My daughter bought this large journal for me on a class trip to the Vancouver Art Gallery. It has great paper, no lines, no coil binding. Perfect. Even a bit daunting. She gave it to me as a Christmas present, but I felt I needed to finish the one I was using.
On my birthday, I opened it up, and I'm enjoying the new relationship. I have been journalling since I read Harriet the Spy when I was 8.
I sure enjoy the type of journalling I get to do in this blog. I like to feel that others are maybe reading it and I'm part of the community I so admire.
But there are fears and hopes that are too personal (yet?). We have always had a big rule that you don't read another's journal. D is too snoopy, so I have to hide it sometimes.
I shall try to write more poetry because it is a sorely neglected part of my self. I don't have to post it, but I need to squeeze it out.
I knew I would have a bit of a number struggle to make the 100 stitches of the front of the Braided Blues (nephew#4) sweater up to 173. Managed OK. Now start the cabling. No, start again. Why are there 4 stitches here? If I pick up in these two spots, will I be over? No?
Emily made this little guy for the back of my birthday card. Hopefully I have learned to not say it outloud.
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