Scripta Manent, Verba Volant

I began journaling years ago…. I’ve carried a journal in my backpack.  Began writing to the kids before either were born…  Written my grandfather a couple of letters before he passed away.  There are times in my life when I wanted to capture my own words… I have stumbled upon them at times… took time to reflect on my thoughts and grateful that I had written them down.  I asked one of the greatest men I’ve ever known why he never took the time to put his life’s thoughts to pen and paper…. my grandfather. “Pop” had verbalized details of 80 years… I strain often to hear his voice, but have nothing from his pen.  Although his memory remains in the hearts and minds of  many, it is, however, undocumented.  Years ago, I wrote a letter to former President George H.W. Bush, asking him to handwrite a letter of thanks to Pop.  To my surprise, in a matter of weeks, the letter found its way.  I will never forget that day and the power of the written word as the President of the United States thanked my humble grandfather for his military service and dedication to the country.

I come here often… initially, I gathered my thoughts to keep locked away inside my pages, laptop, etc…  The words were for me…  Previously, however, my life has changed… my daily access to the kids….  their tender hearts having to discern truth and unnecessary emotional tactics from others… I kept my words hidden for months and I began typing; Yet, I quickly realized that Baker and Annabelle could access my thoughts from any place they happen to be.  I’ve posted pictures of our excursions..memories…. my words….  If they ever want to venture down the road we’ve traveled… it’s written here.  These words… this site…. The journals I began years ago will remain private until they are adults… for now, this will suffice…. 

As I write… as I journey… as I sweep my “dreamcatcher” in the morning, I’ve determined the tremendous benefit of communicating all that I feel and giving all that I am…  I’m not interested in scratching the surface… meaningless words… fruitless sentences…aimless affection….  I want to outline my own eulogy, so I have something for which to strive… I don’t have time for many….  have no need of casual relationships… Regardless of the object, or target, of my words, the letters I write, or the journal that I share…. I want to be clear… honest… direct…. The armor is gone.  The days behind me are more than likely greater than those before me…

I want to finish well……….

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