There is an unforeseen benefit to writing a blog about memories: the act of writing stirs long forgotten memories. As I type they drift in from the mists of time, initially sometimes as just a word or two, or in the form of a smell or a taste, and then a whole scene comes into focus.
One challenge I do have is sticking to the purpose of the memories part of the project (the other part is thoughts). I intended, and do intend, to record MY memories. Yet, quite frequently I find myself trying to write a memory as history, which it most decidedly is not.
Writing memories also turns out to be quite therapeutic – helps one to understand and come to terms with the past. Helps one understand the extent to which our parents – and we ourselves – are products of their parents, their upbringing and their life experiences.
The memories offer something that might be read by our children, grandchildren or even great, great-grandchildren in the future. When one is young one is focused on oneself and later on one’s children. Much later in life, I have found that I would love to know more about my ancestors. Perhaps my descendants will feel the same. If they do, I leave them these fragments of my life.
A blog a day?
That was the target, a blog every day. In practice, I don’t do this. But I am being pretty successful at WRITING every day.
In practice, I find that I am working on several blog posts at the same time (it can take the brain some time to fill in a few more gaps. So I give the memory posts some time to mature. Sometimes I complete two posts. Sometimes none.
Becoming a blogoholic?
Why am I doing this? I like writing. I recently retired at 76, and I want to keep my mind active. I also think (egotistically?) that some of my thoughts and memories are worth sharing. But the readers will be the judge of that!
I find myself becoming immersed in this project. I have been a workaholic for much of my life. Am I now becoming a blogoholic, or is the latter simply an extension of the former?