L. just found the diary of her great grandfather in a box of old books.
The beautiful, troubling cover presages what's inside:
A summary of what her grandfather did every day that was worth recording.
- Cash borrowed.
- Cash payed back.
- Work accomplished.
- Trips to town.
- Weather.
Many of the entries seriously do read:
Dug Coal. Rained.
I suppose if my world demanded such work in such conditions, I too, may have grown terse.
RECORD! Says the front cover. Or maybe it just says, Herein lies a RECORD. Whatever the book commands me to do, the command did not include divulging feelings, emotions or cognitions for him. There don't seem to be any revelations of secrets. Still. It's kind of nice to read the mundane. It's like a tone poem tracing the quotidian.
So I'll give it a go.
This blog will be a record. I should warn you, unlike L.'s grandfather, I rarely dig coal, and I just as rarely think about the weather.
