In writing his memoirs, my grandfather, G. M. C. Massey, tended to repeat himself. He excused this tendency by mentioning more than once that he basically wrote these stories of his life experiences at the time he remembered them.
He acknowledged this made for some repetition. One version of an incident may include further details or even contradict details from a prior version.
It makes for a challenging task as his “blog editor.”
We are amusingly shocked, as sometimes we are writing along very well pleased with the way things are coming to our memory; And at that very moment comes from out of the blue yonder, a remembrance of something that was very important to use when It happened; but we have not thought along that line for so long that it seemed so remote at this time: But when we are made to remember it; It seems very important.
Then is the time that we mention it in our memoirs.
Many times that I set in meditation upon the things that was back there in my memory, And I wish that I could refresh my mind with them and give expression to them as it seemed good to me, But I sometimes cannot find expression with suitable words. So they go on as unexpressed beauties of speech; That I am not able to convey to others. I wish that I could
But this I know, I have had dreams and they seemed so real to me, and they were so real to me that I, in my dreams would say that this is no dream for it is so real, and I was lying there basking in the luxuriant thoughts that it had come at last just as I had wanted it: Then IT was blasted all to smithereens by the fact that I waked up to find that it was a dream any way: but at that we have the beauty of the dream.