Once Upon A Time

Once Upon A Time.

There was a little girl that wrote in her journal every day. She was 9 years old when she started writing in her Big Chief Tablet with her pencil. She wrote about her friends, school, recess and her family.

She got a spiral notebook next. She escaped into her dream world, writing about everything her young heart could imagine. Sometimes she was the hero, other times the villain. She was an inventor, star athlete, dancer, comedian, black belt in judo, entrepreneur or a witch, just like "Bewitched".

Later she got a pen and a bigger notebook. She evolved as time went by and so did her writing implements. Her journals were purchased at the bookstore and she shopped for unique pens that felt elegant in her hand. She would glue articles she had clipped out of the newspaper or pictures from a magazine into her journal. She would write in the empty margins around her clippings. There were observations, humor and sometimes questions to research later.

As she grew so did her writing. She wrote about her marriage to her wonderful husband, the birth of their first child and their second child. She was amazed at the differences between her little boy and her little girl. They were both so beautiful and amazing. She saw how unique each of them was and marveled at how she could have produced such remarkable people. There were pages filled with joy and love and still other pages filled with heart ache and overwhelming pain. She used it to sort out the lessons she learned from the good and the bad.

One day as she was driving a big rig into El Paso, TX (yes she was a truck driver for awhile) she wrote about what she observed. On the north side of the highway was a modern city and on the south side was the Rio Grand. Just across the shallow river was a shanty town packed with people. There was a stark difference between the side of the road on the left and the side to her right. She noticed a group of children chasing after a pup right at the edge of the water. From a distance she swore she could see their giggles rising and whirling above them overhead. If it hadn't been for the brilliant colors she may have missed the sunset that evening. She couldn't ignore the blazing red and orange sky. There, right above the delirious puppy chasers was a cloud formation in the shape of an arrow pointing up as if it were heaven bound. It wasn't the most beautiful sunset she had ever witnessed but it was the most profound. The arrow shaped cloud appeared to be purple. It was so striking against the blazing backdrop that it nearly took her attention off the road. She glanced in her side view mirror and saw the children still zigging and zagging along the river bank, completely oblivious to the wondrous image above them. It seemed like a sign to her. It seemed that all their hopes and struggles were being shot straight to heaven like a prayer shot right into the hands of God. She wondered who really had it easiest, those to the north or to the south? Who was blessed and who was cursed? Even though she had written it all down she didn't have to read it to remember. It wasn't a special day other than that. A few minutes of observation had left a lasting effect on her.
Once Upon A Time.

My husband pointed to several laundry baskets a few weeks ago and asked me, "What are you going to do with all that?"

"I put it on the shelves at the back of the closet" I answered.

He sighed and said "I know. Can't you do something else with it?"

"What's wrong with where I had it? What are you doing?"

"I put clothes on those shelves. If we are going to sell our house don't you think it will show better if we use the shelves in the bedroom closet for, I don't know..... clothes, shoes, maybe some belts or hats, instead of journals and notebooks?" He sounds exasperated.

Now I sighed. I knew he had a point. He actually looked like he thought I might part with all my journals for a moment. That was not an option.

"You have probably written over 10,000 pages since we were married. What do you have there 30 years of diaries? Why don't you pack it up? Maybe you could thin it out a bit."

"Okay" I looked at it feeling a bit defensive about my journals. What did he think he was doing calling my years of writing "diaries"? What is the real difference? I always felt that a diary was something that would belong to a teenage girl from the 50's, like some Gidget type. It is just a word, not an insult, I reminded myself.

After my husband left for work that afternoon I sat down and began to go through the first basket. I stacked the notebooks and journals by size rather than the chronological order I had them in on the shelves. As I was flipping through one of the huge notebooks some pages fell out. I noticed that the font was different. The pages were worn and tattered around the edges. I picked it up and began to read. I had forgotten the night I had written it, over 10 years ago. I had been fired from a job that day. I had written a story about the experience in the form of a fairy tale. It had come out in a rush. As I read it I laughed so hard I cried. When I reached the end my sides ached from all the laughing. It reminded me of how therapeutic writing is for me. I had written an adult fairy tale. It began: Once Upon A Time.......... Maybe I will post the story on my next blog. I am sure there aren't many people who have read a story about the "The Princess of the Pumpkin Carriage Chassis Land".

And they all lived happily ever after...............