I got to spend some quality time with my Nan earlier this year around the time of my brothers wedding. She spent a night on my couch before and after our flights up to Noosa and back, which gave us a bit of extra time together outside of the business of the wedding celebrations.
My Nan did a lot of traveling with her late husband, Ron (to us grand-kids, they weren't two individuals, but one entity known as "Nan'n'Ron" -it took me years to realise it was just their names!), He was one of those guys who had an amazing life which you could write a hundred books out of. He actually ran away to join the circus when he was a kid, he spent time as a traveling bore-digger, with his wife and children in tow in a converted bus and caravan. He was a speedway champ, a horse broker... you name it...
In his later years, when he met and married Nan, he just loved to get in their Kombi and hit the road. They went some amazing places and saw some incredible things, again, contents for another book (or two... or three...). What I was surprised to learn, through some of the deep conversations with Nan, was that he kept a journal. I was surprised because Ron never struck me as the journalling kind of guy, but I wasn't too surprised by his approach. Ron was never a long winded bloke, and his travels diaries reflected this, eg: "March 3rd, Thursday, Saw a fox."
You might laugh (I did!) but Nan said that those little jotted notes served as great reminders when they went back through them and reminisced. It kind of makes me a bit embarrassed about just how waffley I often get... maybe I should take a lesson from Ron... next trip you might get a lot of "Friday, it's hot, cooked potatoes"