I used to be such a faithful journal writer. Now, I blog. I still keep a journal of sorts — I write down snippets and ideas of things I want to blog about. But when I look back at these entries, they don’t tell a story. I have to read my blog to get the whole story, which requires a computer and internet access.
As I was flipping through my journals tonight, I found not only tickets to plays and movies, but cards from bouquets of flowers I received from Ed, little notes from a friend, and special emails I printed to stick into the pages of my journal. I love those little artifacts, these little scraps of memories.
See the pinkish ticket in the journal above? I wrote in that journal that I had gone to see my mom sing in the chorus of a local production of Don Giovanni. I had completely forgotten she was in that opera. I remember going with Mom to auditions to give her support, attending the concerts she sang in, and listening to her sing in church. I can remember exactly how she sounded when she sang a solo at the late service every year on Christmas Eve. But I had forgotten about Don Giovanni.
I think these tickets are a sign…a sign that I need to continue my last journal where I left off, to write down with pen and paper little events like these. Little events that may not seem that important right now, but might mean the world to me in years to come. Little events, like hearing my mom sing ten years ago, in a little opera house in the Midwest.