February so far, in a pictorial nutshell.
My first diary was a Peter Rabbit journal with a lock and key that I kept in first grade. I think I only managed to fill up about 15 pages of the 365 available. Flipping through it a few months ago I was appalled at my, shall we say, "creative spelling." But entries about the Tooth Fairy and staying the night at my grandparents still hold up.
As a teenager, I became a more regimented diarist, detailing each day's events in cramped, school-girl script. When I went away to college, I shifted from keeping a diary to writing daily emails home, a way to combat homesickness. And then there was the first awkward attempt at blogging my senior year, a Microsoft Frontpage document (cringe) that I updated daily and is mercifully no longer available on the internet. I remember vaguely writing about miniature marshmallows in cocoa and CD purchases that I will not now publicly admit.
It seems on a weekly basis that articles about THE DEATH OF BLOGGING pop up -- insert disaster sound effects. And while wonderful alternate forms of communication do rise to the surface, there's something about blogging that still seems comforting. I guess in a way, it doesn't feel so very different from that Peter Rabbit diary at the end of the day. Except I'm not reviewing episodes of "Jem and the Holograms." Or should I?
Just kidding. Sort of. Anyhow, February has included book sketches, a trip to Flight Coffee, watching episodes of Mr. and Mrs. Murder, sewing a baby quilt for a brand new nephew and reading The Thing With Feathers. And snow.
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