Submissions to this category are generally told in the first person and cover personal reflection, autobiographies and memories of the past.
Rather than focusing on factual accounts, memoirs are more a recollection of moments in time that were either vivid or unique to the author.
It was a slow melancholy song in Harry Turner’s head. Uncle Joe was dying. A sad refrain that reminded Harry of the man he knew. He was a man full of good humour, activity, kindness and love for his family. Now he was dying. The dirge plagued Harry’s mind...
---“It’s not him, is it, Jack? It’s just not him.” My mother’s despairing words were a mournful poem that reverberated inside my head whenever I visited the hospital. She was so right. The wizened shell inhabited by something totally alien was a parody of...
In dream, my skin has been charred soot-black, not all over my body, but on my arms, my legs, my penis, my chest. In dream, I only notice the burns if my eye happens to fall upon that area of skin. There is no pain. No pain, but a deep, shuddering fright...
The Tumultuous Tale of the Tormented Terrier Well, let me tell you, it was like this. Once upon a time, our humble hovel was being run by the daughter-unit’s pet, a small, cute, cuddly and constantly yapping Yorkshire Terrier that answered to the name, Pu...
I can't recall the year but I was out of work just as the Summer was beginning. Back before the internet, job seekers were forced to peruse the morning and evening paper. I happened to come across an ad for a day camp counsellor and called the number. A v...
How do I begin this memoir without sounding mentally unfit? It's probably best to simply tell you about it and you can be the judge of my competency. I spent the early part of my career repairing medical equipment in hospitals and clinics around the Unite...
Now the story goes that my middle brother Tom was treating our youngest one, Fred, to lunch at our favorite twenty-four restaurant. He had heard us talk about it and was excited to visit the place that we frequented. Now despite it being the end of the lu...
"The mountains are my friends." (an Iraqi-Kurdish saying) Up until the point of writing this journal, I would have characterized my life as not being particularly interesting, unless you happened to be in the computer programming profession like me. Don’t...
Basic Training: 13 June to 7 July 1983 Monday, 13 June 1983 The bus took us from Tel HaShomer Hospital to the induction center. There we received our yellow cards, were photographed (front and profile), had our mouths x-rayed (deep throat), were vaccinate...
Indianhead summer begins in the middle of June. That’s when the grass along the roadway of our rural Wisconsin town is available to be mowed. Six years ago the Town approved a resolution to prevent town mowing operations until the second week of June. Tal...
The dugout canoes were overloaded as they were paddled up the Niger River by the two guides. The freeboard of the canoes was minimal. They weren’t meant to hold three Americans. I was the heaviest and rode with one guide while two of my daughters rode wit...
We called him Don Magill which was not his real name. Short of wearing a sign that read "Cosa Nostra" he couldn't have been more obvious, well at least to me. He was always impeccably dressed and barbered. He had a deep gravely voice with just a trace of...
She came to me crying after the Holidays. Literally crying. She said she never felt so mistreated in her life. It felt like all she did was cook and clean the entire time the girls and their families were here. I spent so much time taking care of them th...
The house stood at a high vista spot square with the cardinal points and with a clear view all around over the barbed wired fencing to pastures and other houses scattered across the landscape. The single story frame house was moved from its foundation jus...
The Wind River Range in western Wyoming is a backpacker’s paradise. Six hundred miles of trails through rugged wilderness provide access to granite peaks, glaciers, clear lakes, rushing streams, and flower-filled meadows. I became hooked on the Wind Riv...
