A letter from the
Curator
Have you ever found yourself wondering about a name on a bench?
Or picked up an old photograph and wished someone had written the story on the back?
Or stood somewhere that looked completely ordinary until someone said,
“Do you know what happened here?”
A letter from the
Curator
Have you ever found yourself wondering about a name on a bench?
Or picked up an old photograph and wished someone had written the story on the back?
Or stood somewhere that looked completely ordinary until someone said,
“Do you know what happened here?”
That’s curiosity.
And I think curiosity is one of the most generous human instincts we have.
It connects us to people we’ve never met, places we’ve never known, and lives that would otherwise remain invisible.
That curiosity is where That Reminds Me began.
Long before there was a website, it shaped the way I looked at the world. As a journalist, I discovered that asking one more question often uncovered the story nobody else had thought to tell. Again and again, I found that the things which mattered most were rarely the loudest or the most obvious. They were the quiet details that revealed who someone really was.
Over the years, I also realised something else.
Many of the stories that shape our lives are never written down. They’re held inside families, attached to places, hidden inside ordinary objects, or carried in memories that seem so familiar we assume they’ll never be forgotten.
But stories don’t keep themselves alive. They survive because someone takes the time to tell them.
My father died more than 30 years ago. I can still picture him perfectly. But if I heard his voice today, I’m not sure I’d recognise it.
What I do remember is the three-note whistle he used instead of calling my name. Only two people in the world — my brother and I — would recognise that sound as his.
It seems such a small thing, but without someone to tell that story, it disappears.
On the wall in my home hangs an old printer’s tray. It was left to me by someone I loved. Whenever I walk past it, I’m reminded of the smell of printing ink and the rumble of newspaper presses starting up.
None of the tiny objects I’ve collected over the years matters very much on its own. Together, they hold memories that belong to no one else, and together they tell part of my story.
On the wall in my home hangs an old printer’s tray. It was left to me by someone I loved. Whenever I walk past it, I’m reminded of the smell of printing ink and the rumble of newspaper presses starting up.
None of the tiny objects I’ve collected over the years matters very much on its own. Together, they hold memories that belong to no one else, and together they tell part of my story.
That Reminds Me is for remembering people we’ve lost. It’s for the stories we’re still living, the places that changed us, the traditions we hope someone else will carry on, and the ordinary moments that quietly become part of who we are.
QR codes, plaques and web pages are simply the doorway.
The real purpose is much simpler.
It’s to make sure that when somebody asks,
There’s someone who took the time to answer.
“What’s the story behind this?”
I’m looking forward to helping you tell your story.
Lynne Smit
Founder & Curator
Our promise
If you trust us with your story, we’ll treat it with the same care we’d hope someone would show our own.
We’ll never rush it.
We’ll never bury it behind a subscription.
We’ll never forget that behind every page is something that matters deeply to someone.
We’ll help you tell your story well.
