I was considering this afternoon what to write about, and started thinking about how hard it is to grasp what is interesting about you to other people. Or even to yourself at a later date.
Case in point, I recently re-acquired my old diary, thanks to a flood in my dad’s basement that forced me to sort through the shipwreck of memorabilia that my mom had salvaged for me. “Ooh!" I thought. “This is awesome! I’ll be able to see my deepest and most private thoughts from my childhood! I’ll have such an insight into my 8-year-old self! Maybe I’ll gain a better perspective on Present-Day Tristan!” It should be known that Present-Day Tristan is not a big “feelings girl.” I don’t talk about ‘em much, don’t think about ‘em much, don’t deal with ‘em much. Apparently, 8-year old Tristan was much the same. I seem to have treated my diary as more of a captain’s log than some sort of receptacle for my inner-most desires. I list everything. I have to imagine that my diary is the dullest child’s diary that one could ever encounter. Yet, because of that, it’s actually pretty hilarious. For your reading pleasure, here is an excerpt from the first day of a trip to visit my family in California.
All original spelling/grammatical/punctuation errors have been preserved.
5/13/89
Today we got up at 4:30 then we had breakfast. then we went to the airport.
While we were waiting we thought we saw George Bush’s daughter. When we got on the plane it wasn’t clear enough to take off. So we went down to first class were the lady we thought was George Bush’s daughter sat.
Mom said “Hello.”
She said “Hi”
Mom said “Are you the presidents daughter”?
“Yes”
“This is Tristan.”
We exchanged greetings.
“And I’m Julie Tanner.”
“My name is Doro Bush.”
“Are you going to D.C. to see your dad?”
“Yes, but then I’m going to South America.”
“Oh well, goodbye”
“Goodbye.”
Then we went to our seat and played “Snakes and ladders.”
Then breakfast came.
There was a danish, a sausage patty, a blitz, and coffee. That flight was two hours.
Then we got off to the next gate wich was gate “7”.
Then we ate another breakfast.
That was a danish, orange juice, a sausage patty, fruit, and coffee (if you wanted it).
After that we saw a movie, it was called Beaches.
Mom was crieing her eyes out.
When the movie was over we played more Snakes and ladders.
Then we played war.
Then it was time to land.
My ears were popping so bad,*
Then we landed.
I saw Aunt Alicia and Uncle Gary.
Then we went to their house.
*Here you can see that I have written, and then erased, “I cried.”
The complete disregard for the paragraph lends even more of an antiseptic air to the thing. It might as well have military times before each line. What a weird kid! The only thing that even resembles a feeling, I erased! In my diary! That only I would be reading. Well, take that, young Tristan! Grown Tristan is publishing it in a BLOG! On the INTERNET! Now everyone will know that you cried when you were 8 because your ears were popping. Ha HA! Of course even that crying was from pain, not being overwhelmed by any emotion.
The only time in the entire diary that I mention an emotion is 11 days later, when the family went to Disneyland. Following is an excerpt from 5/24/89:
On the way, we stopped at Nougles to get egg burritos, coffee and Orange juice.
The man said they ran out of orange juice.
Em and I were disappointed.
But, the man gave us each a free ice cream cone!
Em and I were very happy.
There you have it. No orange juice disappoints me. Free ice cream makes me happy. Nay, very happy.
I then go on to list EVERY ride that we went on at Disneyland. In order. Including the ones we went on again. It takes up three pages. I recall that I achieved this by carrying a park map around with me all day and writing a number next to each ride we went on. I obviously thought this was very important to remember. Thank goodness I will always know that I went on the Submarine Voyage and then the Teacups, and not the other way around.
So, please pardon my mess while I figure out blogs. I am fighting a natural life-long inclination to tell you everything I ate for lunch today.
(Me and Emilie at Disneyland, circa 1983.)
3 comments:
You neglected to mention that you and Emily took that picture with me.
Wow. wow. wow. Your blogs are very funny cous, I'd love to say that with all kinds of insight into 8 year old tristan but emotion wise all I remember that I was overemotional and one day you went to the record player to play "big girls don't cry" to make me feel better. Or maybe just to make me stop. hmmmm
now I want to go find little sarahs diarys.....
you know, looking back on the journal of Door County that i need to copy for you...You were the one who documented the order everyone sat in the car for EVERY leg of the journey...aditionally...I'm guessing that your seat on the plane was your typical in the back, by a window, on the pilot's side. :)
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