Named after my grandmother

My grandmother’s name was Una. She had eighty-three years of stories inside her — a whole world, carried in her voice. I always assumed I’d have time to ask.

I had six weeks. And the way she said my name, the way she laughed at her own kitchen table — I never pressed record. When she left, I lost more than I know.

I built this so that wouldn’t happen again. The name isn’t a brand exercise. It’s a promise: that the things you set down here will be kept the way she deserved — patiently, reverently, and entirely yours.

There’s a question that has followed me ever since. It turns out to be the only honest thing to say about keeping a record. If not now, when?

So I named it after her. And I try, every day, to build something she would have trusted.