Nicholas Sparks' "The Notebook"... and why I journal...

Memories.
Treasured thoughts.
Trying times.
The joy of havnig survived adversity.
The passing down of family stories- both funny and poignant.
Mountain peak experiences... or even the plateaus of everyday life.
To keep them or not?

Well. I've said it before- and I'll say it again. It's in my genetic make-up to hang on to stuff. My granadparents did, their parents did-- and further back. I know this because I live with some of their "stuff". Not only did I get my mouth shape from Great-Grandma Katie- I think I got her overwhelming urge to document trifling things and somehow or 'nother -preserve them for later on. I have access to a great many of her pieces of furniture- which have all kinds of little hand-written notes about the bric-a-brac in the cabinets. When I handle these same little trinkets and the notes that she made- I feel at "home" with her-- even though I never knew her. Now, don't get me wrong-- I don't think I necessarily need baubles or treasures to make me feel that way. I think it's in the notes... or maybe the genes.

When Granddaddy died- and left Grandmother all alone with her Althzeimers- there wasn't any reason not to go through her personal belongings. Granddaddy had been really persnickety about us rifling through the house- except when he'd rifled through it and found something he felt was of significance and would show it... which always piqued my interest in seeing what ELSE there was... and let me just say! There was a huge houseful (and several barns) of stuff. Back to my rummaging-- I found the letters that G-dad had written to G-mom before they were married.

I was THRILLED! My parents not so. Not that there was anything wrong or indecent about the content.. but, because it was like reading a private diary. For me- to read these letters which included the daily grind kind of news as well as his hopes and dreams for their future together- made me appreciate just how very much he had loved her from the beginning all the way to the end- when he asked me if I would "take care of her" the morning he was dying.

My g-parents were married for over 60 years. I now know that they started out their realtionship as giddy romantics- as fresh as crocuses in Springtime. It didn't embarrass me to read of their wishes for happiness. Rather, it completed what I already knew of them. I have always assumed that they started out that way-- I knew that they had suffered through the lean times, struggled through the daily emotions, lived apart while she was in school, learned to tolerate their vast differences of opinions and food tastes- and yet, still deeply loved one another. Reading their hopes for their future from the beginning of their relationship and knowing that at the end- it was still as solid as when it began- provides a more complete understanding.

Watching Nicholas Sparks' "The Notebook" last night- brought so much of those emotions back. I know that my G-daddy loved G-mother just that much. I sobbed for them. I cried for myself- for having witnessed that kind of love and later by reading the letters. There won't be letters for my grandkids to rifle through- because at the time- I wasn't writting much and dh has rarely written. But there may be a notebook. And, though our relationship has it's times when I certainly wouldn't use the word "love" to describe it... it is. It's not romantic. It's not giddy. It's not necessarily something to write home about. It's just immutable and omnipresent... characteristics that can only come from someone who loved us more. Which is the same thing that my grandparents had and probably their parents before them-- and ultimately always returns full circle to our God the Father-- who issued it first.

Now, I consider writting our own history. Who knows-- maybe Byron will have to read it to me and hope that I, too- will remember!