One day during my morning writing in my (retired book) journal, The Charm of Fine Manners, I was intensely writing the words of my inner voice. My pen was flowing like skates on ice, and I was enjoying how words formed gracefully. Suddenly, there was a pause; I waited for my inner voice to return, forcing my “to-do-today” thoughts to stay way back in my conscious. “Hello,” I heard my inner voice say. I positioned my pen to continue writing. “Hello.” I heard it again. I jotted down the word Hello. I looked up, and thought, How unusual. I heard it again. “HELLO,” it said, but louder. “Yes, You, Grace. Hello.” I checked my surroundings, confirming I had not traveled into the Twilight Zone. Attentively, I noticed hair on my arm spiked upward like trees. I cursorily checked the doors, the windows, the closets, under the bed, the stove and refrigerator. I even checked the operation of my hearing aid. My search was fruitless.
I returned back to where I left my journal. I heard it again. It was coming from the journal itself. “It’s been a long journey,” it said. “It’s such a delight to get out of the Westly Attic. I thought for sure I would end up in the landfill.” Each word was slowly articulated, allowing me to fine turn my hearing to grasp this silvery voice. I responded nonchalantly, “You’re in luck. You are now my journal.” This is bizarre, I thought. I am talking to my journal.
The voice sighed, “Yes I am fortunate and grateful.”
A peculiar curiosity encouraged me to look at the first page of my journal, where a few page of the original book remained. The publishing date was 1907. While contemplating my journal’s life journey, I realized all it had passed through. Just a few dates, 1908: the invention of the electric washing machine; 1914: WW1; 1920; the hair dryer; 1929: The Great Depression; 1973: mobile phones; 1989: World Wide Web; 1993; the book The Giver, written by Lois Lowry.
So well-lived, my journal. What’s your journal’s story?