a while back, one of my blogging friends shared this on her blog:
how does that make you feel? the part about being forgotten?
it made me deeply sad when i read it for the first time.
but even if we’ll all eventually be forgotten, there’s something comforting about knowing we can still be remembered for as long as we can—through the stories, the details, and the love that lingers.
on the other hand, there’s something oddly comforting about knowing that the embarrassing things i’ve done will be forgotten. in three generations, nobody will even know.
i think we often feel compelled to speak only in polished terms about those who’ve died, but i want to know everything. i believe that’s how every generation truly lives on- in the details, the day-to-day. not the weddings, the parties, or the pomp and circumstance, but the mundane. the ordinary. the unremarkable.
like the homemade beef and noodles recipe my mother has been trying to recreate- the one my grandmother never wrote down.
it’s these small, ordinary things—recipes, quirks, habits—that stay with me most clearly.
my aunt olga speeding down a country road after my uncle william’s funeral- and how my ex-husband got such a kick out of a 90-something- year- old woman with a lead foot.
sitting in my grandma lucy’s cozy apartment, eating her homemade soft sugar cookies and wishing i would have a place just like hers when i grew up. (it was a senior citizen’s apartment complex.) now, whenever i eat sugar cookies, i think of grandma lucy and her apartment.
my uncle william’s bathroom always smelled strongly of the coast soap he used. he also had a collection of wind-up miniature toys, old tv guides, and a large number of dogs that slept outside (he lived in the country).
so obviously, he was my favorite relative to visit.
when I miss him, i buy a bar of coast soap.
the smell of wrigley’s chewing gum reminds me of the inside of my grandmother’s purse- and oddly, of the rainbonnet she wore after getting her hair done.
i always think of the smell of her purse whenever i see chewing gum or rainbonnets.
i was a young girl, upstairs in my room, when the sound of my mom and her friend linda’s voices floated up from the kitchen. back then in ohio—before social media and cell phones—they would take the time to sit, talking and laughing over coffee. i couldn’t tell you what they were saying that day, but i remember the music of their laughter and the warm hum of conversation drifting through the house.
ella tells me the same thing now—that she loves it when family and friends come over and she hears us downstairs, laughing and talking.
when my brother and i were little, growing up in ohio, my dad would take us to firestone in the nearby town of mansfield on saturday mornings whenever he had to get the car serviced—oil changes, repairs, the usual. there was a mcdonald’s across the street, so after he signed in at firestone and handed over the keys, the three of us would walk over for breakfast. i don’t remember much about the meals themselves, but i remember the doing—the rhythm of that little saturday ritual. i remember the memory.
now, any time i step inside a dealership or a tire store and smell that particular interior, i’m instantly transported back to the firestone in mansfield. i’m in the waiting room with my dad, paging through magazines, probably goofing off with my little brother, feeling the quiet, ordinary magic of those moments.
we may all fade in time, but being remembered for as long as we can is its own kind of gift. the best way to keep that gift alive is to keep telling stories—about friends and relatives, those who have died and those who are still living. tell the good and the bad. tell everything. keep their memory close, and their presence felt, through your words. 💜🌈
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A Grace Full Life 
This is an extra-lovely post! I love the details of your memories and the photos you’ve found to go along with some of them. I’m not sure my memories are as rich in sensory information as yours – well done.
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Aww, thank you! I love that you enjoyed the details. Honestly, I think everyone’s memories are full of little sensory gems—you just notice them in your own way. 💜
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Beautiful post, Kari! Don’t you love how many scents can take you back in time? Wrigley’s gum makes me think of my mom’s purse. She would tear a stick in half for my brother and me to share. Also, the colored stripe gum with the Zebra on the pack?
I’m not sure if I ever shared this here, but my maternal grandma always had soft ginger cookies for me when I visited her. They were cold because she made them ahead of time and put them in the freezer. Now I wonder what my grandkids will remember about me?
Have you looked up that Firestone store? I wonder if it’s still there? I loved all of your memories. I’m trying to write down some of mine so that I can type them up and put them in one of my genealogy books to give to my kids/grandkids. Like you said, nobody cares about names and dates, but things people did or liked is a much more interesting legacy to pass on.
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YES! I love how scents can take me right back to a moment in time. I love that you and I share a Wrigley gum memory. I used to love Fruit Stripe gum too! I just wished the flavor lasted longer.
I love this memory about your grandma—always having ginger cookies for you! You are such a good grandma to your grandchildren—you’re making those memories right now. Maybe it will be the summer vacations you spend together… or something even more lovely.
I looked it up to find that picture, and there’s a Firestone store on the same street, though I can’t tell if it’s in the exact same location. I have a journal called Story of My Life that I got at Target a few years ago, and I’ve been filling it in little by little during my soul homework. It has lots of prompts that help guide me to write memories. Your blog is another wonderful place for the kids to read your stories too.
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Lovely post full of lovely memories.
I’m an only child of an only child, who has no children.
No doubt I’ll be forgotten before most, but that’s alright. I know I’ve touched a few lives meaningfully along the way and that’s enough for me.
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Thank you, friend. My mom, my husband, and my best friend are all only children, and I always think that’s pretty cool.
I love how you put it—touching a few lives meaningfully is more than enough, and it’s such a beautiful way to think about the life we’ve lived. 💜
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So many wonderful memories! I don’t find it at all sad that the memory of me will be forgotten within just a few generations; in fact I’d be surprised to be remembered beyond that. I’ve touched those lives I’ve been meant to…
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I love the peace in your perspective. There’s something beautiful about knowing we’ve touched the lives we were meant to, even if our names fade with time. 💜
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Thank you for sharing your memories. We do drift away, but I think bits and pieces linger in things like traditions and recipes.
Kids are so funny – when I was young, my housing dream was a shotgun style mobile home trailer. I friend’s family lived in one, and they had cable. I figured that was the pinnacle.
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I love how you put that—bits and pieces lingering in traditions and recipes. It’s so true, and such a comforting thought. And your housing dream made me smile! Kids really do latch onto the most unexpected things. A friend once told me her son thought people with stairs in their houses were rich (they lived in a one-story home). 💜🤣
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Kari, I absolutely LOVE, LOVE, LOVE the photographs of Grandma Lucy and you. So precious!
I personally believe that we are all composed of energy. And that energy never dies. It lives on long after we’ve passed. I also believe that my “purpose” in life to serve others. And in doing so, that service stays within others; never being forgotten.
I don’t think it’s possible for someones’ energy to be forgotten. It’s stay with you forever.
Such a thought-provoking post, my friend! Enjoyed it! Have a fabulous week! X
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Me too! She was such a lovely human, and I miss her so much.
I believe all of this too, my friend. I love the idea that someone’s energy is never forgotten—it stays with you forever. Yes.
Thank you for this beautiful comment—I love it so much. Wishing you a wonderful week, my friend! 😘💜
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I love this post! The things we remember are really remarkable. My great-grandma lived in a senior’s complex and her place was filled with knickknacks and such and it was SO cool to me. Also, I think that someone in my family had that exact couch and lamp.
No one will know me in three generations, but I hope someone out there returns their shopping cart and then feels a shiver, like I’ve beamed down on them from above.
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I loved knickknacks too, Nicole! I almost added a memory of my Aunt Christine to this post, and now I wish I had. She always had the best strawberry ice cream—or maybe it was vanilla with strawberry sauce—but she always had good knickknacks because she was single and loved to travel. After she died, I was given her little doll from Scotland, and I still have her to this day. Maybe I’ll write another post like this and include that memory.
I laughed so hard when I read this. Oh friend, I hope so too. 💜🤣
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🩷 truly love this post Kari, it warms my heart
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Oh, thank you, my friend! I’m so glad. 💜
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I can smell my grandma and grandpa’s house and I think it was Irish Spring soap. I’ve not thought about being forgotten. Sheesh – that’s sort of hard. This is in part why I cannot get rid of my uncle Mike’s family albums – all of them are gone. His children died before having children and he and his wife passed away. It’s hard. I love the line you wrote here about the music of their laughter. Or something. I loved listening to adult voices and laughter when my folks entertained when I was a little kid. Great post. Thanks for sharing your memories.
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I used to love Irish Spring soap! Now you have me wanting to buy Irish Spring and Coast again. If you tuck them in your linen closet, every time you open the door you’ll get a whiff of the past. 💜
It really is so hard—I understand. My grandma was 42 when she had my mom, an only child, so most of my mom’s relatives are gone now.
There’s nothing like the sound of people talking when you’re far from it—it’s its own kind of music.
Thank you for reading, friend. 😘
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You got me in all the good feels today! Kari, these little snippets are what pop into my brain all the time. Just glimpses, which in hindsight are so magical, but at the time, just mundane. BUT, what I wouldn’t give to take a step back for an hour or two to just take it all in.
Smells. Music. They bring back all the memories.
Coach and I just had a conversation about Coast soap the other day. He was being funny about something in the past, and I’d forgotten all about Coast soap. I looked it up the next day thinking it was no longer, but it’s still sold today. I’m gonna have to surprise hime with some.
I love the photos of your Grandmas and all your words today.
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Aww, I’m so glad, my friend. I love these little snippets, and I always think that since I have this little bloggy blog, I should write them down when they come to me. I’m so with you on that—what I would give to go back, even just for an hour.
Smells, music, taste, sounds.
YES! Surprise him with some!
I love them too. Thank you for loving them as well. 😘💜
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💕
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😘
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What a lovely post about legacy and memory. The passage you included didn’t make me sad; rather, it affirmed my mission statement of Kindness Is My Default. If we each make our own orbits a kinder place, our legacies will live on.
Sensory memory is the strongest, isn’t it? For you, the Doublemint gum and Coast soap; for me, it’s pink wintergreen candies and Murphy’s Oil Soap. And so many others.
I have to say that seeing the words Mansfield and Ohio gave me a bit of a start. I live in Northeast Ohio and have a lakehouse in Ashland County on a private lake. My mother’s family all lived in Ashland and its surrounding areas. What a small, small world it is!
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I love how you put it—making our own orbits kinder. I also connect so much with sensory memory. My grandma and mom both used Murphy’s Oil Soap, so that really touched my heart. It’s amazing how something like soap or candy can carry so much history and love within it.
My mom’s side of the family is from northern Ohio, in North Baltimore, and central Ohio, in Crestline. I grew up in Richland county—mostly in Lexington and Mansfield—but I had family in Ashland as well, so I know that area. Such a small world!
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Good morning Kari, I’m up at the lake entertaining my second cousins from Missouri and noticed the ping back but didn’t get a chance to see what it was all about until now! I had to go back and read my entire post to remind myself of the impetus for that statement. And I loved how you folded love, memories and legacy so beautifully into the topic and made it so relatable. Adorable pics of you as a child mingling with the grands. My favorite time of day is the early morning, when the house is quiet, I have a warm cup of coffee in hand, and I’m all alone, I try and evoke the spirit of my deceased parents and grand parents, remembering the smiles and the smells. Sometimes I feel as if they are closer than ever…my gratitude for their generous love is eternal, xox, C
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Good morning, friend! That’s my favorite time of day too. I love those little pings on old posts—when I looked back at yours before hitting publish, I realized it was from 2023! I’d written this ages ago and then grief came to town… I’m so glad I rediscovered it and finally shared it.
I love that you can feel the love of your ancestors—I can feel mine too. Thank you for sparking the inspiration for this post. 😘💜
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I finally have time to leave a comment. As someone else said this was an extra lovely post – so many things I could relate to such as the recipes, soft sugar cookies, Wrigley’s gum in grandma‘s pocketbook (we were only allowed 1/2 a piece) and the rain bonnet!
Yes, let’s keep these stories alive.
I have a smile on my face as I write this.
Thank you, Kari.💖
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You’re the second person to say you only got half a stick of gum! Why were our elders so stingy with the gum?? One piece barely had flavor as it was! I’m cracking up over this. But truly, such good memories. Next time I’m at the store and see a pack, I’m definitely buying some.
I’m so glad you’re smiling—that makes my whole day. 💜
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Kari, I love this post, this essay, this memoir. I love the detail, the visceral quality of it. I can see your grandma’s rain bonnet, I can smell that Firestone store, I can hear the voices of your mom and her friends, I can feel the comfort they bring. They all bring alive a kind of childhood I knew, I remember.
I remember when I thought being a writer was about being remembered. I thought it was a way of staying alive, somehow, after I wasn’t. But the question you share at the top of this post–how does it feel, to think about not being remembered?–my answer is: Liberating. Part of me reads your post and thinks, Kari should write about this kind of childhood so that those who were too young to have one like this can know what we had. So that it’s not lost forever. So that those who follow can know what’s possible. But that’s an old part of me. The person/writer that is emerging from me thinks, writing and living for the future is not it. Writing and reading for now, the people alive now, is what matters. Most of us will not be remembered. Most writing will fade into oblivion. And that’s OK. Accepting that (hell, embracing it) gives me space to be more fully present in the present. And I think if we do that–live that way, write that way–there’s a chance that the seed of something gets passed on, the way the comforting sound of women sharing their lives over coffee passed from your life into Ella’s. It’s legacy without ego. (OK, clearly I might need to write my own post on these ideas!) Thank you for all the great food for thought this morning. And for opening a door into my own memories, for making me smile and feel a good kind of sad and introducing me to people I’d never otherwise know.
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This comment means so much to me. You always have a way of putting things into words that make me see my own writing differently. Legacy without ego—I’m going to be thinking about that for a long time. I’ve always felt this pressure that my words had to last, that writing only mattered if it was remembered. The way you put it… there’s actually liberation in that—felt like a huge release. It makes me want to write more for the now, without carrying that weight of forever. And I keep thinking… maybe this changes how I write going forward.
And yes, please write that post. You know I’ll be first in line to read it.
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Helping each other see goes both ways. I’m going to be thinking for a while, too. ❤️
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😘💜
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I had read that quote a few months ago, about how you will most likely be forgotten in three generations. It freaked me out. Shows how important it is to leave some kind of legacy (your blog is just that!) so that future generations can “see” some of what we are/were. I was talking with Tim about this recently. I asked him if he even remembers my maternal grandma (still alive when Tim was a toddler). He said yes. BUT, of course he just remembers her physical form – not anything about her.
Wrigley’s gum in a purse…yes! My mom always had it in her purse. I can still smell it coming from her purse when she opened it. And when I asked for some, she’d only give me 1/2 stick, which drove me mad. ;-)
xoxo
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I think about all the relatives my daughters never got to meet, and it does make me sad. But then I remember there are so many relatives I never met either. Through the stories my mom, dad, and grandma shared over the years, I feel like I know them—that’s how they stay alive.
You aren’t alone! So many people have said that! Why were our relatives so stingy?? 🤣🤣
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What a lovely post, Kari! It’s amazing how scent can bring back a memory. I’m with everyone on the Wrigley’s gum! Also Big Red gum. And the Fruit Stripe gum. And Hubba Bubba gum. Apparently gum has had a BIG place in my life!
I find the fact that people will forget about me both comforting and surreal.
I love all the photos!
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Yay—I’m so glad you’re back! I missed you! And by the way, I got your postcard—I love it so much. I see it every day when I’m writing and it makes me so happy.
Big Red gum always reminds me of my childhood best friend. Oh man, I can smell it now. Such good memories.
Comforting and surreal—yes. 💜
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How beautiful, Kari. This post is absolutely oozing nostalgia and I love it! Yes, it’s depressing that we’ll all be forgotten in a few generations, but that does serve as an excellent reminder that the little things bothering us today really don’t matter in the long run.
Plus, your memories of long-gone relatives keeps them alive. I hope one day to be a photograph in a great-great grandkids’s blog post.
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Aww, thank you so much! I feel the same way. Sometimes I think about the cringey things I’ve done and realize—oh well, someday I’ll just be someone’s funny story, and that’s not the worst legacy to have.
And you, my friend—you will definitely be remembered. Your blog already holds so many beautiful memories and pieces of you and Tara. Keep writing. 💜
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You’re too kind. Thank you! And I could never quit writing anyway. It’s in my blood.
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Me too.
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Lovely and thought-provoking post.
I hope that I’m remembered in a few generation mainly in the sense of that I’d like to leave a lasting feeling that I made my loved ones feel loved. That makes me feel like I need to step up my A-game!
I’m convinced Wrigley’s chewing gum is infused with something that goes straight to the memory centre. Especially when it scents a purse. 🌈
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Thank you, friend. I love how you put that—what a beautiful legacy, to be remembered for making your loved ones feel loved. Knowing you, I’d say you’re already doing that.
And yes, Wrigley’s! You’re so right—it really does go straight to the memory center. I can still smell it now. 🌈
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Thanks so much, Kari, that is kind of you to say. On my good days, maybe a little… 🙂
And Wrigley’s… wow, Spearmint and Juicy Fruit were both so popular!
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😊
Juicy Fruit was my favorite, but Spearmint reminds me of my grandmother’s purse. I just looked up Wrigley’s Spearmint gum, and the packaging gave me a rush of nostalgia. I’m not even sure if I’ve seen it in stores lately or if I’ve just passed it by. Then it hit me—I do most of my in-store shopping at a self-serve kiosk, so I’m never really looking at the gum section. Sigh.
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Ah yes, a lot of those brands that are still going are filled with nostalgia. 🙂
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😊
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This post sort of made me sad, to be honest. For those people without children, there is still a legacy to be had. Kindness isn’t just about your own children, you know?
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Oh, I’m sorry my post came across that way to you. I didn’t mean to suggest that legacy only comes through children—that wasn’t what I was writing about at all. For me, it’s really about the ordinary details and everyday stories, the small ways we’re remembered by those who love us. Kindness, quirks, recipes, laughter—those things live on and become their own kind of legacy.
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Kari I love this whole post. The questions you pose. The stories you share. This one is a gem!
My fav books are filled with tiny details of everyday life. Your post could be an outtake from one of those novels.
Your stories remind me of the ironing board memory I shared in your comment section a few blogs back. Like you, I have a zillion of these snapshot memory-stories.
My absolute favs. The every day things & small moments. When life overwhelms, I have to stop & ground myself in these small moments. They’re what matter.
Reminds me of a quote from a Lee Smith novel: “It’s funny how a person can be so busy living that they forget this is it. This is my life.”
You asked how do I feel about being forgotten by society/people in 3 generations? This doesn’t bother me at all.
Maybe because I know my land will remember me. The land will be here 3 generations on. Some echo of me will remain.
This is long but will share a lil more…. I think you will be remembered past 3 generations. I think your words will live on.
Years ago, I stumbled across a wee book with a chapter containing the small tales of my direct ancestors.
Ancestors well beyond 3 generations. When the maps looked quite different than now.
The small tales were humble. The book was written in the early 1900s so the stories were passed down & not first-hand….. They were *remembered*!
Establishing homesteads, long journeys, farming, hunting trips (the older brothers disappearing down the waterways to return weeks later), and what to do when strangers appear out of those same waterways (the answer, naturally is welcome them with food).
And yesterday I did a search & discovered another written account (scanned from a book) from the mid 1800s of my ancestors. More humble notes but it included one direct ancestor’s love of breeding a (now quite rare) particular horse breed!
(Weirdly, I’ve had a life-long love of this breed.)
The power of print & the internet. Your words may live far into the future. I hope you’ll gift us with more memories of your fam. They were lovely to read and definitely worth preserving.
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Oh, Maddie, thank you so much. This is such a loving comment. I’m so grateful for you and your comments.
I remember your ironing board story! I jot these little memories down here and there, and I always hoped this blog might serve as a kind of legacy for my family. Maybe I’ll start writing more of them down.
I absolutely love the idea that your land is a legacy of you. How lovely is that. And I love what you said about not being sad about being forgotten. I’m less sad about it than I used to be. When I first wrote this back in October 2023—before my dad got sick—I still felt differently. Since he died, I’m no longer afraid of being forgotten, and I’m not afraid of dying. I’ve definitely changed since then.
And thank you for saying my words might last beyond me. I don’t know if they will, but hearing you say that makes me want to keep sharing.
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Kari, I’ve taken a little time to think over my response as the opening quotation had quite the impact on me. I think – like you – the first part left me feeling almost bereft, and I needed time to re-connect with my daughter and my grandchildren to be reminded how important the second part of the quotation is. I know I’ve been feeling my age and the vulnerability that comes with it keenly of late, which is probably why it had the impact it did.
I loved reading your family memories – it’s reminded me to get back into finishing my family memoir. Thank you so much for sharing <3 <3
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I’m so touched you shared this with me. I know how heavy that first part can feel, and I’m glad reconnecting with your daughter and grandchildren helped bring you back to the heart of it. I actually started this post in October 2023, and it’s lingered with me—since then my dad got sick and died, and I think so much about not wanting him to be forgotten. That’s why I love that it nudged you toward your memoir—those stories matter so much. ❤
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Oh my Kari, I’d not realised this has been on your mind for so long.
My Dad was the family raconteur and my daughter tried to get him to tell his stories so she could record them, but he was uncomfortable telling them cold. He was a hugely social animal and the stories just naturally flowed when he was sat with a glass of beer or wine in his hand, family and/or friends all around him. So the project stalled. I’ve been working on writing what I remember, and am wondering how I might incorporate what my siblings recall too – because you’re right – these stories do matter so much. After some time passes, do you think it’s something you might do too?
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I love the idea of a family storyteller. That is so important to keep these stories going. You can do that on your blog. All of us are, whether we realize it or not.
I’ve been keeping a journal that I bought a few years ago. It’s called The Story of My Life, and it has lots of prompts that ask questions about your life. It’s been so helpful in letting me document things from my childhood, teenage years, and adulthood. I gave one like it to my mom so she can write things down too. I love listening to my mom talk about her childhood, about relatives I’ve never gotten to meet, about my grandmother and grandfather. All of these things are such important artifacts of who we are — more important than current events, honestly.
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I love this so much, Kari. The little moments and mundane details are my favorite, too. Your memories brought a flood of little moments into my head — which is such a warm and comforting feeling. Thank you for that, and for sharing your memories of the people you love. xxoo
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Thank you so much! I love that — it means a lot to hear that the little moments resonated with you. It’s funny how the everyday stuff can bring back such strong memories, isn’t it? 😘💜 (PS- I’m so glad to see you back)
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This is so beautifully written. The ordinary details really are what stay with us the most 💜.
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Thank you so much! I agree. 💜
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