Carrying the Thread Forward
A Birthday and a Reflection
A little over a week ago, I turned seventy. And only a few days later, it hit me: for the last twelve years, I’ve been quietly recording the bits and pieces of those seventy years—well, maybe the last sixty-eight if I’m being precise.
Canada Mints and a Lap to Sit On.
One of my very first memories is of sitting on my pépé’s lap and fishing into his shirt pocket for a box of Canada Mints—the pink ones. He died when I was two, so that one memory is all I really have of him. Yet even a single, sweet moment can stay bright for decades. It’s amazing how one small detail can stitch itself into everything that follows.
“We do not remember days, we remember moments.”
Cesare Pavese
Journals, Road Miles, and Honest Fabric
There are countless other fragments—joyful and tender, sorrowful and raw—woven into the fabric of who I’m still becoming. Twelve years of intentional writing have gathered them—eight thousand journal entries, eight hand-written notebooks, and more pens than I could ever count. Among those pages are holidays, and heartbreaks, ordinary Tuesdays, quiet awakenings, airports I’ve walked through, and the miles I’ve traveled—notes from winding back roads and unknown places that turned my journal into a kind of travel blog.
The heartache threaded among the good keeps the fabric honest. Writing hasn’t just been a record—it’s been a friend, a witness, and sometimes a compass when I wasn’t sure which way to turn.
“The shortest pencil is longer than the longest memory.”
Anonymous
Time, Slipping Past
Seventy years sounds like a long time when you say it out loud. But the truth is, it can slide by like water through your fingers. Writing my story—however brief or messy—pulls the past right into the present. Remembering is a form of living. As long as I can summon these bits and pieces, I can relive them: the scent of mints, the hum of an early morning, the butterflies with take-offs and landings, and the feel of a steering wheel on a back-country road.
“The past beats inside me like a second heart.”
Josh Banville
Carrying it Forward
So, I’ll keep writing. The thread hasn’t run out yet. I’ll keep gathering the big and small moments—back road wonders, laughing out loud, hard-earned lessons, and quiet, ordinary Tuesdays that turn out to matter most.
And you? Maybe as you read this, you’ll pause for a moment and think about your earliest memory or not-so-little thread you’re carrying forward—because those are the pieces that make every life story worth telling.
Talk soon…
G