reflections on the friday inservice

On Friday the thirteenth the colleagues of [education workplace] got together to run their own professional development day, modeled after Teachers Teaching Teachers. My first choice workshop was on memoir writing, which predictably enough made me into an introspective, scribbling mess of a person.
What I noticed in particular about my memoir writing was the type of things I remembered. Our first activity was a simple speed writing exercise where every sentence starts with I remember. The teacher leading the workshop gave some examples. Most of her went in the direction of I remember when so and so said something funny. I remember when he and she did this. I remember when cherished pet encountered honored family heirloom and hilarity ensued. There was action and characters and stuff.
Mine, on the other hand, were more like I remember how the light came in the window when I got a letter in the mail. I remember how it felt to wear my school uniform. I remember the colors in the trees when four pm took away the last bit of sunshine in the winter. I don't remember the people or the actions as much as I remember the moments and the atmosphere. This may be why I gravitate more towards poetry than prose, and why my NaNoWriMo attempt devolved into a sonnet. Apparently, I can't do plot even in my own life!