In looking for something, I found treasures…I think I have used that phrase before...anyway...
Well, not treasures exactly. Journals from years ago, I found my journals.
At times throughout life, I have kept one
or more journals at any given time. They would be filled with
everything—a record of good and bad events, thoughts, and concerns.
In my childhood, there was nothing
print-worthy happening in my opinion, so my journals-diaries were little
snippets of drama. A verruca wart on my foot was exaggerated to be a
crippling illness. That would then morph into life threatening. To
make the diary appear even more dramatic, I dribbled some cologne water
over entries to create tear smears. Oh, I was big on drama as a child,
my father always maintained.
Drama must be part of life in one shape or
another. Falling in love, getting married, childbirth—those are darned
dramatic. I have photos to prove it!
But, the little dramas, the ones that are interspersed on a daily basis?
Losing one’s car keys? Not drama. Standing in line at Starbuck’s behind an elderly couple holding hands? That’s drama. Their whole life was played out before me in simple gestures, soft looks, few words, and even their order.
She had “…the decaf coffee with vanilla
syrup…not too much, now…and room for creamer…” He had the
“…full-strength stuff, and …NO, I will not have decaf instead….” (There lays a whole one act play, filled to the brim with drama, leaving a
little room for cream:) “…leave room for cream…you have real cream,
dontcha? Not that fake stuff they call creamer…”
See what I mean? Real drama. I wanted to follow them to a table, but my order was ‘to go’. Who knows what I missed?
Those journals covered months! Months, I tell you. They morphed into years without realizing it.
