Love strokes...

Bedtime: Monday, 1/12/2026 = 5

How do you feel, my love?

Disturbed, by what is happening in the country, in the world. 

Authoritarianism -- "We're always right (and righteous); and if you disagree with us, you are a traitor." "Our motives are good; yours are evil." "We have the truth; you are brainwashed." 

Thing is, if someone accused me of such, I would cower. 

But I wouldn't have to. 

Nor would I have to attack.

I can take the statements apart with neutrality...

Thus began my journaling with ink and paper last night. Strokes -- shorthand, cursive, italic -- across lined pages. Black ink on white paper. 

This journal is old-school. The cardboard cover is black, dappled with sprinkled white spots, and bound with a black-tape binding. The front cover is titled "Composition Book" published by Penway. Printed on the front inside cover is a nine-lined, Monday through Friday grid. At the top of the grid is a title, "CLASS SCHEDULE." 

Printed across each 9.75x7.6-inch page are 25 horizontal blue lines on which to write and a red vertical line on the left side delineating a margin. There are 100 sheets of paper in the journal, totaling 200 pages of the journal. I number each page. Next page up? Number 100, a century of days. Haha. I began this particular journal on 10/27/25. 

Printed on the back inside cover are a variety of small grids that contain a variety of information, mainly conversion tables. And a multiplication table; I hadn't seen one of those in a while. Printed at the top, "USEFUL INFORMATION." 

On Christmas Day, 2025, my nineteen-month-old granddaughter came knocking on my closed bedroom door calling, "Meemaw. Meemaw." Hubby, who was with Granddaughter on her side of the door, opened the door to let her in with him following. He plopped her up on the king-size mattress and spotted her as she roamed around like a little lion cub, curious and delighted. I set aside my cushioned lap-desk and pen and journal. We then played kisses and peek-a-boo, and we giggled. 

She picked up my ballpoint pen and pushed the button. Oh boy, a button!!! 

I instruct her, "That is Meemaw's pen. It is a tool; it's not a toy." 

She looks at me like she is saying, "Okay. I know what a tool is." 

Son has been remodeling their home for sixish months and is still in process. Granddaughter has heard him say "tool" often, explaining that they aren't play toys. 

I show Granddaughter my journal, "This is Meemaw's journal where I write my thoughts." She seems curious. I show her how I use the pen to draw and write. I draw a picture of her and print her name under the picture. Then I hand her the journal.

She turns the pages and studies some of them...

Using the pen, she draws scribblies across some of the pages...

Love strokes...