The Truth about Diaries

     Yesterday, I read a story about diaries. Oh, how profound their contents can be. The author journaled everyday for years. 
    In elementary school, I kept my first diary. It excited me writing about my feelings and secrets. It even had a flimsy little "lock and key" to keep the contents private. My friends told their diaries everything on their minds, their hopes, dreams and problems.
     My mother found my diary while changing the bed sheets while I was at school. Tucked under the corner of the mattress. She knew I had it. It was from a gift exchange at school for the holidays. The problem began when my mother read it.  Now, my mother was European with a very limited formal education. As a young girl in war torn Europe her life was very different than mine. (a tragic story for another time).
     She had to read and translate. The literal translation of one language to another does not usually translate well. I had been angry with her one day, actually many days, as I deemed her way too strict and controlling. I wanted to be like the other girls. So I wrote my story, from the perspective of an eleven year old and motivated by what my friends wrote in theirs.  I wrote words that were angry and emotional. But there wasn't an issue in trying to translate my entry.
    I had written that I hate my mother. Imagine how she felt reading my words. You don't need a translation for that. I didn't see her face when she read it since I was at school at the time. By when I came home, she met me with a stern look on her face.There wasn't any evidence of hurt coming from her. At least not from my view. There was anger and rage and lots of screaming. About how lucky I was to have parents. How she wished she still had hers. I don't know how much she thought about what I had written over the years. But I certainly learned how powerful words are.
     Because of that, when I write, I think about honesty. And I think about perception. There are times when I find it hard to put the words down without wondering how it would affect the person reading it. Sometimes, maybe too often, I give them the benefit of the doubt. I give them that little bit of opening to feel that it is not just about me and my opinion, but it is my perception at that moment. I would like them to read it one day. One day when I feel they might understand what I write and why I write. Not to judge, but to understand. To grow. To go back and read again for new perspective. That goes both ways, for me and for them. Because only in the revelation of trying to be honest do our words speak the truth.
   I write this in honor of my mother's birthday today. I knew long ago that she understood. I love you Mom.

Words, Writers and Magical Power

     Writers are interesting people. I've been following blogs, reading columnists (especially the NYT's), magazine articles and books that I feel really tell a story, share an experience, unveil an emotion or plant a seed in the reader.
     It fascinates me how, although we all have access to words, (there is no ownwership to the words in any language, the dictionary or thesausus) putting those words together requires understanding and talent. If we so desire, we can even make up words and give meaning to them, and have even more words.
     To put words together takes minimal effort really.  But to make those words mean something, to make them come to life and take hold . . . Ahhhh . . . . that is ectasy dear reader, like a drug into our veins, it takes hold and carries us on a journey that only our minds can put limitations on.  It is the Master that stirs words together like a focused scientist, a romantic dreamer or an adventurous explorer . Magic to open our hearts to an old soul, a person who has lived and wants to give you a part of themselves. A writer sometimes can put on paper what they cannot say outloud.
     Writing can appear like child's play to those that don't understand the power of words..Think of words that have touched you, moved you. Think of why you write, why you read. How often has someone said or witten words to you, and you've been changed? The words have stopped you right there, so much so that you close your eyes and repeat the words under your breath, impregnating them into your very being. It is the combination of words that comes to life like notes come together in song.
     I have been rendered drunk by the power of many an author. Bravo to the writer.

(photo from unknown source)

IF . . .

IF . . . . .
We have "BIG" IF's in life. Here is the beginning of a list of IF's that might have changed how I lived life.
I know you can add a few of your own.

IF . . . I had more time
IF . . . I realized I didn't have more time
IF . . . I understood what you were going through
IF . . . we were honest from the beginning

Don't put Christmas away

Christmas is past for this year. Some of us have already put away the decorations, the tree, eaten the cookies and gathered the cards. We've disposed of wrapping paper, used and shared gifts, given thanks and are thinking of a new year, perhaps making resolutions. Some will be doing these things in the days to come. We also put away our yearly traditions, yearly hopes and dreams, that somehow come alive only at the holiday season. The need to give, to try to be more understanding, to love not for love's sake, but because we love so much that it is an unconditional love. Sometimes after Christmas it seems like these words and intentions