From the Introduction
I couldn't write a better introduction than Greg's letter to me.
I propose you write a story for your kids. This story is kind of a love story, but not really. It shouldn't be too mushy, intimate and absolutely no sex. I'm not really interested in my Dad's kinky side. The story I would like to hear (and my sisters would probably second this) is about my grandmother, grandfather, and what it must have been like to meet, fall in love in a remote place like Texas Canyon, Arizona, with parents like they had, a life like they had, in a time like the late twenties and with dreams like they must have had.
I realize you do not know all the details to accurately depict their story, but nobody better than you can conjure up this tale and reflect the setting, their relationship, their obstacles and their successes.
As you're writing, don't write to me, Janice, Karen or Linda. Write for yourself (your heart) and posterity. Then give us a copy when you're done.
The reason I'm proposing this task is two-fold. Your heart is full of decent, wonderful ideas. It is a vulnerable place we all learn to protect. By opening it, we can either be badly hurt or deeply fulfilled. Since we won't be the ones to hurt you, you should find fulfillment. Two, I think you would turn this into a story we would cherish completely.
I will do my best.
With my son's flattering proposal to pen all the secrets of his grandparents, I plunged gleefully into a series of stories that bubbled up faster than I could write. I couldn't keep pace and the result was a disorganized list of yarns that spanned decades and left me wondering when all these things happened.
Memories are not organized. It took me awhile to figure that out. A memory starts with an experience, a happening, that nudges something from the past and prods it to the surface. There it fidgets in your mind until you can find someone to tell it to. It's called a story.
Now I will attempt to sort out all these tales which are bubbling up like a boiling pot of stew, emerging as I write, yes, even because I write. I will tell how my parents created an adventure, indeed a world which I understand only now ñ and too late for me to say to them, "I'm proud of you both."
One more thing. As you have seen, this text was "commissioned" by my son and intended first for him and his three sisters. Since the original publication of a few copies just for them, I continue to receive requests for copies. So, in this "edition," you may see references to "my mother" or "my dad." Just remember they are Alice and Alvie Adams. Finally, if you see an expression like "you guys" or simply the word "you" just pretend you're one of the kids, OK?
The book is available directly from the author's wife, Joanne.
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