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Says Who?

Is there a person behind this project?

 There is, in fact! A place, too. See/hear:

As long as we're both here...

In lieu of an FAQ, a few thoughts from me to you around feelings you might be having about this memory message business:


My memory message doesn’t sound like anyone else’s!

Great! Wouldn’t the world be a bore if we were all the same? Also, that’s part of the point—to make this idea your own. In listening to the memories on this site, you might notice that each person participated in their own way. Some answered the prompts directly, others used them as inspiration. Some people reflected in real time, while others gave things a think and returned to the exercise after. There are no rules! (Or, in the words of Sister Corita Kent: “Consider everything an experiment.”)


My recording is iffy!

This isn’t an exercise in audio excellence. It’s an opportunity to share and share alike, and to visit with others in homes across the street, and (hopefully) across the world.


I’m shy!

Psst: Me too. (That’s why you’re welcome to contribute under an anonymous name. ;)


I don’t have good memories.

Define good. You have memories that seem unimportant? In the words of Linda Mariano: “There’s something everywhere, even though it might not be a landmark.” Trust: When reviewed through a curious lens, what’s happening at your house is at least at interesting as what happened at Hearst Castle in its heyday, and they made that place into a museum.


Or: Maybe you have memories that conjure feelings of melancholy, or straight-up sadness? Something in between? The truth is, you aren’t alone. Thinking about “home” brings up big feels for plenty of people, and that’s okay. That said, if you opt to share a less-than-sanguine memory, know that those can often be helpful to others who are in a tight spot. ♡



This is a project about people and places. 

About walls, and what they’ve witnessed.

About the feelings they give you, and the voice you might give them.


This is me. (And Mr. Peepers.)

This is my apartment in 1940 

These are the steps I fell down in 2016…

and that’s how I got this scar.

This is the bed I was in when I found out David Bowie died…

…and that Donald Trump had been elected president. 

This is the window where I watch the birds…and the squirrels. 

This is the window where I watch the fireworks.

This is where I listen to Peter Matthew Bauer’s “Philadelphia Raga.” Sometimes on repeat. 

This is the sunbeam I was sitting in when I figured a few things out. 

How about you?

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