This 1959, unused diary (click on photos to enlarge) came from my Grandmother's home. The tiny, leather journal is in great condition and the pages are edged with gold. Inside, there's a list of birthstones, a 1959 and 1960 calendar, a few pages for addresses, and an astounding 3/4 inch by 2 inch space for each day's entry.
When I was ten, I received a five-year diary for Christmas. Like this one, it had only a few lines for writing, and for the next four years, I crammed it with all the wonder and heartaches of youth. My next diary (and every one thereafter) was much larger, with loads of room for my daily musings. I kept a diary until I was twenty-seven, then, I just stopped writing. Over the years, I've glanced through them, and have realized that my memory is crap -- people are mentioned, but I've no idea who they are. Diaries should devote space for a list of characters that includes the first and last names, and a bio of those we meet along the way.
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