THINGS I'VE LEARNED FROM MY JOURNALS

I first started keeping a journal in 1981.  I began by writing weekly, typewritten entries, but I soon realized that by the end of the week many of the interesting details of daily doings in a large family had drifted away, or all run together and lost their spontaneity.  

In April of 1982, I decided to keep a daily, handwritten journal.  I bought several blank page books covered in brightly printed fabric.  They were visually stimulating, and I figured they would keep me motivated.  They did, indeed, and I kept a daily journal continuously for the next nine years. Then for some reason I lapsed.  I didn't write regularly from 1991 through 1999.  During those years, however, I kept notes on a calendar and wrote an annual synopsis of important events at the end of each year.  Then in 2000 I bought an Ansel Adams day-planner, and started making daily entries again.  I have faithfully kept a daily journal since that time.

What have I learned from all this journal writing? 

 

1-Things that seemed routine or ho-hum at the time become vitally interesting 25 years down the road.  As I made daily entries,  I often thought such things as, "Who cares if Quinton, riding in the grocery cart, turned around while I wasn't looking,  grabbed the cottage cheese, removed the lid and dumped it out over all the other groceries?"  At the time it was just a very messy situation, now it is a hilarious memory!

2-Most of the crises and catastrophies that seemed so devastating at the time are no longer even relevant to my life.  "Time heals all wounds" is a truth.  Many of the seemingly overwhelming problems and issues just evaporated, often in a matter of only a few days or weeks.

3-Reading a journal entry from the past is like re-living a section of your life.  Its possible to retain a memory of an event without a journal, but writing it down brings it back with its full scope of emotions.

4-I've learned not to leave out the bad stuff.  Its a natural tendency to want only to write about the happy, smiley-face moments, but this is not real.  The bad stuff happens, and to have an accurate account of your life, it must be included.  As I said earlier, it will surprise you how irrelevant these shadowy moments in your life become as time erases, or at least diminishes them.

5-Several of my ancestors kept journals that are valuable to me beyond measure.  Durant Litchfield, my great, great grandfather kept a day by day account of his experiences as a soldier in the Civil War.  My grandmother, Loana Pickering Griffiths, wrote a detailed account of her childhood in the LDS colony in Alberta, Canada.  I love and cherish these writings.

I wonder if my ancestors ever wondered if anyone would really be interested in what they wrote.  I'm glad Grandfather Litchfield didn't say, "I don't think I'll bother to write anything today. Who cares about the boring, daily activities in camp.  Who cares that President Abraham Lincoln visited our company this week."  I'm glad my Grandmother Griffiths thought it worthwhile to write that her father took her and her sisters to school on horseback on days when the sub-zero temperatures of a Canadian winter prevented them from walking, but that on one occasion when they arrived at the school, the doors were frozen shut and they had to turn around and go back home.  

Great stories, all!  Aaron confiscating Ben's shoes is a great story, as is the cottage cheese incident, the Blue Donkey incident,  the dead mice dressed in doll's clothes incident, the "Nephi and the brass plates of Laban" re-enactment that frightened Mia out of her wits, and every other fun, terrifying, delightful, miserable or just plain ho-hum thing that happens in the course of the day. 

Write it down.  Someone, sometime, is going to just love it! 

A POEM FROM THE DISTANT PAST

This is for Mia, because I read the great poem she wrote on her blog and told her I would post one I had written when I was a child.  I wrote this poem when I was 8 years old for a school assignment.  The teacher thought it was too good for an 8 year old to have written, and accused me of copying it from a book.  My Mom (Grandma Kay) was furious, because she had been sitting with me when I wrote it.  She stomped over to the school and told that teacher a thing or two!!  Here is the poem:

THE BLACK STALLION

When everyone has gone to bed,

For the stallion comes at night,

He comes and goes without a sound

Just like a flash of light.

He lets the corralled horses free

And runs off to the plains.

The cowboys get up just in time

To see their flying manes.

They've tried to catch him many times.

He's the wildest horse out West.

They chase him over hill and dale,

But he always turns out best.

WHAT ARE WE TALKING ABOUT???

In the small southern Colorado town of San Luis there stands a beautiful, old Catholic santuario situated at the top of a hill. A trail winds up the hill to the church, and along the route the traveler encounters several shrines and statues, which represent the various Stations of the Cross.

A couple of months ago there was an incident in the town, which made the news. Three LDS missionaries assigned to the area had climbed the hill, and had posed with the various statues in a disrespectful and irreverent manner while the others took pictures. When they reached the top, they clowned around inside the sanctuary and vandalized some of the structures.

Apparently someone witnessed this despicable behavior and reported it. The three elders were subsequently reprimanded and sent home. The Mission President and a local Bishop were sent to San Luis to apologize to the townspeople and try to undo some of the damage that had been done.

We read about this incident when it happened, lamented about how unfortunate it was, and then more or less forgot about it. This, then, is the back-story for the following experience in San Luis.

On our way home from New Mexico in early May, we approached a beautiful, well-kept, little town. We noticed a Catholic Shrine at the top of a hill near the center of the town. We also noticed that in spite of the town’s tiny size, there was a brand new LDS church nearing completion on the main street. We circled around to get another look at the newly built chapel, then drove another block or so back to the visitor’s center to use their restrooms.

A friendly lady greeted us, and engaged me in the usual “Where are you from?” type conversation. I commented on the new LDS chapel just down the street, and mentioned that we were LDS. She seemed somewhat taken aback, and referred to “The recent news stories concerning the LDS Church.”

Having forgotten about the missionary incident and having no idea we were in the very town where it happened, I assumed she meant the recent news stories about the polygamist cult in Texas. Our conversation went something like this:

Me, referring to the cult in Texas: “Oh, those people are in no way associated with the mainstream LDS church. We no longer engage in such practices.”

The lady, probably surprised that we at one time did engage in the practice of vandalism: “Well, those three boys are all back home now.”

Me, thinking she meant three young boys in the Texas commune who had perhaps been abused in some way: “Thank goodness for that! At least they are now in a safe environment where they will no longer be harmed.”

The lady, with question marks beginning to appear above her head: “It was a terrible thing. The townspeople were very offended.”

Me, determined to smooth things over: “I think the whole nation was offended. This practice is becoming more and more common and we cannot allow it to continue.”

The lady, wondering why she had not heard about this rampant vandalization of shrines across the nation: “Well, the LDS Bishop who came down here was very nice. We had a town meeting and he offered sincere, heartfelt apologies.”

Me, in my mind: “WHAT? WHAT? WHAT? WHAT?"

The lady: “Yes, and another nice man from the LDS church came and offered to help repair the damage.

Me, wondering why a town meeting would be called in San Luis, Colorado because of a polygamist cult in Texas: “Those who practice this type of behavior are called Fundamentalists. The mainstream LDS Church excommunicates anyone who engages in this practice.”

The lady, somewhat shocked that an organization of vandals called Fundamentalists even existed: “That seems harsh. I think we should forgive them.”

Me: “Yes we should, but in the meantime women and children are being hurt and we need to think of them.”

The lady, unable to make heads or tails of this comment simply signed off: “We hope you enjoyed your visit to San Luis, and that you will visit us again. Goodbye!”

As we drove away, I tried sorting through the details of this conversation as my head spun in perplexity. Len salvaged my sanity by remembering the news story of the three missionaries and reminding me of it.

I’m afraid it was too late to save the sanity of the poor visitor’s center lady!