I treasure my own memories but also the memories that my dad shares from his childhood.
I got extremely lucky the other night and I heard a new one to me.
My uncle was telling a story about how his mom liked his kids to learn by doing things.
So one day she actively encouraged them to boil sap on the stove to see if they could make maple syrup.
The house they were living in had a plaster ceiling and the billowing steam made a big mess of the ceiling (and very little syrup).
I like this one memory of her almost more than all of my own. It gives me an insight into how she parented and how resourceful she was, making up fun with next to nothing. It makes me feel closer to her because although I haven't let my kids make syrup, I like them to just go ahead and try stuff to find out for themselves how it will turn out.
I like the fact that all the stories about her have not all been told and even thirty years later there are more new ones to tell.