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Something to think about.
Jan. 20th, 2009 10:20 amWe were up visiting my family this weekend, which was fun. Busy and loud but fun. I managed to get Evelyn to take a nap on Sunday, which increased the pleasurability of it all by at least ten units. If she doesn't nap, she falls asleep on the way home and she refuses to go to bed that night, and that is not fun for anyone.
Anyway, my cousin came in to the kitchen once to tell my mom that she had just read a page of my grandmother's diary. My grandmother--who was named Evalee, by the way--has been gone for nearly twenty years by now. She had written that my grandfather and her had gone to Becky's (my mom) for dinner. She had made fried chicken, mashed potatoes, peas and corn and cornbread (I think) and she couldn't remember when she had had a dinner that she enjoyed more, and she added, "She is such a good cook!" Then she started listing other family members who had stopped by but didn't eat dinner, and then they went home and went to bed. That was it. Just a simple recounting of her evening and a little joy in the way her youngest child had grown into an adult who could cook a delicious meal, and I have already thought about it many, many times since she told us about it.
It makes me think about my own journal, naturally, and what Evelyn's children will think about it, and me, if they ever read it. (It also makes me think I should do some self-editing sometime before I die...) I think about the life that my grandparents and my parents had back then, and I'm sad that I don't remember that evening... or any like it. I'm not positive I had been born yet, but if I had, I would have been three or less because my cousin Brian was there, and he was killed by a drunk driver when I was three.
And mainly, I'm thinking that all of the effort we try to put into making our journals interesting... isn't going to be what our kids or grandkids cherish. The posts that get comments are probably not the ones that will mean much in twenty or forty or eighty years. I think that's interesting because mommy blogs are usually put down by the larger blogging community as being boring, worthless and trivial. I am thinking, though, that these are the stories that will continue to have meaning, long after we have even forgotten writing them. Of course, the geniuses of other times were often considered worthless during their lifetimes, so really, aren't we all just modern-day van Goghs and Bachs? ;)
Isn't that a lovely thought, that it doesn't really matter what we write about, as long as we do?
Also, how many times per day is it physically possible to tell your child to LEAVE YOUR PANTS ON? I think I may have an answer for you tomorrow...
Anyway, my cousin came in to the kitchen once to tell my mom that she had just read a page of my grandmother's diary. My grandmother--who was named Evalee, by the way--has been gone for nearly twenty years by now. She had written that my grandfather and her had gone to Becky's (my mom) for dinner. She had made fried chicken, mashed potatoes, peas and corn and cornbread (I think) and she couldn't remember when she had had a dinner that she enjoyed more, and she added, "She is such a good cook!" Then she started listing other family members who had stopped by but didn't eat dinner, and then they went home and went to bed. That was it. Just a simple recounting of her evening and a little joy in the way her youngest child had grown into an adult who could cook a delicious meal, and I have already thought about it many, many times since she told us about it.
It makes me think about my own journal, naturally, and what Evelyn's children will think about it, and me, if they ever read it. (It also makes me think I should do some self-editing sometime before I die...) I think about the life that my grandparents and my parents had back then, and I'm sad that I don't remember that evening... or any like it. I'm not positive I had been born yet, but if I had, I would have been three or less because my cousin Brian was there, and he was killed by a drunk driver when I was three.
And mainly, I'm thinking that all of the effort we try to put into making our journals interesting... isn't going to be what our kids or grandkids cherish. The posts that get comments are probably not the ones that will mean much in twenty or forty or eighty years. I think that's interesting because mommy blogs are usually put down by the larger blogging community as being boring, worthless and trivial. I am thinking, though, that these are the stories that will continue to have meaning, long after we have even forgotten writing them. Of course, the geniuses of other times were often considered worthless during their lifetimes, so really, aren't we all just modern-day van Goghs and Bachs? ;)
Isn't that a lovely thought, that it doesn't really matter what we write about, as long as we do?
Also, how many times per day is it physically possible to tell your child to LEAVE YOUR PANTS ON? I think I may have an answer for you tomorrow...
