Memoir


 * Memoir writing is an opportunity to reflect on ones self internally. People usually ask themselves "What is it that made me who I am today?" **

- Click on the link to the left to find a clearer distinction of a memoir [|Memory from home] A visual tool to the basics of a memoir

__**Mentor text :**__ **__Moments__** “ Hiss, bzzzzz, beep, beep, beep, bleeeeeep,” went the screeching of the fire radio from their bedroom.

“Jo, where are my boots?” anxiously requested my father.

“Same place you left them last night John” she reluctantly answered.

The radio called out loudly and with impending danger. “3 Alarm fire, 26 Kings Ferry Road, all man power needed, 10, 4 over and out.”

My father ran out the door with it banging as it closed due to the broken hinge and my mother was calling from the kitchen as she was putting away the leftover breakfast items he was about to cook with. “Do you really have to go to this one?” she stated in disappointment, but he was already gone.

My brothers and I were dressed. My mother said she was dropping me off at my grandmothers, because she had things to do. You could hear my father speed off as the pebbles from the dirt road side kicked up. We hurriedly went out the door making sure our spunky Dalmatian, Smokey, did not escape as we got into the Volkswagen beetle. I watched the ground go by underneath my feet planted on the metal rack in the floor. Better not to make eye contact and be a part of the chaos. We passed the smoke filled house as we went to my grandparents. You could feel the tension and disappointment in my mother. I guess dad missed another moment with mom.

I ran out of the car door and up the long sidewalk to the side of the house as my mom dropped me off. I could smell the aroma of coffee coming out the screen door. My grandmother opened the door and silently gave a warm smile. She was stoic, strong yet a caring person. I went to wave off my mom, but they had already left out of sight.

I entered her pale yellow kitchen which envelops you with a warm hug of friendship as you arrived.

As I took my shoes off, I looked up and saw the small table tucked in between the wall and opposite the sink with the multicolored ceramic bowls lined up on top. There were eggs, her metal flour and sugar containers and butter on the table. The wooden spoon was laid along the side and she was reaching for the bag of chocolate chips in the cabinet. I quietly sat down by the wall so I could be near the window. I waited for her to place the butter and sugar into the bowl and then she handed me the wooden spoon. I began to blend the butter and sugar together with the back of the spoon against the bowl. I looked up and she was doing the dishes with her back towards me. The bow from her apron was so neatly tied. I slowly put my hand in the chocolate chip bag so not to make a noise and ate one chip. As it melted in my mouth, she slowly turned around and I put my head down to work.

The quiet in the house and the lighted kitchen was such a polar opposite than what I had just left this morning. No yelling, no brothers taking the blocks from me, no dog to push me around, no dark rooms covered by curtains or dirt instead of grass to darken the day. I sat and tried to be still and breathe in the peace.

My grandmother slowly poured the remainder of the ingredients into the bowl for me to combine. As I finished she methodically spooned out a teaspoon of dough at a time and placed it softly and evenly linned on the cookie sheet. I so wanted another chocolate chip, but the opportunity did not arise and then they were put back high up into the cabinet. As disappointed as I was, it was quiet enough for introspective. Be patient for the finer things we all deserve. The cookie was yet to come.

She handed me a sponge and I wiped down the table, yet still not a word had crossed her lips or mine. You could see the red reflection of the apple sun catcher my mother had made her for her birthday shimmy on the table as I wiped.

The tiny kitchen room began heating up and the cookies baked as an ever slit breeze came in through the window and left out the side door. My grandmother reached up and took down her tea cup and saucer. She placed a napkin in front of me as she poured the hot water from the tea kettle into her cup.

We enveloped the quiet and listened to the birds faintly chirping from the tall oak trees which blanket the lush green backyard. The smell of the lilac bush glided over us. She looked up and smiled ever so gently as she took the cookies out of the oven and placed one on my napkin. She then gracefully sat down and sipped her tea.

Bam. “Hi Grandma!” My brother blurted out breaking the quiet.

The moment had passed. She got up and went into the living room to help my mom with my baby brother as my older brother put on cartoons. My mother began describing her hectic day to my grandmother raising her voice over the cartoons. My grandmother took my younger brother out of his carrier and let him crawl around the floor with his blocks.

The chaos had returned.

As a single Mom, I realize now the importance of quiet in the day. Breathing and just taking in the moments when they come. My Grandmother has long passed and even though words were very rarely spoken, the memory of the quiet moments stays with me presently. Without a word she convened such calm and warmth. I make a point now each weekend to have a tea with my children individually and share the quiet moment with them.