Unveiled - Memoir Writes

His smooth, tan, arms and careful hands caught my eyes. Mesmerized by his meticulous graceful attention to detail, we waited patiently for him to finish so we could get what we wanted.  We watched him cut, wrap, and label specialty cheeses in individual chunks.  We stood in Palo Alto’s brand new Whole Foods Market, in the cheese department that used to fill the far back corner.   That store quickly became my favorite place to shop.  We could get salt-free peanut butter, fresh organic greens, dairy-free cheeses cut in just the right amount, and fresh-baked oatmeal cookies, baked onsite downstairs.  Their baked goods made the whole store smell like yummy buttery cinnamon toast.  Helium balloons and bright colored chalkboard signs educated shoppers of sales and new items.  Unlike other small crammed vitamin shops or dark and dingy health food stores, this large, spacious, lovely environment had bright lights; and beautiful, energized, young, happy pe...

In 1990 my kind-natured, enchanting-gentleman boyfriend, Kirby felt eager to share some of the magical delights of his upbringing with me.  He took me to the Kerrville Folk Music Festival outside of Austin, Texas where we heard some amazing upcoming and highly revered musicians perform in non-stop concerts that lasted all day, and then through the night after the main stage closed and people sat around campfires singing till the morning light rose over the horizon.  It went on for many days, and we heard well-known performers; Marcia Ball, Nancy Griffith, John Gorka, Mary Chapin Carpenter, Jimmy Dale Gilmore, Robert Earl Keen, and Timbuk 3, along with those shy singers, only beginning to get familiar with the sound of their projected voices over a microphone on a large stage for the first time, such as Michelle Shocked, Shawn Colvin.  The music very different than I had ever heard delighted me.  It soothed and moved me and opened my heart which only fell deeper for t...

Tyrone Kirby Wayne Graham  “Hi Kirby, How’s my Doodlebug?” “Fine. How are you?” “We’re good.  We’re going camping I wanted to know if I could borrow your tent and the stove if you are not needing it?   “Sure. When’ ya going?”   “This weekend – Ok if I pick it up on Friday?” “Sure no problem, I am off Friday it is the beginning of a month’s vacation for me! I really did it right this time, Tajime, I did not overwork, and I won’t be starting this vacation exhausted!  I am just going to take it easy.” “Wow, that is great! I am really proud of you, congratulations!” “Hey,” Kirby says, breaking the chit-chat of details. “Did you just call to tell me you Love me?” as if he already knew the answer. Kirby startled me by being so direct. His boldness drew me towards him.  I could not help being swayed by his bluntness into answering sincerely.   I did a reality check in my heart to my true feelings. I found nothing more prominent in my heart than my l...

  Sometimes I find it healing  to dream into what someone in our lives might have said to us during a trying time... if they could articulate language enough  to speak a likely reality... My ex-husband left permanently in 1986  without ever expressing why,  nor that he was unhappy, nor that anything was wrong. We made love the night before he left. In all these years since  he never offered an explanation  nor an apology.  In January 2020, pre-pandemic...  I wrote this to myself as if he had written it to me to try to heal a gaping wound  that never quite healed on its own. Dear Erin,      I know all these years, I have owed you an explanation of why I suddenly got an apartment without consulting you about my wants and needs and instead exited our marriage, as if sideways through an escape hatch, instead of confiding in you as my trusted partner.       Truth be told I did not know what I needed or wan...

Electricity Scares Me. (Memoir snippet) The history of my hating electricity happened when I was a grade school-aged kid maybe ten or eleven. I came home from school for lunch with my younger brother, Joe, who would have been 8-9 years old.   As I opened the drapes against the window at the far side of our long and narrow kitchen, my brother checked for food our mom might have left in the oven or fridge at the other end of the long kitchen.   He held the metal oven door to peek in at the same time he grabbed the metal refrigerator door handle directly across the narrow portion of the kitchen, and he could not let go.  I heard odd sounds and turned to see him panicking in fear in a way that was so extreme it was nearly comical. I thought he was acting.   He was shaking, writhing, and at first, I thought he was pretending and playing a joke on me until I got closer and saw the fear in his bugged-out eyes and heard him make sounds I have never heard...

  A Note Given to Me This note was given to me by a workshop participant who was my partner for the weekend. 5 Things I like about you: Your overall warmth Your Passion for caring for others The emotion with which you talk about your past Your resiliency Your style, you have an eye for beauty, and how to use colors together in a way that is artistic. Reasons I am grateful for you being My Partner You took the time to think about me and how an activity might land with me. You took the time to talk about my day with me at the end of my day You listened intently when I talk I can feel how much you love and care for myself and others I know that if I am ever struggling, I can trust you to help care for me. You remind me to put people first.

My name is Erin Tajime Castelan.  Writing is one of my deeply enjoyed, creative passions. Along with painting or building things, I love to write.   I am a long-time, free-form, stream-of-consciousness journal writer since I was nine in fourth grade.  I do well with the rawness of expression, yet, struggle with acquiring engaging form and good grammar.  I am on a steep learning curve to acquire a clear understanding of conventional form. It is something that does not naturally occur to me, yet I am dedicated to learning in order to be read and understood well.   Writing has been an important vehicle for me to more carefully collect my thoughts and express myself since a brain breakdown in 1989 robbed me of cognitive function, and the easy flow of spoken conversing.   Writing helped me restore lost cognitive abilities in which speaking and expressing were stilted; interrupted by intense stuttering, forgotten words, and moments of complete memory loss – wh...