A mother left her small son in my charge while she went to get her tea, and for the first time in my life I looked after a small boy to see that he did not drown himself in the sea, of which he seemed to be very fond. I was not sorry when his mother returned.” (Monday, July 23, 1945)
orite…

so glad to see you back!

Sassymonkey, I just finished it today on the train and reading the epilogue made me want to weep — every one of the diarists became someone I felt very fond of. I’d recommend it highly.

herschelian — Thank you for that terrific link! I’ll go check it out. And you’re right, some blogs, particularly the ones that chronicle everyday life for the writer, are indeed like the mass observation project. What’s interesting too, is to think about what made the editor of this compilation choose these five people — it wasn’t just that they represent different “types” but much more because of the way they wrote about their lives.

Thank you Patry. I love looking at that tree and when the house is quiet, it’s quite nice sitting there. I should take a photograph of what it looks like when there are a million board games and a battle for world domination going on while I’m trying to write.

Of course, in a way the blog world is a form of modern mass observation.

I have often had a similar reaction to such journals that capture not only the everyday, but the grammar of the everyday at that particular time and place… a hint of the spirit of the times.

This is a little like those photographers who make images of the mundane all around them, and in a decade or three, we discover (and perhaps they do too), that it was not just mundane, but specific to our humanness.

In Vancouver here, there was a recent show by a photographer who took photos of the streets and shops and buildings of Vancouver in the 1950s. There is a glimpse of a bygone era. What must have seemed like mere snapshots then, are gifted by time to us with a heightened sense of their meaning; a meaning that is actually present now for us if we only had the eyes to see.

And I really like your mysterious impulse of documenting for us where you write!

Regards

Litlove, I’m going to try to be “tender and generous” next time my boys get into a big brawl over who gets the last brownie at dinner. Wish me luck!

Lucky you, Reed, to have been able to read the earlier ones too. I would like to read more of these — as I said, their voices are in my head as I go about my day, but they’re hard to get in the US.

Hello Ms. Charlotte — That laptop moves around. (It’s in bed witih me this morning, as a matter of fact.) But our dining room table is in the center of most activity I need to monitor.

Dear Ann, I was unable to resist reading the epilogue of Our Hidden Lives, because I wanted to make sure everyone lived pretty much happily ever after and saw that people continue to log these accounts. I wish someone would make what’s been done available online. It’s good to know the past, and the more ways there are to make it accessible, the better.

Sulz, That made me laugh. There are rooms in our house –and surfaces — that certainly answer to that very description!

That’s a very interesting observation Lucette. The diaries I kept through college were essential a record of my not very interesting, fairly whiny, interior self. The only parts that have any value to me now are the bits where I actually described the weather,or walks I took. It never occurred to me to describe people other than myself (unless it was in reference to myself). But now I think I’d be better at it, having read enough really good diaries to know what I prefer to read, which is always a pretty good guide to what you should write.

i wish my blogging spot is as lovely as yours. may be i could be more inspired to blog better!

Thanks for the picture. I love the big wooden table and chairs.

I like the view into your life. Does that laptop move around or is that its favourite place to be? Mine moves around the house with me (a bit sad really) depending on what time of day it is.