Dear Diary

I have kept diaries at various points of my life and every once in a while, I pick them up and read through my entries. Usually a painful experience since most of the the writing, especially in my late teens, was all about boys, boys, boys, blah, blah, blah. I am so glad those days of endless angst are over.

I am especially fond of the very first diary I ever had--a small, red hard bound book with one lined page for each day of the week. The diary, written when I was probably nine or ten, is largely a chronicle of my crush on Becky Dietz, my best friend from camp, who was coming to visit me for a weekend in the city. That past summer, we had sawed a silver dollar in half and made matching necklaces for ourselves as a symbol of our eternal friendship. How I wish I had that necklace now! Becky was from Trenton, New Jersey and every time I take the train to NYC and pass over the bridge--Trenton Makes, the World Takes--I think of Becky, tall and thin and athletic with lots of adorable freckles sprinkled over her nose and cheeks.