My father was a writer. He wrote all of his life, inflicting upon many of us his novels, plays, articles, essays, and self-help books. Some were marvelous; some merely well-intentioned. But of all the things he wrote, his journal is his legacy: by turns wise and bewildering, it neared 1,100 type-written pages when he died in 2010. Although perused many times, this is the first time it will be read - cover to cover, page after page.
Friday, November 11, 2011
What We Remember
Monumental events may be more easily forgotten, more readily overlooked than the usual things that are part of them. Even more do we recall everyday things. But most of all, we remember the people with whom we shared both the great and the small occurrences. It is the people that gave them their value.
Labels:
gratitude,
memory,
people,
relationships,
without
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