Crandi

A Memoirist S Musings Mysite Yourstorypreserved Wixsite Com

Leo Migdal
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a memoirist s musings mysite yourstorypreserved wixsite com

My dad’s mom, or Babci as we called her in Polish, lived in Fall River, MA, when I was growing up. She never lived in a big or fancy house; it was often just a 3-4 room apartment in the Polish/Portuguese section of the city. We only saw her a few times a year, and since I only spoke a few words of Polish, our conversations were limited. But I have some wonderful memories of the times I spent with her. She taught me how to crochet granny squares and then how to carefully combine them together to make a blanket for my baby dolls. I was probably around seven or eight, and she was extremely patient with my clumsy attempts.

She had a huge (or to me it seemed huge) grandfather clock that was in the living room of each apartment she and her daughter lived in. I usually slept on the couch when we went to visit, and I would be jolted awake from a sound sleep every hour on the hour when it bonged out the time. I remember at least two of the places she lived, but the one that sticks out the most I believe was on Manchester Street. The city of Fall River was rather hilly, and the side yard was sloped down to the street. I would start by the house and run down the grassy lawn, over and over again. Simple entertainment back in the day.

But what stands out the most was how Babci would get such a kick out of me doing it. She called it “Tareena’s mountain.” (Google translator does not come up with that translation for Theresa or Terry, but it is what I remember her calling me.) And her bread! If I close my eyes, I can almost smell the fresh baked loaf of goodness. It was egg-colored, like the Jewish Challah bread I sometimes see at Trader Joe’s. It would take her almost all day to make it, rolling it out and kneading it with her strong hands, the hands that detailed the years of hard work she had endured working in...

She would mix the dough in a large bowl and then place it on the open radiator to rise. I would stand on a stool and watch as she worked, and between the kneading and rising, we would play card games like War and Old Maid. When the bread was baking, the delicious smell permeated the small apartment, and I could hardly wait until it was cool enough to eat. When it was ready, she always cut a large slab, which she slathered with real butter; no margarine for her! Sometimes, she added thick slices of fresh baked ham, that was left over from Easter dinner. The four-hour ride to our home in NY was made more bearable with those made-from-the-heart sandwiches.

The Memoirist is a welcoming community for writers to share their memoirs and personal essays. Founded as a Medium publication in 2021, we have since expanded into a literary journal and, most recently, our second home here on Substack. We aim to: Provide relatable, engaging stories that resonate with our readers — sometimes moving them to tears, often making them laugh. Create a supportive space for writers passionate about exploring and honing their memoir craft. Offer a respectful editorial team that values both the writer and their stories.

You can submit work you’ve already published here on Substack, Medium, or elsewhere I have a passion for writing and a belief that everyone has a story to tell. This yearning to help people bring their memories to life has been brewing inside me for years and after completing several books, I felt led to use my God-given talent and launch my website. As a personal memoirist, I can take pictures, letters, family documents, anecdotes, and precious memories that are stored in a box or the attic, and create a beautiful keepsake book that everyone in the... I can edit your written stories, offer prompts and questions to encourage your writing, or conduct interviews in person or via Zoom. I believe I can assist you in telling your story, in your own words, and preserve it for generations to come.

The Memoirist is a welcoming community for writers to share memoirs and personal essays. You can also find us at thememoiristquarterly.com and on Medium at thememoiristpub.com. Our adventure creating our second home here on Substack has been nothing short of amazing. In just a few short months, we have well over 1K subscribers and we’re growing nonstop. I was thinking about the benefits of publishing stories with a publication like The Memoirist, and I keep coming back to freedom. As individual writers on Substack, most of us tend to shy away from publishing more than once or twice a week for fear of losing subscribers.

When you write for a pub like The Memoirist—or others like Your work belongs to you. I’m not here to change it or put any limitations on you. I’m just here to help you reach more readers on our little site that features amazing memoirists and essayists. If you aren’t a contributor yet at The Memoirist, and would like to be, please DM me. And for those who also write on Medium—find us there too!

A big welcome to our newest contributors here at The Memoirist! I am constantly amazed at the high-quality level of writing we continue to see here at the pub. To those who are curious about contributing your work to The Memoirist, if you haven’t already, please just DM me and I’ll send you an invite. Why should you contribute? You can submit work you’ve already published here on Substack, Medium, or elsewhere It allows you to reach more readers outside of your own subscription list

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