Making Good Use Of Your Memories

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

A writer should never be without a notebook or pen. Memories arrive at any point and any time and we must be ready to capture them or at least headline them somewhere easy to find so we can return and retrieve them when the time is right. On one of my early morning last week the sight of a crowd of daffodils did just that. It jogged my memory about an early childhood school association with daffodils.

Back in the late sixties and seventies my primary school had a ritual of around the January of each new year of giving every child in the school a daffodil bulb to take home and care for. The idea being that we would care and tend to the bulb and watch it grow and then bring our specimen back to school on a specific day where it would be judged for just how well it had grown and blossomed.

It was a precarious business of course. Our bulbs (my siblings and I) would get tossed into the old conservatory behind the kitchen often dying or getting lost in the piles of stuff it had landed amongst. Sometimes if we were lucky it would bloom but not grow very tall or stunning. Every year I wished for the first prize, which was a certificate, which consisted of a full colour photo image of a glowing daffodil. Instead for most of my primary school years I would return home with a black and white version, smaller in size than the first prize version denoting second or third prize for effort and trying. 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Of course the same people seemed to win each year and now thinking about it, did they really grow those stunning daffodils or did a Mum or two nip down to the local garden centre and replace their languishing bulbs with these new editions? I would not have put it past a few determined parents and given many of the stories written about gardeners stealing and destroying other gardeners products before a country show there may well be a truth or two in there somewhere.

The real lesson here about memories are when we capture them on the blank page we never know until we get them down what they will turn into. I’ve used my daffodil memory for a blog post. But it could also be used for a personal essay, a part of a memoir or the starting point for a short story. There are many possibilities. Memories like the one I’ve just shared may seem insignificant but it is these small details that good stories are made of.

Walk with your notebook and pen, or if you’re like me my notebook on my iphone is a solid substitute for a notebook when on my travels.

With one day left to the Easter what childhood memories do you have about Easter?

Yesterday I was jolted back in time with a memory of waking up early on Good Friday’s and running down the road to Broomfield Bakery where we would queue for a bakers dozen of freshly baked hot crossed buns. Mum would slice and place a layer of butter inside and then warm them in the oven. I still can recall the strong aromas of cinnamon and sultana’s that made up part of the recipe and of how once the buns where heated they melted on your tongue. Even to this day I find it an insult if someone offers me a cold hot cross bun to eat. Even though as an adult I am no longer as fond of hot cross buns as I was as a child I will eat them purely to reconnect with that warm memory that I have of them and Easter.

What childhood memory could you write about today as part of today’s writing practice?