I hope I can write more. Mormon women write. This is what we do, we write for posterity, noting the daily happenings of our lives. For Memorial Day yesterday we went up to Roy and put some flowers on the grave of Great-Grandmother and Grandpa Baker and Monet came with us. She called Mom and Dad and they met us up there. Then we went to Warren's drive in and had Brown Toppers! Then Monet and her girls, along with Ben and I with our boys went to Crystal Hot Springs. Marilee came after a while and brought Casey and Candy but Mom and Dad took Sheri's kids to the museum at the air force base instead. Morgen and Max went on the slides while Ben and I stayed with Markus in the hot pool. Markus didn't like the salty water very much. On the way home we stopped at Taco Bell and got some gas at Flying J for $64! I can't believe gas costs so much.
Keeping a journal is keeping a record. And I have hundreds of them, hundreds of journals filled with feathers, flowers, photographs, and words. Without locks, open on my shelves. I have more journals still with field notes from Canada to Mexico, to days spent at the rink, to time shared among family. Day planners with calendars, shopping lists, and accounting budgets are strewn across my table. I cannot think without a pen in hand. If I don't write it down, it doesn't exist. My mom knows this about me. She also knew and understood the Mormon promptings to keep a record. In our possession, passed down from mother to daughter, we have two books written by our fore bearers. I take personal pride in a poem written by my great-grandmother, who chastises her husband who was " sometimes quite sour and hard to get along with."
Love,
B