History is majestic and so necessary, like breathing or a soft persistent pulse. It occurred to me when I was 12 years old to tell my own. There is nothing more peculiar than having someone else tell it for you. Sometimes, people will wear your history across their chests and over their shoulders as if you are their one act of grace or charity or gesture toward the good of humankind. Everyone must tell their own history. But if life blows out before you get the chance, choose someone who will do it truthfully, loyally and faithfully. I learned to archive from my step-mother, Jill.
In reading the latest on Edwidge Danticat’s memoir she was and is still listed in my Letter of Intent as a “training point”. The Farming of Bones has remained with me from the time I first read it---2003. It is one of the most beautiful stories ever told---one that I will ever read in my lifetime. I plan to read her latest memoir Brother, I'm Dying before September is finished. I welcome thoughts, opinions and/or discussion about it.
Provence 2016: Day 1
2 weeks ago