Here we go:

When I was about 7 years old I discovered in my grandmother's attic a 5 year diary that had belonged to my great aunt Maitie Schreiber, a woman who had died when I was only a year old. I was thrilled to read entries (some of them concerning adorable infant ME!) about events that took place in a world that existed prior to my own ability to remember it. I hounded my poor grandmother for snapshots and other information pertaining to the life of Aunt Maitie
and learned that she had been married, had given birth to a child who died in early infancy of a condition known at the time as "failure to thrive". (In fact, today this condition would be repaired fairly easily by surgically repairing the pyhloric valve that was not working, causing the poor little child to vomit up all nourishment before it could reach the stomach.) Grandma assured me that Aunt Maitie adored all children even more because of this horrible loss and that she particularly doted on me - her first great niece, playing pat-a-cake for hours, rocking me to sleep and singing lullabies until she was hoarse.

Anyway, the discovery of Aunt Maitie's diary inspired me to revise my Christmas list and request my very own 5-year diary. The ivory colored little book delivered by Santa came complete with a little gold key on a pink ribbon that could be worn around one's neck for safe keeping. I did have a sister who shared my room, although she never exhibited any interest whatsoever in my diary. As a matter of fact, she too had received a diary from Santa that year. Hers was green with a matching ribbon for the key. But Jeanie never wrote anything in her diary. I know because I checked - often.

I, on the other hand, faithfully filled in the few (inadequate) lines for each day with cramped and crowded little letters until the realization hit me that I could use an entire page for one day and the only drawback being that I would need to ask for a new diary for Christmas every year instead of every five. Thus began my career in journal-keeping - a practice that would last through high school, through my first real love affair, through a number of bachelorette apartments complete with wild and crazy (or dull and studious) roommates and even through the first (also wild and crazy) years of my marriage. The arrival of my three children (all boys and all between the years 1975-1979) put an end to most of my free time and I stopped keeping my journal. This blogging is like coming home with a vengeance!