Grandmothers

This is part of the mockorange bush on the northwest corner of my parents' home. The sweet orange smell brings back memories. For the five or six years I lived there, my room was right next to that bush.

I spent an hour at my parents' home this morning reading my paternal grandmother's and great grandmother's diaries. I only read two years of my grandmother's out of many more. They wrote mostly about events, sometimes about their health or the weather, and only hinted at what they actually thought and felt.

Those hints include words such as describing some things as "beautiful," "fun," "pleasant," or "darling." Medical diagnoses, illnesses, and surgeries are briefly and factually mentioned. There are heart-wrenching photos that have been repeatedly kissed with what appears to be pink lipstick, particularly pictures of my aunt who passed away in 1966. Letters, newspaper articles, and pictures are tucked inside the books. These are treasures that tell a very small part of their stories.

It's hard not to long for more of their personal thoughts and feelings.

It makes me want to keep writing emotive details about my own life, but of course I have probably written too much! [Thus the need to make a document of excerpts from my 30 plus journals.] My grandchildren will probably say, "Was Grandma Deb ever private? Did she have any secrets?!"

Or maybe they won't wonder, because my hope is they'll hear it from my own lips. Of course I have secrets!