My father did this amazing thing for me as a child. He kept a journal of my childhood, the early years in particular; a written record of the wonders I found in the everyday when all in the world was new. It is astonishing to revisit an experience through my own words and actions. Like a movie reel of memories, the scenes are played before my eyes, words lift from page to whisper misplaced moments in my ear. Expressions of delight buying my first new pair of shoes at the age of two; impromptu dances seized down aisles of movie theaters and rows of church pews.

Sadly I am not the memory keeper’s daughter, a written account of my more recent years is sporadic and infrequent at best; but it is moments such as tonight that I wish to one day recall: the joys and laughter amongst the company of sisters. Smiles allowed to crease the brow. Untethered words spoken. Tonight in my sisters’ presence their glow lit mine once more – a flower in my hair, a metaphor perhaps, for tonight I blossomed in their sun.

Brief moments in the car in song, my sister sings and I. An aide-mémoire for later years, to bask in love and song.


'It is a curious thought, but it is only when you see people looking ridiculous that you realize just how much you love them.' -Agatha Christie