Susan Valyi

Lost and found

To some extent this is about getting older. A time when you can start to forget if you took your pills or not. You can’t for the life of you find where you stored the hand blender. You can’t remember to whom you lent the paint mixer. A time when the mind starts to go and you have to adapt. I started writing notes in my little black book. A nice gift I received for Christmas. Mostly to-do notes. An occasional drawing. Lots of math from the market where I sell many varieties of fresh cut flowers. And a new bad habit. All my passwords. And phone numbers. My client list and recent orders. Email addresses. It makes this little black book important and I take it everywhere. It’s not a diary but I can kind of read between the lines of my to-do lists and extract a journal of sorts. Sometimes I leave myself little notes in the tiniest of script. They are mostly self improvement notes. You know the kind. I will be less controlling. That sort of thing. Or I copy inspirational quotes. It’s quiet now so I’m going through the pages at a slower rate. It’s winter and it’s Covid lockdown. And I am bored.