A quiet moment of journals and cats

As I type, the wind and rain beat against the house. I don't know when I will post this but it is Sunday April 26th. Moxie's pure on my writing table and the burble of the cats water fountain waterer ground me against the spring gale outside. I was writing in my journal but Moxie has decided to help. So I decided to work on this instead.

Whe came over earlier and I took a break already.

Then we reached a compromise.

Then I got to the bottom of the page and she shifted her position  and she just restocked her legs underneath her so it's going to be a while but her purr is so soothing and we are all enjoying the quiet moment. 

I love Tutu, I really do. Maxwell however cant cope with her and so I do most of my writing in bed before going to sleep or in the family room while Andrew watches tv or reads himself. The writing table (a story in itself) is bare of all of the things I usually keep on it as the guest room is being maintained to be quarantine ready.

I had already taken some pictures before Moxie's idea to insert herself literally into my journaling. 

The journal on the left I got at Winterfair in 2019 about an amazing artist in Kentucky and I'll include a link. Handmade and sumptuous with thick cream paper inward saving it. Then right before Andrew and I went to Napa Valley last fall (and boy doesn't that seem like a lifetime ago) I got to the end of my previous journal and I didn't want a bulky one to take on the plane because let me tell you I dont put my journal in the suitcase. My journal rides with me. Plus I can get a lot of writing done on the plane.

So this journal whoops here comes tutu 

That's a live action shot folks.

So I guess I'll be picking up this blog and my journal later.

Where was I? Now I'm on the back patio area at our table with Tutu lounging in a light jacket in the grass. About a half dozen red winged blackbirds just danced through on a territory skirmish and now it's quiet again. I have the sheets drying on the line and am going to wrap this up before lunch and then working in the herb garden. Anyway, the handmade leather journal with the tree on it lasted me about 8 months, a record I think in how long it took me to get through a journal. Partially because it is probably slightly less pages than the average, but also, because after the New Year I made a commitment to writing in my journal every day, no matter how short an entry. The blue journal is my choice as last week I finished the brown journal. For once, I think in my life, I was genuinely unsure of which journal to go to next. I have a batch of journals in waiting so to speak, gathered here and there. Whenever I see a journal I like I try to pick it up so I have a wide range of choice. Some journal-ers have a beloved cover, and just replace with refills. I am not one of those people. For me a journal captures a moment of time in my life, an era, and each era is represented in pat physically by the journal I gravitated to at the time. I do have a style of journal that I like so much that i have more than one in the mix, but so far I've never wanted to use them back to back, I vary between lined and unlined, soft and hard cover, leather and some other material, solid colors or prints, plain leather and engraved leather, I have examples of them all. I think my rare confusion over which journal would be my next one is a sign of the times. I didn't want to commit to to thick of a journal (completely irrational) and I didn't want one of my floral prints or pastel journals (too happy maybe?) A friend acted as an artistic consultant over google hangouts to help me choose from three finalists. We agreed on this blue journal, I think my second most expensive one. I remember coveting it for months at Barnes and Nobel and finally breaking down and getting it, saving it for...something. When? This moment? It has thick cream pages, lines, and a cream ribbon marker. The writing at the back clinched it. I mean if there was ever a time for me to use this kind of paper I guess it's now? I'm no memoir writer and I don't expect anyone to read these journals. I wonder idly at times, that some poor person after I die or become to ill to write, will have to do something with all of these books. Maybe I should have relatives burn them in a bonfire in my honor? Maybe someone will just throw them out in bafflement and sadness when I am in a place beyond caring about it? It's so abstract to me now. I'm certainly not going to stop journaling to save some unknown person in the future a passing hassle. I'm not Queen Elizabeth who journals everyday. These books aren't for posterity or for aliens to read to learn about our life here (unless they are in the market for completely mundane average joe life.) So I'm about 20 pages unto this journal. It took a while to find the right pen (different journals require different pen styles and colors) right now I'm sticking with the trusty uniball pilot plain old blue. I've been known to use pink, green, sky blue but never black or red. Well, I'm sure this is more than anyone God help them, every wanted to know about my journaling. I hope you enjoyed the pet pictures! Oh the red one? I just started that one for these little poems I've been coming up with in my head. I've not written poetry since high school, but lately these short haiku-ish lines have been coming to mind. I've been sending them to a friend and writing them in my journal but thought maybe I should have a separate gathering place for them. Until next time, J.