I never really know
what I'm going to write, when I write. I think I do better when I have a
black-ink Bic pen in hand, and a composition book open before me. Then I can't
make my hand stop. I write whatever comes to mind. Very
'butter-coming-from-my-pen' feel.
I think I must have over a dozen of those marble-speckled composition books by now. I'd use them for school, but also as a journal. So, essentially, my journal entries (or diary musings) are all mixed together with notes from writing class peer-reviews, academic lectures, and French conjugations. I never mean for that to happen, but it just does. My family will be in for a surprise one day, should I leave this earthly plain too soon, and they have to go through my stuff.
I know what my folk’s stance would be on that; my Mah wouldn't have wanted to violate my privacy, despite the fact she would’ve been curious what I wrote about. I know I wouldn't be positioned to care, so I’d’ve thought, 'Go for it, Mah.'
But, as saddening as it is, she was meant to go first. And, likely in a realm to already know everything. The long-held question about the Loch Ness Monster would’ve been answered, along with sharing a glass of Scotch whiskey with her fifth-great-uncle, Robert ‘Rabbie’ Burns.
I think I must have over a dozen of those marble-speckled composition books by now. I'd use them for school, but also as a journal. So, essentially, my journal entries (or diary musings) are all mixed together with notes from writing class peer-reviews, academic lectures, and French conjugations. I never mean for that to happen, but it just does. My family will be in for a surprise one day, should I leave this earthly plain too soon, and they have to go through my stuff.
I know what my folk’s stance would be on that; my Mah wouldn't have wanted to violate my privacy, despite the fact she would’ve been curious what I wrote about. I know I wouldn't be positioned to care, so I’d’ve thought, 'Go for it, Mah.'
But, as saddening as it is, she was meant to go first. And, likely in a realm to already know everything. The long-held question about the Loch Ness Monster would’ve been answered, along with sharing a glass of Scotch whiskey with her fifth-great-uncle, Robert ‘Rabbie’ Burns.
My Da, on the other hand, would likely stack the journals on his desk. Then he'd pile office papers on top of them, forgetting them for a time. Once he was through 'being busy' from not being able to sit still, he'd start reading them, because he can be a nosey-parker.
I'd like to hope that my flash-drives, full of other writings, would be safe. I'll have to be sure to put in a Last Will & Testament that they won't be TOUCHED by Da's friend, D.W. (the same guy that wiped out the pricey MS Word program I paid for on my folk's computer. Knowing him, he'd likely wipe away—accidently, I think—any record of my manuscript. So, I'm gonna need to find a geek I can trust.)
Maybe I'll bequeath my flash-drives to my Bestie, Mai-Tai. She's been my soul-sister-writer, morbid-humor confederate, and tech-advisor of all that is British. She's kept me from writing like I don't know my ass-from-my-elbow. We've known one another nearly 20 years; shared emails, snail-mails, phone-chats that went on for hours, and I'm honored to be able to call her kids my 'adopted' nieces and nephews. And, like one of my heroines, writer Helene Hanff, I've never had the opportunity to actually meet my Brit-bestie.
England once held only as much meaning to me as the 80’s pop-bands that came from it. Later, it became the place to want to go, merely out of interest. But for some time now, it's held dear friends that I likely won't see for many years, yet. (Affording a trip across the pond can only be had via a winning lottery ticket, or a stock-broker willing to divulge great investing info) When William and Kate married, I'd searched through the storage unit (that is my disgusting garage) for my Union Jack flag, and posted it proudly in their honor, and mine, (I’m 1/8th English) despite the fact that my Britstie isn't exactly a Royalist. She said she doesn't understand the Yanks fascination with the Royals. I told her it's because we have no royalty here, though, many feel the closest we've got are the Kennedys.
(But even on Prince Harry's worst day, he's behaved better than most Kennedys!)
