It’s 2012. I’m in my garage looking through a lifetime or memories from my parent’s storage unit. After they passed within a couple months of one another last year, we four siblings decided we would store the boxes of memories until we all had some time to go through the history with the respect it deserves. And my what history we found, as Grandmother worked at a stationery store and was quite fond of scrapbooking and recording the fine minutiae of life.
After a year, we finally cleared out storage and brought many of the boxes home, with nowhere to store them. Through my travels and tears of these wonderful memories, I also found the long-lost maps of my roller-ski adventure across France. After the journey, I mailed all the documentation to my parent’s house where it was packed away somewhere I would not find for 30 years. I’ve had an aching in my heart to write this story since I crossed the border to Spain on roller skates. 32 years of loss and regret that I didn’t keep my notes, and now I get to write what I’ve been craving for decades.
Once I got my journal and original maps from my parent’s long-lost storage, I’ve been able to write the story as I originally experienced it. The story is completely true. Some of the photography I use for example will not be accurate after three decades, but the scenery has not changed in a millennium.