…rambling

I blame the holiday letters and the rush I get from writing lies, for my current obsession. I can’t constrain myself to the joy of deluding myself with the holiday written only once a year, so I am continuing the therapy by putting a happy spin on everyday reality.

Journal,
At the doctor’s office yesterday, the receptionist flippantly said, “Oh yeah, we’ll take any kind of payment, even your first born.” I replied with interest, “Really? Mine is 16.” Here’s hoping, T.

I’ve praised the benefits of journal-keeping for many diverse reasons, and the one that tempts me most is the teaser that someday my progeny will value my note taking. If they can glean hints and clues from what I write, I’m all for passing on my notes (in spite of the fact that I have a niggling suspicion that it’s cheating.)

I think that my children might appreciate this effort, even if it is only the vague promise of a piteous, passing thanks in the far distant future. That’s good enough! I’m writing!

The strongest motivation for me is the warning that history, unrecorded repeats itself and I can’t even imagine doing this again! Selfish motivation works! It’s all about me; I’m writing.

In my twenty year attempt to stay sane, friends and family have been subjected to cockeyed updates on life, altered to fit my fantasy de-jour and now I am compiling all of those letters, inter-notes and emails into an episodic odyssey all my own.

I promised myself I would quit after the first book, but I finished it and then I didn’t die. And there was ever so much more certifiable spam than I expected—a whole library’s worth, so here I go again.

Journal,
i've joined the new craze, the guilt party. You are shamed into taking photographs of every aspect of your child’s life and keeping them in these glossy, incredibly safe, unbelievably expensive albums accented, designed and decorated.

I imagine my daughter-in-law’s face when I present her with twenty-six albums, one for each year of my son’s life. If she doesn’t flip out completely, imagine the mother-in-law curse she’ll place on me when I inform her that it’s her job to continue the tradition for the rest of her life!

Surfing by again soon, Love T.