The Scribbles on the Walls

I spend part of the morning writing a few paragraphs in my diary, much like my uncle and grandfather did. They wrote about the weather, the price of pigs at market, who visited and what work was done that day. I write about the weather, sleep, and whatever negativity or problems I'm carrying, of which there has been much. Lately, perhaps less so.One habit I like is reviewing past entries from the same day a year or twelve years prior. Sometimes these entries have pictures, often of where we lived and worked. Today featured a picture of my makeshift office on the enclosed balcony, surrounded by plants, and the escape ladder. Our apartment in the science park was chaotic. Yellow and red painted walls, Montessori-style paint in the bedrooms, children's books lining the walls on shelves, and everywhere art and photos filling the spaces between. The kids produced an astonishing amount of scribbles and colour, and I often joined in. We had a small collection of their finished works too. Add…