Sharing stories, and describing what happened, is a good way to have memories. My sisters were here, this last weekend, and we were out to eat with friends. These friends know, and accept, I am crazy but they had never met Dad. The stories started with my trying to do his "no one will help me" pitiful expression. My sisters immediately informed me I had a LOT of work to do before I came close to Dad's pitiful. It did, however, lead to Dad stories.
Our favorite, and all of us enjoyed it, is the story of the red socks. At my son's first wedding Dad had a part in the service. We were all in Ohio, from Minnesota, and Dad wore his vestments for the service. After the wedding, sitting at the reception, the red socks were visible. Mom came up, out of her chair, about went over the table at him, saying "I packed the suitcase! These were NOT in the suitcase! How did they get here!!?" Mom did NOT like Dad's red socks! Consequently this became our favorite story and, after Mom died, we all kept trying to find Dad red socks.
It is also a special memory for my son. When Dad died my son wanted several pairs of the red socks and wears them for special occasions. And, when my son remarried, he asked me to wear something red "in honor of Poppa." (His name for my Dad.) I wore Dad's red Hawaiian shirt.
So.... what memory are you still laughing about?