Homebodies - Dear diary…

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Published on Monday, August 13, 2018

By Rita Friesen

Neepawa Banner & Press

There was a time when I kept a diary. It started with a Christmas gift when I was a preteen.

The little book, hard cover, easily jimmied lock on the side. The kind you kept in the bottom of a drawer, believing that no one knew it existed, or under a pillow if the content was all rated general. I recorded the events of the day, who said what to whom, and what I did, and perhaps, just perhaps, an original thought. Kept that one till it was full, missing many a day and then trying like heck to recall what I had done on the missing day. Well, nothings changed there!

For years I simply lived, not recording thoughts or events, or emotions. Took the habit up again when I was in my thirties. Daily practical records. 1997 was a fantastic year for picking saskatoons. A daughter and I headed to the hills with neighbours and their son. Ed had scouted the bushes but was unable to come along, and he had scouted well. Key – look for an oak tree and an ant hill. In one afternoon we picked seventy pounds of luscious berries. Records show that some were made into pies, some frozen and some canned as preserves for fine winter dining. That year was a great garden year as well. Shelled peas by the bucket, until I threw up my hands in despair and gave the pickings away. Big difference between the yield of peas in sandy soil and Red River loam. Lesson learned.

I stopped keeping a diary when I started writing the column. A weekly scribble keeps my creative genius satisfied. I never forget to detail a days activity, I share my thoughts and come up with some original ones, and I never have to hide my diary or remember where I hid it!

I do journal when I travel. The camera and I are not good friends, I don’t like taking pictures or having my picture taken. At the end of the day it is relaxing for me to sit and review the days sights and sounds.  My sister’s journal is filled with the food and flavours of the day. Those don’t capture my attention either. It is more about feeling and sensing the day in review.

One of my grandchildren brought up a camping memory. At day’s end I would seat them at the picnic table and each one was required to write about their day. Too young to write? Then draw a picture. It was a pleasant memory they recalled and wished that someone had kept those journals. They would be worth a laugh. The day at Banff at the gondola, one picture is of the cable car gently swaying high above the tree line, and one blessed child wrote about how green I was when we landed. They recalled that much. Perhaps I am thankful the booklets are missing!

If I kept a diary this year….dear diary, today was too hot. I didn’t feel like doing much. Ditto for the next four pages!