We're having some remodeling done.
Lots of discarding and housecleaning is happening.
My journals covering 20+ years are (were) stored in boxes.
At certain points in my life, I wrote 2 pages a day in black ink on lined notebook paper.
Lots of the pages were written during my 30's, 40's, and beginning 50's.
I've been fluctuating about what to do with those stacks of notebooks.
I spent a bit of time over the past year randomly reading through them.
A few days ago, I spent hours destroying them.
Thoughts of my grandchildren finding them after I'm dead helped me decide.
At first, I fed the handwritten pages slowly into the shredder to determine if I would vacillate.
Hours later, the shredder was jammed and over-heated.
That's when the frenzy started!
I began hand-tearing and scissoring as fast as I could.
Finally - the job was finished!
I felt nothing but relief.
The next morning, when my son called, I mentioned an incident from his childhood
that I'd read during shredding.
His voice got a smile in it - he remembered the scene well - a happy memory.
So, I realized that though the journals are gone,
for those who matter, the memories remain.
Life goes on.
(That's One Good Thing)