April 25, 1947

Cloudy turning awful cold.

Opal went up to Elizabeth’s. Mrs. Dobbs came down and ironed in the kitchen. She and I had a milk shake together. Pink came by and stayed awhile.

Original handwritten version of the diary entry for No. 5184 entry for today's month and date.
I’m thinking No. 5184 works for Elizabeth.

4 thoughts on “April 25, 1947

  1. What I wouldn’t give to sit in that kitchen with your dad and Mrs. Dobbs … I know you likely feel the exact same way, only a billion times more. Love that your dad kept this journal. Love that you are honoring him in this way. I feel strongly that bearing witness to one another is one of the most powerful things we can do. It’s why dogs turn around while they’re pooping to make sure we’re watching them! 🙂 (In my humble opinion, backed by 0 science. 🙂 You are holding this candle up to your dad’s life and shining the light on it, which is a beautiful gift to all of us. xoxoxo

    1. Thank you for reading! This isn’t my dad’s journal. It’s the diary of an unknown person, who lived somewhere in Kentucky I think. My cousin found the diary in a resale store in Kentucky years ago and sent it to me. This project will include entries from people I know–like my pop for sure, but I decided to stick with this one for the next few days or weeks. I love what you said about bearing witness. It gives me the nerve to share these random entries, though I know they may not interest everyone. But to me, they are beautiful and important. And fascinating!

  2. I love it when Pink stops by for a milkshake. My dear, whose diary are we sharing? Nobody has handwriting like this anymore. I look forward to tomorrow’s entry. Perhaps she’ll mention my birthday.

    1. Pink! It’s a mystery who this writer is. My cousin found the diary in a resale store in Kentucky years ago and sent it to me. This project will include entries from people i know, but I decided to stick with this one for the next few days or weeks. Whoever this is, I bet she’d make a really good cake for your birthday.

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