Posted tagged ‘Diary’

Memory… is the diary that we all carry about with us.”

April 29, 2019

The weatherman says warmish day, in the 50’s, and a rainy night. Yesterday it rained most of the afternoon into the evening. I didn’t go to the dump. The trash is sitting on my deck box. The dump is closed until Wednesday.

I hate my laptop. I swear every day my Apple password won’t work so I change it only to find the new one won’t work the next day. I am now quite adept at changing my passwords. I have a list of what no longer works so I don’t get reprimanded about using a password I’ve used before.

When I graduated from high school, my gift from my parents was a portable typewriter. I used it all four years of college. I had that white tape you put on typing errors to sort of erase them so you can make corrections. I was a horrible typist and only used two fingers. My eyes were glued to the keyboard. Skip forward to now. I still use only two fingers, but they are the fastest two fingers in the west. My typewriter is in the cellar. It is still in working condition but needs a ribbon.

When I was a kid, I had a diary, the one with a vinyl cover and a gold lock on the side. I think every girl I knew had the same diary and got it for Christmas the way I did. I used to hide my key, and back then I never forgot where I hid it. My daily entries were boring. Seriously, life at 10 hasn’t many high spots. It was even before crushes and boys. I wrote mostly about school and what I did on the weekends. I don’t think I ever wrote enough to cover a whole page.

It didn’t take more than a couple of months for me to tire of writing. I threw the diary in a drawer and forgot about it. I suspect it was tossed out at some time. I didn’t miss it.

Today is a sloth day, a lady of leisure day. I could do a couple of errands, but they’ll wait until tomorrow.

“I’m sorry. This is diary, not enlightenment.”

April 28, 2014

I couldn’t believe my eyes when I woke up. There it was, the sun, shining through the bedroom window. The sky was even blue. I ran downstairs trailed by Gracie and Fern and opened the front door. The sun streamed through the glass and Fern got comfy on the rug in the heat of the sunlight. Gracie went into the yard, and I went onto the deck. There was a bit of a morning chill, but I didn’t care. We have sun, glorious sun.

One side of my den table is covered in sticky notes. A list of perennials for the garden fill one note. I chose flowers of varying heights because I particularly want some taller ones for the back. Another sticky has a small shopping list for today: bird seed, cat food and toilet paper. A third note is a reminder I need to go to CVS.  The last note has a list of authors I want to read and a few apps I want to download to my iPad. Sticky notes are my salvation.

When I was around twelve or thirteen, I got a diary as a Christmas present. The cover was pink vinyl and had a cartoonish teenage girl on the front talking on the phone. The diary came with a small gold key, but I really didn’t need to lock it. Little in there was ever something I wanted hidden. In my first few entries I mostly talked about school and drill (I was on a drill team) and what my friends and I were doing which wasn’t much. I did mention sneaking out of school at lunch time pretending I was going home to eat. I also admitted to my diary that I had lied. I arrived back to school late after lunch some days and told the nun I was with Father somebody or other. She always bought the lie.

I didn’t have enough teenage angst to fill my diary. I wrote about being angry with my mother or father, but that anger never lasted long. I wrote about what a jerk my brother was, but that was no revelation. Life for me was really pretty easy. I got tired of that diary after only a few months and stopped writing in it. I put it in my drawer and just left it there. It got covered with stuff, and I forgot all about it until we were moving to the Cape. I was clearing out my bureau where I found the diary and started reading. It was about the most boring thing I’d ever read.

Diary: Bread

February 19, 2011

Johnny My Love -Grandma’s Diary: Hank Locklin

February 19, 2011

“I never travel without my diary. One should always have something sensational to read in the train.”

February 19, 2011

Spring has returned to wherever it goes during winter. The wind is wild and cold. Outside my widow the world looks most uninviting. Earlier, I went to my local Border’s as their closing sale began today. I hate losing it.

Paper will soon be obsolete. Bookstores are closing. When was the last time any of us wrote a letter on real paper? How about a diary? I remember writing in my diary. I wrote longingly about the boy who was my latest crush and I wrote sad descriptions of my latest teen angst, the sort that made my world fall apart. The key was always carefully hidden to keep the diary from prying eyes. When I traveled, I kept a journal, still do. Every night I write of the sights and the sounds and draw easily from my memories of the day. I have some aerogrames I wrote to my parents from Africa. They are filled with descriptions of my life in Ghana, and when I read them, I am pulled back to those days through my own words. There is something so personal about holding those letters as I read them.

The computer has made it so easy to write and to publish, sort of. I know this blog has become my diary, and I share with all of you. I write almost every day about all sorts of things, but the most personal parts of my life aren’t here. I hold them close to my heart. They are the feelings that filled my diary, the one with the key.

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