everyday

I'm supposed to be doing this everyday. Three pages, like the lady said. I tried twice, maybe three times to do it in an actual notebook, 'cause that's what she said. But I just can't . It's too permanent. This seems os safe and ephemeral, and still bizzarely exposed. Anybody could read it, but nobody will. A print diary might get found, I might lose it, I might die and peoples would read it. I know that's what I would do. I love to find old diaries and letters at the thrift store. At estate sales I'm pleased beyond description when i find items i like that area also somehow inscribed or related to each other and reveal a bit about the previous owner. I had the most rad plastic purse from the 50's that came from a house where the woman stopped buying anything after 1958. I swear. there was not one modern piece of anything! Even food! apparently she had been hoarding it all for some time, and managed to somehow keep away the nasty little ants that plague every house in California. She had boxes of sugar cubes that had colored designs stamped into them. She had a huge collection of Heinz 57 pickle pins, and even a few off the gold ones. Great stacks of Heinz 57 letterhead stationary, which i totally scooped up. I used to work in a warehouse that was located in the old Heinz 57 factory, and went to the bar next door that was called the 58 Club. Sadly, it's closed now. And i gave the purse to a friend's girfreind when i saw that she collected them. But i still have the stationary, and a couple of small ettiqutie books that i got there. I also remember that her house was stuffed with vintage dresses, none of which fit me. I'm a big girl. I can't wear vintage nuthin'.

Another estate sale had a few inscribed books, a large ledger style journal that had a few random notes form the woman who owned it, she was in training to be a nurse in 1940-ish.
I found some books her husband had that she had written in after his death, one being a Mason's book of symbols. She had written that she didn't know that he was a Mason, but did know he belonged to some sort of club, and that it had given him happiness.

i love diaries and personal histories, books of letters. All of these things are going missing now that everyone and their sister (and me!) has a Blog. How ephemeral. Nothing left to the archivists. What will survive?

all those damn scapbooks.