I've never been the best at keeping a journal, even though I love to write. Through the years I've had one or two. I would do my best writing in them for a week or so, and then abandon the practice for months, maybe even years. Last night, we were at my parent's home for Easter dinner. Ruthie came downstairs with a book in her hand and said, "Mama, was this your diary?" Ruthie is very interested in diaries. I suspect she journals all the time.
Quickly, I grabbed it, because I didn't know what phase of my life this particular journal came from, elementary years? middle school? Dreaded high school? I didn't want her reading something that wasn't appropriate or asking questions for which I wouldn't have answers. I didn't need to worry. The majority of my diary contained the mumblings of an elementary school kid. It's fascinating to see what was important in my world in those days, most of which centered around my little sister.
I can honestly say, I was not nearly as verbose as I am now.
Tuesday, November 8, 1983
Today Sara got the chicken pox and she doesn't like them. They itch!
Monday, November 14, 1983
Today I had gym. Oh, and Sara is scabbing over and may even go to school on Wednesday.
Wednesday, January 11, 1984
Today was the first snow of the year. And Sara is learning cursive.
October 13, 1984
Yesterday at 3:30 am, Dad left for the mountains. I hope he shoots a deer. Also Sara has a sore leg and Mom's going to take her to the doctor today.
And my all-time favorite:
(no date, 1984)
Today Sara tried to bite my hand, and then she pinched it.
Those were the days.
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