A memory becomes tidier every time you tell it. A notebook tends to remain inconveniently specific. Mine includes the shopping list, the window measurements, and three different accounts of the same Thursday. The ordinary details are the ones I find myself coming back to.
Notes from Sarah’s notebook
This was supposed to be a page about a small terrarium. It has become a record of visitors, unaccountable noises, and the increasingly elaborate explanations my household supplies for both. I have kept the notes in order. Mostly.
Our records separate the observation from the explanation. Names, dates, and labels are retained so a later reader can follow the same evidence.
Visit the listening shelf or read the field notes.
I asked the household to name the dog. The household proposed a computer. This did not settle the dog.