It’s a gloriously sunny but frigid day here in southern Ontario. I did my Costco run before lunch but still got caught up in the pre-weekend shopping frenzy. Gigantic bags of snack foods, boxes of dips and salsa were clogging the conveyor belt. I wonder if anyone has ever estimated how much junk gets consumed on Super Bowl weekend? I just don’t get the hype. Then again, spending almost a full day watching overpaid ‘athletes’ the size of small cars bashing each other around (a break from wives/girlfriends) doesn’t appeal to me.

I sent my sixth draft off to Sam last week after bruising my brain on rewrites for three weeks. But I know it’s a better product than before and that feels good. Since then I’ve been in the doldrums. I know what I want to write but I’ve been dawdling on Pinterest and Ravelry searching for recipes and knitting patterns. Meh! I made some killer broccoli and cheese soup with the ham bone left over from Christmas dinner and I’ve sucked back half a gallon, it’s so salty-smooth-tasty, but it hasn’t inspired me.

My granddaughter has to do a paper for one of her classes at Dalhousie and she’s asked me to answer some questions.

  • Where were you born
  • Names of your parents
  • Year were you born
  • Where did you spend most of your childhood
  • What is the greatest moment in Canadian history you witnessed
  • How many siblings do you have
  • What was your childhood like
  • What kind of relationship did you have with your parents/siblings
  • Hobbies or interests
  • What plans did you have for your future? Did you achieve them
  • What is your greatest accomplishment
  • What is your greatest regret
  • What is one thing nobody knows about you

Whew! Now that inspired me. I’m sure you can already guess which ones I’ll avoid answering, but I’ll make up for it with other tidbits that don’t expose my inner self. Then there are the things I’d rather not remember. We’ll see if they surface as I begin to pen the longer version of my life. For now, I’ll keep it light and PG.

2014-08-03 10.06.03I don’t care for memoir and I’ve never tried to write my life story, figuring who the hell would be interested?But instead of simply answering her questions, I started to write. And write. And write. By the time I was up to 1000 words, I was at age 12 – and I was trying to be brief, for crying out loud. Editing won’t be an issue, but I’ve realized that part of my legacy (aside from good skin, nice teeth and a writing genome) is the story of our family history. I have boxes of old photos, too.

Here’s the first line:

As with many families that formed in the mid-1900s, mine is rife with secrets whispered by the older aunts and uncles who were there but still not cooled enough to share with the generation of children in their 50s and 60s or the upcoming generation of grandchildren. We’ve come to accept that’s the way it is, even as we chafe at the history that’s being lost as the older generation passes away. Before I depart though (hopefully a long time from now), I’m going to share what I know.

Right. Just what I needed. Another project. Yeah, another project.