S. I wish you the best with the farmer’s daughter **(drawing of fingers crossed here)
Adios
write soon
So – Long
Friday June 8th was not only my birthday but also the city of my birth, Kitchener Ontario. The city was 35 when I was born and I think that is about all I will say of that. Its original name was Berlin and it was renamed when the first World War took place. I guess our city fathers felt Berlin was a little Germanic considering so it was named after Lord Kitchener. It did not change the fact that the largest population was German. The city apparently boasted a spectacular bust of Kaiser Whilhelm 1 and a few days after war was declared three young Berlin men (Fred Bolton, Alan Smith and John Ferguson) toppled the bust and dumped it into the lake at Victoria Park. Unfortunately in 1916 there was considerable animosity from the non-German residents.
It has been interesting reading the history pages on line as many of the names we have for parks and streets are linked to the actual people living at the time.
In 1920 Charles How’s Royal Cafe was raided by Kitchener police who seized a large amount of opium and smoking equipment so I guess drugs in the cities have a long history.
In 1922 we were visited by William Lyon Mackenzie King who was then Prime Minister and a native son of our wee town. Not so wee since 10,000 people came out to meet him .
Canadians are known to be generally a polite tolerable people however 1925 saw a clandestine attempt to oraganize a Kitchener chapter fo the Ku klux Kan that ended through disinterest. The organizers met in a private home but two Daily Record reporters ‘were able to glimpse a’crowd’ of three around a table.’
In 1927 it seemed there were bootleggers to be caught and in 1928 the city’s Health Department found two gypsy families living in an abandoned store and shooed them out.
The first of the famous Five and Dime stores opened in 1932 by Walter Zeller. I remember my mom still calling them Five and Dimes. In 1936 specific mention is made of a shoemaker William Thoms who road his bicycle from home to work every day for a distance of 12 miles. It was estimated he cycled a total of 131,400 miles. The distance would have been much greater but during the winters he had to walk and they did not tally up those miles. He stopped, or retired I guess at the age of 82.
One hanging was detailed in 1940. Reginal White who was the third and final person to ever be so disposed of for a crime in the city.
1942 mention of note was that the local library reported many strange things found in books used as markers, but none so strange as a slice of bacon.
It was not until 1946, on Devember 24th that Canadian women were given equal status under the new Citizenship Act.
There are many interesting facts listed at kitchener100.ca by decade.
So while my own history did not come close to the city of my birth it was an incredible event. This was our first Terramundi party. I had decided I did not want any gifts as I could not think of a single desire. Terramundi is perfect.
According to the accompanying tag: (In the picture below mine is the blue and pink). ‘This is an Etruscan Money Amphora. These money pots have been used in Italy for the last 2,000 years and their hand thrown design has remained the same. Examples can be seen in the British Museum. TRADITION: ONce the first coin is dropped the money pot must be fed til full, then smashed whilst making a wish. It is customary to replace pot and spend money on good things. Pots bring fortune. There is a fortune coin in each pot.
The whole idea was that instead of bringing a gift bring a Loonie or Toonie ($1.00 or 2.00 coin) and throw it in the pot and make a wish. Everyone was way to generous with me but the idea remains pure.
So folks that was my start to an amazing weekend!
If you knew you only had a few days or a few months to live, what would you do with that time? This thought has been on my mind lately and I can’t figure out if it is something to seriously consider or if it is an excuse to not do other things that wait for my attention. But by devoting time for this one can only hope that one thing will lead to another and I do like to multitask so…
I am a few months short of my sixty-fifth birthday and realize that just having outlived my parents I am not sure of my own longevity. It’s hard to beat your genes. Who would I like to read this story? Certainly my children and the rest of my family but there is a danger in sharing with my brothers and sisters as I have discovered each of us has a different memory of a past event which just goes to prove the old idea of the truth being completely subjective and perhaps nonexistent in its purest form. I know I have posted on this blog memories of events and my brother and sister have pointed out a different or corrected version (very kindly of course). This is probably a good thing as they are younger than I so perhaps their minds are a little fresher.
Distant memory in particular is colored by what we think happened and our ensuing experiences and emotions. And of course we choose to believe or remember a specific thing or occurrence according to our own mind. One of my brothers believes my grandparents did not own their home because he remembers seeing a box with rent receipts after they died. He may have forgotten that at least one offspring and family lived in that house with them continually for many years and yes they all paid rent. That included my parents, two aunts and several others for shorter periods of time. So he, my brother, would swear on a stack of bibles that they never owned that house even though the family sold it after Grandpa’s death. Fortunately my one living paternal aunt can verify this and explains that she was fourteen when she had to quit school to stay home and look after her younger brother and sister so my grandmother could get a job to make money to buy the house which they purchased when my dad was overseas.
This is one of the reasons I tend to avoid reading famous people’s autobiographies – just too subjective. So if you are reading this little story and share memories of the past with me, please understand this is my recollection and while I will strive to be accurate it just can’t be more than my own mind and heart will let it be.
My dad joined the army when he was seventeen, and yes he was underage, but it was 1941 and the Second World War was raging so a lot of youngsters were allowed to enlist as age wasn’t questioned much. We have a couple of letters that he sent home when he was posted overseas and one letter from his younger brother who I think was only fourteen at the time. I will dig them out and scan them for the record and will tell you more about that at a later time.
I think now and then about the sort of things I want my children to know about such as old wood stoves that baked pies and cakes and wonderful homemade stews and soups, old dial black telephones and numbers that began with words or initials. Our phone number was Sherwood 2—2 and the Sherwood was dialed as SH so the number in fact was 742—-2. (Naturally I have the exact number in the family version but it would not be a good idea to publish it in the event someone else now has that number). Everyone in those days was on a party line, so if you wanted to make a call you first picked up the receiver to be sure the line was clear. Mind you at any time a neighbor could pick up their phone and listen in and if they were skilled at making the click very quiet you would never know. I suppose if you were of the paraniod persuasion clicks were heard when no one was there. People did not use the phone unless it was necessary. There was no idle chatter. There was also no such thing as cordless, caller ID, or speaker. Oh, and no such thing as colors. It was black and very heavy as I remember.
The one below is exactly like ours and everyone else’s for that matter.
There were no phone jacks that lines plugged into so if the cord was snapped from the wall you had to call the phone company to come in and repair it. Now I must qualify the not using the phone unless it was necessary part. I do recall vaguely the odd Saturday when our parents were out making prank calls that generally went, “Hello, is your refrigerator running? Well you better run after it!” We just dialed numbers randomly and have no idea who we contacted and they sure could not trace us.
It is my intention not to reveal any family skeletons as such; at least I think I will not, as many of those old bones are not mine to share. Neither will I necessarily whitewash things but the memories are pretty happy nostalgic ones. I guess we will just have to wait and see as layers of the dusty past are removed. I have also decided that I will not try to stay on a chronological path as memories seem to pop up in a rather irregular fashion and that is how they will be recorded. I’ve tried the chronological thing in the last couple of years and it drives me bonkers.
My folks were married in Scotland and she being a war bride followed him here to Kitchener Ontario a few months after his return. I have spoken with my aunt who is my mom’s younger sister and the last of that family of siblings and my aunt who is the last remaining member of my dad’s siblings and have asked as many questions as I could about their youth and what they remember. As both are well into their eighties the memories are very subjective but amazingly detailed. Besides what are memories if they have to be objective? The full flavor of life is in the personal bias of it all. That’s where the fun comes in!
Well now that I have that all straightened out I shall ponder a little more and then get down to some real work. I won’t share every record of history with you but when the little oddities such as telephones pop up I will keep you in mind.
Just a few days ago I was nestled down in sun and sand to enjoy a week of Cayo Largo.
This small island to the south of Cuba is only 28 km long and 3-4 km wide and hosts all natural beaches and warm Caribbean surf. A thousand years ago the island was inhabited by a nomadic tribe, the Guayabo Blanco, who lived on wild root vegetables and fruits, as well as fishing and hunting. Christopher Columbus visited the island on his second trip to Cuba. Hmm now that is something he and I have in common as this was my second trip. who knew? Chris Columbus, Chris King….sort of has a nice ring doesn’t it?
The island was also a popular destination of pirates and privateers and included John Hawkins, Sir Francis Drake (although he was not a Sir at the time), and Henry Morgan who apparently buried all his treasure somewhere in the key in 1666.
The island is inhabited by many large and small birds including parakeets and parrots and gulls cranes and pelicans, none of which I came across. However there was one not so wee critter I crossed paths with that quite took me by surprise because of his camouflage which blended him right into the rocks I decided to lean against. He didn’t seem to mind and stirred not a muscle but you can be sure I did and quickly.
The iguana is indigenous to the island and come in all sizes. This fellow from nose to tail tip was about 3 feet.
Palm trees, palapas and warm Caribbean waters are all kept in as natural state as possible. There are no permanent residents of this Cayo (Island). The staff reside in temporary quarters for 20 days at a stretch and then are flown or boated home for a 10 day leave. All employees work very long hours during their work term being on site in the wee hours of the morning and present til the late evening hours. They do get a mid afternoon break but their time on the island is work and sleep. There is an international airport on the island and it was quite pleasant to have only a ten minute commute from the airport to the hotel.
This is not a wild ‘let’s party hardy’ island and travel agents make it quite clear that if you are looking for night life and lots of varied activity you should look at another place. There are some local trips to the marina and catamaran tours, swimming with the dolphins and turtles and huge starfish, but by and large the destination is designed for peace and quiet, something that meets my requirements. It is interesting that the age groups ranged from small children to young adults to the uh more mature set.
When I travel I love those little airports where you embark and disembark from the ground itself. Somehow it feels so adventurous.
Our destination on the island was Playa Blanco meaning white beach and it was the whitest sand I think I have encountered to date.
The Cuban people are amazing hosts and they consistently provide a safe hospitable environment. Vacationers cannot purchase their currency prior to arriving in the country. The CUC is a tourist peso which currently reflects the US dollar I think. For one hundred dollars Canadian I got almost ninety-four pesos which isn’t too bad a deal.
It was a delightful week and it was with fond memories that I bade the island adios and Vaya Con Dios until next time.
11/22/63 The Book
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