My mom is the queen of jotting notes on scrap paper.
She was searching for something she had written about a dream she’d had, among a million things she has written and saved, for hers is a poetic heart, easily inspired by everyone and everything around her. She opened the drawer of her desk and began to search for that certain thing she wanted me to see.
As she rifled through saved momentos, cards, letters, photographs and her most treasured keepsakes, she was lamenting how vexed my dad is for her to keep it all, but she was telling me how each thing she has touches her heart and means so much to her.
“I probably keep too many things,” she mused as I smiled at the stacks of copies of articles or funny emails, pieces of paper scribbled with her handwritings, no value on the open market, but oh-so important to her. As I waited, she explained,
“But I just want a copy of life!”
I love her. I love reading all her little writings, too. Her blog is on paper in a very special drawer.