This little corner of the basement has been calling my name for a while. The warmth of the table, the wispy white curtains filtering morning light, the plant. A serene combination which invites daydreams, creative work, and even rest. Certain spaces draw us in, and for once, I am happy to know this one is just a few steps away from my bedroom door.
I began thinking last week about the little things that I do each day. The moments that don’t really seem to be a big deal, but in reality, these little moments make up our entire day. And over time, our life. I started a blog because I missed writing. I used to write in my journal as a kid and a young adult. I wrote about literally everything that happened throughout the day. Eventually, I destroyed all of these journals because I was pretty embarrassed by the silly things that went through my head and onto paper with ink. I wish I hadn’t, because I would love to go back and see what happened each day of my life. Anyway, I was thinking about this as I was using a wire brush to clean the brick on a house I was working on. Thinking about the probability that my great great great grandchildren will never know these details of my life, because they never seemed worthy enough to write about. After all, who really cares about the day I cleaned brick on a house? Probably no one, but maybe it would be one of those details that someone found fascinating — I did it to make money so that I could eventually save enough to buy a house.
I have been going through the interview recordings of my family, transcribing them to put in a book of family history. When I ask people their memories about different events in their life, the first thing they think of isn’t something as small as cleaning brick one day. But, sometimes I wish I knew these details of other times in their lives that maybe weren’t important, but still made up a moment in time in their life.
I think I need to start a journal again.