Write about what you remember doing the day before and then write about what you remember seeing.  Here’s a couple of entries about what I saw:

Thursday 9/15/16

What I remember seeing the day before, (Wednesday), is my turquoise, thick notebook/binder sitting on my desk.  The clear pocket on its’ cover holds the businesscard for my blog and a postcard of an oil painting of children on the beach by Charles-Garabed Atamian.  I sit still, and, like the soft strokes of the artist’s paintbrush, I flow back to my childhood.  The painting of the two young girls who collect shells at a beach could easily be me and my younger sister, Barbara.  I bend down, eyes scrutinize the wet sand, pick up a pink shell.  Barbara watches me, wears a red summer sweater because Mom said she looked cold, holds a small, blue plastic watering can, then runs off, seawater splish-splashes in my face as she goes.

Sunday 9/18/16

What I remember seeing the day before, (Saturday), is a wash of autumn in the antique of faded-pink rosebushes that line the grocery store’s parking lot.  The roses remind me of Cape Cod, so common there because salt sprays in the wind and cold weather don’t hurt them.  This year, especially, they remind me of the fact that I didn’t get to my beloved Cape Cod this past summer.  All for a good reason – daughter’s wedding in Colorado.  Yet, the wild roses take me to sea breezes, the loneliness of long beaches, the memories of my kids in summers spent and gone.  The wild rosebushes – tough, thorny shrubs, soft pink-petaled flowers with apple-shaped hips, amid the metal shopping carts and harried mothers in the parking lot, are just like me.