Pieces of Me

It occurs to me, in a moment of exceptionally self-indulgent morbid rumination, that should something happen to me I won't have left anything of substance of myself for my children. No recent journals, no hidden cache of family secrets, no nothing. So, then, there's this blog, which I haven't touched in years (seriously) that I'm now reinventing not for the public but for my loved ones.

This idea is inspired, in part, by the recent death of my grandmother. I remember, quite fondly, spending time over the summers with my Nana, listening to her tell us stories that I now for the life of me can't remember. I'm sure she told me about bands that she liked and the Cocoanut Grove fire. But what she had to say about those things are lost forever to me.

And that's a pity.

So, here we go. Pieces of me.

Before I lose them, too.