There was a time in my life when when I wanted to record things; thoughts, quotes, events, ridiculous goals, I knew exactly where my journal was and used its pages almost compulsively for this purpose. I have 8 books, each quite different, representing chapters of my existence in my own handwriting. I love each one.
Since moving back from Taiwan, I haven't found a journal I really like. I've started at least four, but each time I don't like the lines, or the gold leaf, or the binding, size, smoothness of page, etc etc, and they remain new smelling and unused. So my life has become pages in countless abandoned notebooks on shelves and in boxes. And the occasional blog post.
Having decided to try and reduce the number of things I own, I've been happily re-discovering trips and emotional dumpings and school days hidden but recorded in these forsaken books on their way to the recycling bin. And so I've decided to compile some of them here.
This is the only entry in one little black notebook I found tonight. Looks like it was written in the car.
"Valentines Day 2010--Zion's National Park
Perfect Sunday. Chilly morning, sun warming the sleepy air. Red dirt and oatmeal. And, thanks to Eric's clever sweetness, chocolate dunford donuts.
We left Friday afternoon--Eric had spent the morning doing laundry, cleaning the house, and preparing every last detail of the trip while I tried to change the world (or at least help 56 little worlds go a bit better) in my first grade classroom.
Spent the night in a cave at Green Valley Gap just outside of St. George. Brilliant blue and white stars and a cheap two man sleeping bag. Everything clear, warm, close.
Morning climb and hike. Ran into a kid from Archer's Apple (band we're playing with @ Kilby Court on Friday). Want a dog. Then to Snow Canyon. Blonde bowl cuts. No climbing book. 8 quickdraws. Need 12.
Hiked my first volcano. Met hispanic grandpa Cal. Drove to Zions. 1.1 mile long tunnel though sandstone cliffs. Contemplating relationship of man and rock.
Getting dark. Hungry. No campground. Desert chill. Found a place. Stove has three, not four prongs, so we have to hold the pot in place for 18 minutes as it bubbles. Cold tomato juice running down my fingers and ciabatta. Satisfaction. Falling asleep as close to him as I can. Warm.
Summary: I love Eric. I love beauty and rocks, smells and desert. I wish life were as simple and vast as it seems down here. I believe in God."
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