I've been thinking of late about the value of keeping a diary. Not a "woe is me" diary of embarrassing angst (that you will watch burn into ashes one day when the angst is just a humiliating event of your past and no one must ever know a la the teen years) but a diary of day-to-day events.
At times, I've done this, though not religiously.
I have one entry in a book (90% empty, fyi) where it says I'm in bed writing, and the three cats, Boy Kitty, Girl Kitty and Mirrie are there. Mirrie was a stray, considered an imposter by the "Kitties" I'm sure. They never got on, so this image is clearly a (rare) blissful moment. When I first found the diary years later, I remembered it. Boy Kitty, Girl Kitty and Mirrie, all three of them lying on the bed (note with significant distance between them) while I'm writing away on the laptop.
Cats are the best.
RIP you three.
I am thinking about this now because I met a woman recently, having a huge property dispute with an ex partner. He denied they had ever lived together, because she was claiming her legal share of property.
She remembered an article being written about him years earlier, that it was published in a local paper, and there was a photograph of them in their house. It was proof, she hoped, that they had lived together because all these years on, there was little proof at all. It was quite a crazy story, but she needed this photograph - whenever it was. Yet none of the possible newspapers it could have been in are digitised. There's no way of finding out which issue it was in, beyond a vague memory of a year and a newspaper. The only way to find the pic, will be to go through issue after issue of newspapers she think it might be in, and it will take hours and hours and hours. It''ll be worth it in the end if she gets her share of the property, but boy, talk about time consuming. Not to mention how it is a dispute gets to the stage where she has to have real proof she lived there, when it happened over ten years ago.
If only she'd kept some kind of day to day diary, I was thinking, because a reporter coming around and interviewing you would surely be something you would put in there, amidst the mundane.
If only, and then she'd have a day or even a month to work with. If only...
Maybe my dad's idea, an exercise book in the kitchen where you can just take a few minutes to write down things every day, is the easiest. Just the random stuff of life, the stuff that doesn't seem important. That isn't too personal it ends up in a fiery heap one day.
My sister's here for a few days, Mum rang and Aunty Bonnie is in hospital, the car failed its warrant of fitness, and the cat has found a new place, sleeping on the floor.
At the least, it might be good for a laugh for the fam, when I'm long gone!
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