Journaling: Moods and Memories

Journaling brings out unexpected memories and feelings. It brings out different sides of me. Sometimes I surprise myself, especially when a page comes out better than I expected. Sometimes it is ugly and I make mistakes and I am learning to feel okay about it. Sometimes I use dark dreary colors and let out anger or fatigue.

Today, I surprised myself and let out my girly side. I used a little fashion figure, some pink, some lacy looking stamped teabag scraps and wrote with a pink marker. I have an aversion to cutsie artwork. Somehow it seems amateurish, makes me feel like the artist--especially if it is me--doesn't have much depth. (I love the tiny house images, by Debrina Pratt, and sold as collage sheets. I printed out minis of them when I was trying to get an idea of how to do a house-shaped ATC last winter.)

The other day I randomly chose some images and made a page after work. I used a drawing of a bicycle as the central image. Maybe it was that it was a crisp fall-ish day, but I remembered a moment in time right before I turned eight. A family friend asked what I would like for my birthday, so I said "a bike!" My parents told my I shouldn't have said that to "uncle Bob" but I couldn't understand why, after all, it WAS what I dreamed of.

So, on my birthday, there was a bright blue bike, compliments of "uncle Bob." I was thrilled. Rode it for years. Rode it to the playground, to the pool, the creek, to my friends' houses. When I went off to college in the fall of 1973, my mom rode it around the neighborhood to get exercise.

The bike also triggered a memory of my friend Susan's grandmother. When we went to visit her (back in my single days, many years ago) the seniors in her  community were riding around in giant tricycles with baskets, going to and from the market, or to and from exercise class. I thought it was a great way to grow old. So, I scribbled the memory on an piece of paper and clipped it to the page.

I recently had to endure my first deposition--it was nerve-wracking and intense. When I came home I made a journal from randomly chosen photos. I ended up subconsciously picking patterns and items for the home, and the page became about home being where you are, with the people you love, rather than being about a big home and possessions.

The central focus is a tiny house, which reminded me of a quilted "Madeline" toy house I bought for my daughter when she was little. It symbolizes the small apartment we now live in, which, although cramped, is a happy, comfortable home.

The page also became about what lasts over eternity, which I don't know--since I am still alive--but hope is love and feelings of kindness, generosity, and understanding.