I Remember

I remember Sarah Vaughan singing “Autumn Leaves.” I was walking down the street – long before the days of Walkmans or iPods – so the song must have been coming out of my head and imagination. But it was perfect. That voice of hers caressing each note. The pauses, the sweep of violins. The image of leaves drifting down. The melancholy.

Please leave a comment with your first 50 words on the topic “I remember.”


Author: Virginia DeBolt

Writer and teacher who writes blogs about web education, writing practice, and pop culture.

7 thoughts on “I Remember”

  1. I am 6 years old, standing at the front door looking in and I am struck by a thought so thunderous it has lived with me for 50 years – Davey doesn’t think for himself; Mommy thinks for him. As a grown up I read a theory on schizoaffective disorder called “intrusive parenting.” The truth is so loud, I can’t stop remembering.

  2. I remember dinner rolls. Grandma always made the best buns, soft dark crust with a sweet white crumb. She would pull them out of the oven, hot and steaming, and then leave them to cool on the counter. Their smell filled the house and we would sneak them before dinner.

  3. I remember my dad singing; at home, in minstrel shows, wondering why he was an “Oil Man.” He sounded better than Tony, Bing, or Dean _ “Moon River,” “Old Man River,” and “Some Enchanted Evening.
    He was a natural; carried a tune like a wallet in his back pocket.

  4. I remember going to the park with my son. Him feeding sand to the big green dinosaur. I remember his screams of delight as I pushed him high on the swings. I remember his beaming smile as he slid down the slide. I remember the anticipation of rushing home to get a popsicle. Oh, how little his hand was in mine. This morning, I waved hime goodbye as his car backed out of the driveway.

  5. I remember crossing
    a river in spate
    I remember looking
    at swirling waters
    and wondering
    what will it be like
    entering a house
    bereft of you
    I remember being
    scared of not being
    answered reassuringly
    when calling out
    from the dark depths of a
    scary nightmare
    I remember the
    soothing sight
    of you fussing over
    your brood in the
    I remember you
    every moment
    now that I am
    a parent myself

  6. As a child, my weekend sleepovers at my godmother’s house were a regular occurrence for me. I always spent a grand time there, and those memories continue to accompany me to this day.

    One of the special things I remember most was her way of tucking me in to sleep. The night table had a clock that was a lighthouse. It had a tall tower and the face of the clock was situated on the smaller house-like structure to the right of the tower. The part of the tower designed to emit light, had small square mirrors all around, and it could be wound up, for you see, it was also a music box.

    The melody it played at the time was unfamiliar to me, but it would always lull me to sleep. Little did I know that in my acquired taste for classical music as an adult, I would discover that the melody wafting from that memorable lighthouse clock was none other than Robert Schumann’s “Traümerei” (“Dreaming”) from his work, “Kinderszenen” (“Scenes from Childhood”).

    As a tribute to my godmother, I learned this piece, which was no easy task, and every time I play it on the piano, it evokes memories of her and the wonderful times I spent as a child in her home.

  7. I remember what it used to be like, you know? How it started out? Every smile was genuine, every laugh was blissful and every fight was resolvable.
    Now every fight ends in disaster, every laugh is dripping with condescension. And every smile is hiding a secret.
    But I still love you.

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