"I gathered eggs and fed the cow."

I mentioned to Dave that they were saving hair at the beauty salon to send to the Gulf to make mats to help soak up the oil. Weird and cool all at the same time. He said it was a significant historical detail that will get lost over time because all people ever write in their journals is "Rained today. Made a roast for dinner."

He cited the pioneer journals that we greedily scan for rich moments in their lives only to find the mundane day-to-day that makes us thankful for vacuums and dishwashers. It's the same with my dad's army letters. I've read them all and treasure them, but mostly they are queries about the crops back home and thoughts of how much he misses them. I'm sure he was so homesick that corn and beans and calving was all he wanted to think about. How was he to know he'd later have a daughter who wanted to hear stories about his pet monkey, or what it was like to sit in his ambulance, waiting for another load of desperately wounded men?

Most of my previous journals have been an outpouring of angst so melodramatically anguished that it makes me want to puke, and I wrote it, so since we've moved, I've been trying to refocus, note down details of the gardens and the wildlife. Although, I have to confess, I still note the temperature and rainfall amounts. But what will future generations want to read? What will interest them?

Should I write down how I feel about gay marriage, Sarah Palin, the war in Afghanistan? Or will anyone who finds my journal be more interested in the smaller picture? My little piece of the global puzzle?

Right now that's quilts, auctions, flowers and figuring out if Ruby Calvin really is the illegitimate daughter of Coco de Mer, but I'll try to keep my senses open for more than just wind velocity -- just in case.

And for the record: gay marriage -- "Why not?"; Sarah Palin -- "Please god, why?"; the war in Afghanistan; "Please just let them come home."