There was an old hen when the clock struck ten,
a little while later someone eat ‘er.
Yes, I know so very Emily Dickenson of me- what can I say I was five. My aunt kept a journal and so did my grandmother. My mother just keeps a date book of sort. My grandmother’s was more of a diary- always including the weather, what she ate that day, and what she did. You would think that I would have a ton of journals; though I have quite a few, I do not have a ton. I am a spurt journaler, there are times when I write compulsively for days and many of my journals cover a year’s time with entries daily or weekly. Then there are times when...well...not so much.
I did write a lot more B.K. (before Kids)- I was going to use the acronym B.M. ( before motherhood) but that might have the possibility to be miss-understood.
In my youth I always wrote tons when I was in emotional distress, it was-(is) sort of a catalyst for clarity. Journaling helped/helps sort of the myriad of confusion that often comes with the said distress. Now mind you there are a few of journals that are well hid- there are some things my children just don’t need to read at a young age. Thankfully being the apprehensive person I have always been, I wrote a lot in code-some I cannot even decipher any more. There are symbols, which represent certain important things. And I must say some of my single years journals are quite cryptic.
There are many times when my memory of events has become distorted with time-can anyone relate to that- you know the fish that grows bigger each time the story is retold. Then I get a reality check when I re-read what really went down on any given event that I recorded.
Now.......My journaling has been altered………….my journals are now both a place to record what I might be feeling or doing and a place to express artistic expression. Altering blank pages make them a happy place to put my words. They become pretty places to write and sometimes the art is all I need to do to express my mood.
These journals hold so many pieces of me: poems, thoughts, turmoil, joy, fear, love- and the feeling that accompanies it-they hold dreams and lists of dreams, resolutions both failed and successful. I have journals just for holidays and family vacations, and most precious are the words recorded after the births of my children. Tender words of hope and love::: words of newborn smells and future worries. They are chronicles of our life, bits and bobs of history that will only matter to us.