Ink on Paper

          Writing has been a passion of mine for years. For as long as I can remember, back to when I first spelled my name! I got my first diary when I was 7 and haven’t stopped writing since. Lately, however, I have found myself in front of my computer, writing more with the tap-tap-tapping of my fingers on the keys. I’ve missed the feel of a book in my hands. A book that I am writing for myself. My journals.

I have a box FULL of diaries and journals, dating from 1990 until now, and even though some of the pages are filled with the most embarrassing moments of my life, they are also filled with the best of memories.

          As a 10-year-old, I wrote about the birth of my little sister, Leah. How she looked like a little, china doll with the pink bow in her black hair in the nursery at the hospital. How perfect she was, in every way.

          When I was 13, I wrote about the birth of my baby sister, Joanna. There’s a joke in those pages about her amazing lung capacity, and how she would be a phenomenal singer one day. She could be heard from the end of the hall, where our mom’s room was in the hospital, coming from the nursery.

          I wrote about growing up with my brother, Jacob. He’s the oldest, and only boy in the family. Growing up, before the sisters came into the family, I was just one of “the boys” along with him and his buddies. We wrestled, raced, played tag, cops and robbers, went on hikes for HOURS, and just lived in each moment, fully! And, I wrote about it all.

          There’s something about putting the pen to paper. It’s a form of therapy for me. The feel of the book in my hands, and the pen forming my own stories about adventures and fun. I wrote about the funny moments; the peaceful moments; the hectic moments; the breathtaking moments; and the moments of great pain and/or sorrow.

          Recently, the use of my computer has been convenient for speedy writing and accuracy. Blogging is a lot like journaling, and that is one reason I enjoy it so much. I seem to be on my computer more often lately, doing online college courses and whatnot. When I think of something to write, I just open a new Word document and start typing away. But, as a lover of writing, I believe nothing compares to the feeling of words flowing, raw and unedited, from the hand that holds a pen.

          I opened my favorite journal the other day, and saw the last page I had written on, the date I wrote there, and cringed. It had been a month! That’s a HUGE jump in time for me, and I felt the loss. I opened my fountain pen and began writing a new page. Gosh, it was wonderful!

         

         I wrote about my day, and a few days that stood out since the last page was written. I wrote about the flower garden I have been spending so much time in. I wrote about the latest funnies from my boys. I wrote freely until my wrist hurt! I closed the leather-bound journal and smiled. My stress from the day was forgotten while I expressed emotions on paper, and when I set the journal aside on my bed I was able to take a deep breath and continue my day effectively.

Sometimes it does a person’s mind good to step away from the fast-paced, daily functions in life. Read a book, not online, a hard copy book. Put together a jigsaw puzzle. Write an entry in a journal, or just jot down some notes on a sheet of paper. Take pictures, with an actual camera, of flowers, buildings, your children or pets. Put a CD in the radio and listen to it while re-arranging something in a room in the house. Throw darts. Make a piece of jewelry. Go outside and sweep the front or back porch/deck, and dance with the broom! The options are limitless for the simple things… the things that take just a little time away from “it all” and let your mind rest from all the cares of the adulting world. I do all these things at one point or another. But, for me, nothing compares to ink on paper.