“All history properly understood is the history of thought.” (Robin George Collingwood)

My history (herstory) is based upon diary entries written during the late ‘50s and ‘60s. But memories tend to change with age. Time softens some, sharpens others, distorts and even extracts parts. This fabric of our memories, its threads weaving intermittently in and out of the realm of recall, is not quite the same as it was almost 50 years ago. Yet it is nonetheless the fabric from which my life was woven..

The French have an expression: the more things change, the more they remain the same. Remembering and researching for this memoir led me to that conclusion as well.

Reading the words written so long ago in my diary, I was astounded at what I saw and heard and thought about

as a teenager and later a young twenty something living in Europe. Was that really me? Was Paris/Rome/Belgium/London really like that in the ‘60s? Yes, it is real. Real because I wrote it on the spot. No directives, no hindsight. Now I have integrated all those direct observations into a Memoir. It is for you, dear reader, to enjoy and, at the same time, perhaps gain some appreciation for the past. In this case, my past.

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