Monday, October 31, 2011
when i was 4 years old my mother would sit with me at the kitchen table with a little red diary. the kind with a lock on the side. it was called a five year diary. each dated page was divided into 5 sections....a few lines for each year. she would disregard that aspect and fill the entire page in one sitting. it was my diary, she was just the scribe. she asked me to tell her about things i loved and how i felt. (the majority of the time i would say 'i feel like not sitting here doing this' and she would write that). she transcribed my childish pronunciation and funny words. she recorded what i said, word for word. she persevered. and preserved. and now, over 40 years later, the love of having my own notebook of thoughts and ideas and sketches is still very much alive. my mother's most profound gift to me, i believe.