A Living Memoir
Your family talks, we write — a growing collection of the short stories you always wanted to hear, in their own words. Remembered forever.
We’re opening up gradually. Leave your email and we’ll let you know when it’s your turn.
Love · cover photoHow I met your mother
At a church dance in the winter of ’74. She was across the room, laughing at something I couldn’t hear, and I forgot the line I’d been practicing all week. I went over anyway.
From your family
Sarah wants to know how you met Mom.
“At a church dance. She was across the room, laughing, and I forgot the line I’d practiced all week.”
How it works
They talk.
A few warm questions, by voice or text — in their own language, with more added all the time. No forms, no homework. Five minutes at a time.
We write it down.
Remmy, your conversational writing assistant, helps turn what they said into their story — in their own words, never invented.
Your family keeps it.
Each scene joins a growing collection your family can read, hear, and add to forever.
GrandpaLife at a glance
🎂 1947 · San Francisco
🎙️ In his own voice
📖 14 stories
Chapters
🍜 The restaurant years
🀄 Saturdays in Chinatown
📜 The village name
GrandmaLife at a glance
🎂 1950 · Chicago
🎙️ In her own voice
📖 11 stories
Chapters
🚂 Up from Memphis
🍑 Sunday at Mama’s table
✊ Marquette Park, 1966
DadLife at a glance
🎂 1971 · New Jersey
🎙️ In his own voice
📖 9 stories
Chapters
🍅 Sunday gravy
🎸 The band years
👶 The day she was born
MomLife at a glance
🎂 1974 · New Mexico
🎙️ In her own voice
📖 8 stories
Chapters
🌶️ Green chile season
💍 How he asked
🎓 First to graduate
A collection that keeps growing
Every visit adds another short story. It’s never “finished” — that’s the point. A life isn’t one story; it’s a hundred small, true moments.
“Fifty years my father never said the name of his village. Then one night after closing he wrote it on the back of a receipt and slid it across the counter to me. It’s still in my wallet.”
Grandpa · the village name“I was sixteen when we marched. Mama pressed my collar that morning like she did for church. She didn’t say one word the whole time. But she pressed that collar.”
Grandma · Marquette Park, 1966“He practiced his Spanish two whole weeks before he asked my papá. And Papá? Let him suffer through every word of it, then answered him in English.”
Mom · how he asked“My grandfather held her, said something in Italian real quiet, and started to cry. I never asked him what he said. I should have. I know I should have.”
Dad · the day she was bornTheir story, kept honestly
Real words and real voice — never rewritten, never invented.
In their own words
Every line traces back to something they actually said. Their voice, not a machine’s.
Never invented
Nothing is added that they didn’t tell us. No detail, no name, no embellishment.
Private to your circle
It belongs to your family. You decide who sees it, and it stays yours.
Ask the questions you always meant to
Leave a question on their page — “Dad, what was your first date with Mom?” — and it’s waiting for them, to answer in their own time. The story comes back in their voice.