Time to Write it Down...

Blimey.. new Blogger has finally caught up with me and it certainly is super-smooth. I'm impressed. Not so impressed with my lack of dedication to writing though.. and I don't know if I'll get it back, but it's worth a try.

   Summer, such as it was, has been and gone in Brighton. This year we had torrential rain just like everyone else, and then a lovely few weeks in August. So, I'm suntanned and look as if I've been somewhere hot - but no such luck. Only the Skate Park, the Paddling Pool and the beach, and we had lots of picnics. That doesn't sound too bad, does it?

   What have I got to write about? Well, I'm getting together all my family history stuff: old diaries, photographs and anything I can find to put into an autobiography - which sounds a rather grand title for what I have in mind. It's something I have been wanting to do for quite a while, and this year it seemed to me that I'd better get a move on. After all, we don't live forever, though we might like to think we do! Talking to my sister about this has thrown up some surprises too, because she remembers so much more stuff than I do, and she remembers things differently too, which just shows that every memory is personal and seen from a different point of view. Sadly, my Sister is the only person left that I can compare notes with: our parents and grandparents, aunts, uncles etc are all long gone - and they've left behind scant details: only the odd scrap of paper or faded photograph. But, strangely, no letters or other pieces of writing. This is odd, especially considering that they all wrote letters, cards and notes to each other all the time, principally because that was the only means of communication. We did have a telephone, but very rarely used it (and my Grandmother - my Father's mother - was so suspicious of any new technology that she simply wouldn't use the phone). It's even odder to me since I have always written things down. I've kept old poems, dreadful short stories and other bits and pieces that I wrote many years ago; in fact the only things I did throw away were old love letters and poems written to and for me. And I really wish I hadn't done that now...

    Anyway, that's my preoccupation at the moment. So I'm surrounded by boxes and envelopes full of old photos and I'm sorting through old files, letters, diaries and notebooks. It's probably going to take me ages, but I have this urgent desire to leave something tangible for my children (and grandchildren) to read and relate to, so that they will know where I came from and where they have come from. A bit of family history will at least be some kind of record, albeit from my point of view. I'll let you know how it goes.