The word remember. Re-member, when you break it down. It reminds me that memory is all about putting yourself back together. Piecing the story bit by bit. Retrieving it like a fisherman. Dipping in a line and seeing what catches.
I have done that with words, for most of my life. To make sense of grief. To open a door where there isn’t one. To fill the holes Mom left. To fill her shoes. To sort the confusion, secrets and curves. To make something boring, beautiful.
A tiny little yellow memoir from the 60s called, I Remember by Joe Brainard, has inspired me as a stirring prompt. Simple, declarative sentences catalogue his childhood of the 40s and 50s. The first line of each reflection begins, you guessed it with — I remember… I love how he broke the rules of what was believed to be the right or wrong way to pen his story. Feels like juicy permission.
Grab some paper and give it a try. See what comes when you invite it in. Simply begin each line with those big little words and somehow the subconscious reveals what needs to see the light of day. See just what the push breathes and births.
I offer this as a ritual on a death date or birthday. A rite of passage. An easy in on a day where writing feels like a heavy lift. Date the page.
Here’s one of mine, won’t you send me yours?
x, b.
I Remember
I remember sitting on the temple bench next to Dad, when he stood for the Mourner’s Kaddish. He has been standing for this prayer since he was a seven year old boy.
I remember the day dad started to forget.
I remember all of my childhood phone numbers.
I remember picking dandelions in the yard at 41 Robin Court for a few cents a piece. The sprinkler, the whirly bird and a banana seat yellow Schwinn.
I remember wanting to be Penny from Lost In Space.
I remember Susie Green across the street, had an Easy Bake Oven. All the play school little people and toys. Spoiled I say.
I remember when Mom told me her perfect folks were getting a divorce.
I remember the O’Herns had a cool fort and tree house. Six O’Herns - five boys and Kate.
I remember thinking a faulty heart valve, would be an in and out thing today.
I remember Yiddish words like meshugaah, chutzpah, kvetch, klutz, nosh, schlep, schmooze and tchotchke…and trying to use a few in my second grade writing assignment with Mrs. Valente.
I remember all of Mrs. Valente’s children had names that started with V. Vance and Vanessa, I think there was another.
I remember wanting a Friday night Bat Mitzvah more than anything. A midnight breakfast and hors d’oeuvres. Grandma somehow knew the owners of the Shadowbrook in New Jersey and helped make it happen.
I remember Cats Cradle, Jack and Diane, 867-5309 and Springsteen at the Stone Pony.
I remember making lollipop and rose centerpieces myself. Mom did the glossy red spray paint on each basket.
I remember the family Noodle Kugel recipe by heart. Don’t forget to grease the pan, if you do you will have to remove all of the mushy egg noodle and buttery cottage cheese confabulation, wash the dish and start again.
I remember the Maybelline sparkly shadow that Jamie Rush wore in junior high.
I remember thinking I would work at Seventeen Magazine with Phoebe Cates.
I remember never wanting freckles but always wanting glasses and a shiny retainer.
I remember thinking everyone knew how to play Skeeball.
i remember & other things i will probably forget