I'm not consistent with keeping a journal. Honestly, I have several different journals filled with only 2 or 3 pages of writing. All of my stories are based on some part of a memory or experience things like playing with my siblings or the yearly county fair. Some of my dearest memories include my Grandma and Grandpa. In a way, this is a special way for me to feel close to them now they have passed. I get to honor them and reflect on sweet times shared together. I may not keep a journal but I enjoy creating stories based on memories.
A few weeks ago, my family and I traveled to the area where I was born and raised in Eastern Utah. Things have changed dramatically in the 11 years since I lived there. My great grandparent's home, where I grew up, has now been torn down. This sleepy town that I was once so nervous to leave, doesn't feel like home anymore. Maybe it is because I lost a piece of my heart when a JiffyLube was built on top of my roots.
My kiddos were restless and tired of being in car seats, so we made a quick pitstop to give them (along with husband and me) a little break. We ended up near fairgrounds a few towns away. This is the same place every year my siblings and I would participate in the yearly county fair. We raised, fed, trained, and then showed and sold pigs or steers. The memories flooded back as we drove around the pens and stalls. I couldn't believe how it looks exactly like I remember, yet so different. In my mind, everything was taller, larger, and grander. Maybe because to a then scrawny, scared 8-year old, everything looks bigger.
I wish I would have taken some pictures. At the time, I was so overcome with memories and stories to tell my family it didn't even occur to me that maybe one day, this too will be torn down. A few months back, I started a rough draft of a story about the county fair. This unexpected pitstop has given me the motivation to finish the story.
To memories and pitstops!
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