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.