I have this tiny red digital voice recorder that I rarely travel without. Blame it on the journalist in me (and also the fact that I work freelance). You just never know when a moment worth recording is going to pop up, or a random, can’t-turn-it-down assignment will fall into your inbox.
So while I spent three weeks in Miami over the holidays, my recorder came with me almost everywhere. I’ve never really had to use it; most of the time I forget it’s there. But on one of the last days of my visit I sat down with my grandmother (my Nonna, as we call her, which is Italian for grandmother) and we got to talking.
It was a spontaneous talk that traveled to the past, to the days when she was a teenager and met my grandfather, to the details of what bus she rode that day, which girlfriends she was with as they went to the beach, what she whispered to them the first time she locked eyes with him. She told me about the first time they finally spoke, days later, and I remember thinking how romantic it must’ve been, to live in a time when even teenagers saying hello at a beach used their first and last names for introductions.
I’d never heard this story before, so I sat there and soaked it in. I asked questions, hoping she’d get into more detail, and by the middle of the conversation Nonna pretty much took the reins. We weren’t just talking anymore; she was telling me the story of her life.
For a moment, as this dawned on me, I thought about running to my purse real quick to get my recorder. I wanted to capture every word, the way her voice changed pitch and became more youthful at times, how it slowed down to follow her gaze in other moments when history became difficult to recall. I wanted to, years from now, replay her giggles (there were so many) and picture how she smiled so wide that her eyes closed up and her shoulders shook.
I kept wanting to get my recorder, but I never did. The moment never felt right. You can’t just push a pause button on life and expect it to go on interrupted. Disrupting the natural flow of the conversation for the sake of capturing it wasn’t nearly worth it. I told myself that I would write everything down later in as much detail as possible.
But we had plans that evening, and the next day was a rush of getting our luggage together and saying our goodbyes as we prepared to go back home. Once in Austin, with more time on my hands, I was shocked to realize I wasn’t ready to write it all down yet. It took me two more days. When I finally opened my journal to record my memories of our conversation, eight pages came out, cramping my hands.
I started how she started. I still remembered her exact words. But the more I wrote the more I realized I wasn’t just writing her history; I was writing about the experience of having it passed down to me. Her story became intertwined with mine, in the way family histories often do; her expressions became filtered through my perception of them.
My retelling wasn’t perfect, but in its own way it was. It occurred to me that the reason I waited so long to write it down was that I had to process it. A tape recorder or a camera might have captured the moment more accurately, but I wanted to write about it truthfully. That’s the job of the writer, isn’t it? Of fiction. We observe life but we do it a disservice by simply regurgitating the cold facts. Bringing something to life on the page is a craft, a careful process that pulls from every little piece of us. In sharing stories we share parts of ourselves, even if the story is about someone else entirely.
It’s like the quote in one of my favorite books, The Book of Embraces, says:
Recordar: To remember, from the Latin re-cordis, to pass back through the heart.
photo credit: Denzil~
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I love the distinction between accuracy and truth, and how we create truth every time we sit down to write something. In our every day lives it's easy to think of truth as a fixed thing, but it's actually flexible and constantly changing, which is both wonderful and frustrating.
I found myself thinking of Tim O'Brien's THE THINGS THEY CARRIED as I read your post, specifically the story called "How to Tell a True War Story." It's a recurring theme in his work, that truth is completely different than a recitation of what happened.
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Thank you, Lura. You're so right that truth is never stagnant. I'll have to look up Tim O'Brien's story…I've read some of his work but not that one specifically.
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Natalia, this post is so beautiful! I could picture all of it perfectly. If it ever feels right to you, those notes would make a lovely short story (fictionalized or just creative non-fiction). I agree with your thoughts on processing and interpreting; they do make the story more than just plain recitation. There are many filters between reality and readers, including not just you (the writer) but also the teller (your Nonna) and the narrator, if they’re fictional. Each layer adds depth and meaning in its own way, and I think that’s beautiful. Great post.
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Thanks, Annie! I've definitely thought of doing something with those notes, but I'm not sure what just yet. Still in the process of letting it settle in
There's so much there to inspire me, but I don't know if I'll end up writing non-fiction or using her story as a springboard for new characters. I love your way of looking at the filters and layers between reality and readers. It really is beautiful.
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This is an absolutely wonderful post, beautiful. I too could picture the conversation in my mind, you told it in such a clear and loving way. It reminded me of conversations I had with my grandmother (who would not let me tape record the conversations), but even though it has been at least 20 years since we sat as you and your Nonna did, and I may not remember many of my grandmother's exact words, I can still see her face light up and hear the lilt in her voice as she described her immigrant experience and how she fell in love with my grandfather. Such incredibly beautiful memories — and you brought them back again for me. Thank you!
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I'm so touched that the post had such an effect on you, Julia. It sounds like those were some very special moments you shared (and I'm always especially fascinated by immigrant experiences, being one myself, but never quite feeling like one, and all the while knowing that my parents gave up so much so that me and my sister could feel at home here).
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That quote gave me chills, Natalia. To pass back through the heart…that's just so true, and perfect.
You were fortunate to get tto spend time with your nonna, and have her tell you her life story like this. That's a memory to be treasured forever. The little detail of the last names at the beach is so telling…just perfect. I'm sure you will someday write all this into a story about her, or someone like her, and it will be wonderful. You were right to just soak it up, and not run for your recorder. Although I'm sure most would have had the same impulse.
Beautiful post. Thanks for sharing.
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Thank you, Cynthia. I'm so glad the quote resonated with you. It's one that grabbed me ten years ago and still does to this day. And yes, I hope to be able to write about this experience in more detail one day, perhaps through a character inspired by my Nonna! Your kind words mean a lot and really encourage me.
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I’ve often had this same experience with my grandmother and every time I leave her house, I am upset with myself for not being proactive and recording it. After reading your post, I know it is my heart refusing to learn the lesson. And all for good reason.
You’ve written an incredibly beautiful post. Thank you, Natalia!
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That's so beautifully put, Andrea: "my heart refusing to learn the lesson." Thanks for such a thoughtful comment!
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This is a lovely post, as Julia said in her tweet. I've been interested in our family history since my first son was born over 29 years ago. You're right. If you're going to use the tape recorder, you really need to do it right away. It's disruptive initially, but then people forget about it.
I probably should put mine back in my purse.
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Very true. I've never had problems with bringing out the tape recorder when it's for for stories and assignments, but I suspect that's because there's a distance there, that I lack when dealing with my family history.
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*Warm fuzzies*
I love everything about this post—the telling and retelling of your grandma's and your story. I've experienced the pause and inability to write due to having to process a family story first, so I relate exactly to what you said. I can't even express myself in this comment b/c you really captured the essence of my heart in your words, so I have nothing else to add.
Have a nice weekend, Natalia.
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Comments like yours are the reasons writers write, Barb. It really means so much to me that this spoke to you. Thank you for that.
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Lovely post. Reminds me of an old tape recording I have of a great-aunt who told our family history to a cousin of mine. I'll treasure it always, but it would've been better if I'd been there to talk with her in person. It's great that you got to have that conversation with your Nonna.
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Ooh…I'm imagining a tape with crackles and white noise from years and years ago. I would love to know more about my great-relatives' history, and in some instances a recording is the only way to learn it. Glad you have that!
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<3
This post makes me both happy and sad. Happy, because it's such a lovely memory, rich with emotion and history. So many of your observations made me smile. But also sad, because my father's mother passed when I was 7 — far too young to talk in any real way with her. And though my mother's mother lived until I was 16 — still young, but probably old enough — we had a big language barrier between us. (Chinese vs. English.) So I cannot listen to their stories, I cannot capture and retell their truths.
All I can do is imagine. Cobble together bits and pieces from other family members, from history and research, to make a mosaic in my mind. It will be more fiction than fact, but your post gives me hope that that's good enough. That that's true enough.
Thank you.
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However you retell it would be beautiful, Kristan. You have such a poetic voice, it comes through even in your comments on blog posts! I'm so sorry you never got to experience those kinds of talks with your grandmothers, but I hope you will with several other family members and piece together that mosaic after all
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Hi Natalia,
I found your blog through Kristan's and just had to tell you what a chord this post struck for me. Having lost both my grandmothers within a year of each other – my precious Gram this past summer – I think so often about the talks we used to have. They replay in my mind like movies – I hear their voices, but it's more than that. I see their expressions, feel their hands atop mine, smell their perfume … it all combines to create a memory that's so visceral. While I wish so deeply now that I'd have done something like record those conversations, I also know that being in the moment gave me recollections I may not have picked up on otherwise. Recording these moments – well, sometimes all we need for that is the heart. Thank you for that beautiful reminder.
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I'm so glad you came by, Shari. Thanks for sharing this with me—there is such a beautiful tenderness to how you describe your talks with your grandmothers, and I'm sure they treasured that time with you just as much as you did.
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This. Is. Incredible. Natalia – this is so beautifully written, and as a freelancer/journalist I understand oh-so-well how much the act of pulling out that recorder can change the authenticity of a conversation. And I have been in that very position when my Dad has suddenly opened up (something he RARELY has done in the past), desperately wanting to run for a recorder to preserve the words. I, too, have then come back and jotted down the imperfect notes. But you're so right about the re-rendering of the original conversation becoming truthful. And I loved the end of your post: " We observe life but we do it a disservice by simply regurgitating the cold facts. Bringing something to life on the page is a craft, a careful process that pulls from every little piece of us. In sharing stories we share parts of ourselves, even if the story is about someone else entirely." OMG. That is so freaking quote-worthy on so many levels. Thank you for the inspiring post.
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Thank YOU, Melissa. It means a lot when these kinds of post resonate with others, especially because they're so personal in nature. I'm really glad you've had the chance to listen to your father open up, and I'm sure that however you wrote about it is depicts the experience much more beautifully than a little machine ever could!
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Gorgeous post, Natalia–I could picture your beautiful grandmother telling the story as it became fresh in her mind. I am glad you didn't pause her to capture her story. Sometimes, as writers, it is hard to push "hold" on our creative brains and just be in the moment. Whenever I hear a great snippet of dialogue or a story like your grandmother's, I often try to fit it into a plot, but I really should just revel in the experience. Thanks for that reminder.
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Thanks, Jolina. I agree that it's hard for us to be in the moment. Even being on vacation, I kept thinking about writing and story and how I record it all. I'm so glad that my grandmother's storytelling captivated me to the point that I was able to let go of all that. It was a lovely gift she gave me.
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This is a lovely post! And I agree, I think usually writers need to let any idea, whether for a new scene or a rewrite, percolate for a while before digging in. I also do this when I'm communicating something to someone via email. If it's important, you need to think on it for a while before committing to what you really want to say.
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So true, Stephanie! Answering emails takes time! There are the occasional messages that just require a line or two, but when I know it's important, I'll usually take a day or at least a few hours to think it over.
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Natalia, this is a really lovely post. First of all, carrying a voice recorder around is a great idea for writers. But what I find most interesting here is that the conversation with your grandmother worked itself into your consciousness even without the recorder. It suggests that there was something to the conversation that went beyond words. I could really relate to your processing idea– I am often surprised, when I sit down to write, at the way old experiences find a fresh voice on the page. It seems that the act of writing itself becomes the way to remember, and to understand.
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Thank you, Sarah! I completely agree. I think the act of writing isn't as simple as translating thoughts to paper–something happens in the process that helps us understand our thoughts and ideas in a way we wouldn't have if we didn't write them down.
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About Me:
I’m a writer represented by Brandi Bowles of Foundry Literary + Media. My idea of bliss is a good book, a Snuggie and a hot cup of Chai latte. Born in Lima, Peru, and raised in Miami, I now live in Austin with my husband and our Boston Terrier/child, Maggie. My articles have appeared in Latina, Writer’s Digest, and The Writer magazines.
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