I have always been intrigued with the idea of a diary. It has been a double edged sword for me because in one way there is a record of your most intimate feelings and thoughts, and in another way, there is a record of your most intimate feelings and thoughts. Yet, the latter holds an intrigue beyond possible blackmail or extortion; it holds the idea of being immortalized. I think of it as this: I see my grandmother for instance, a woman I have only known for roughly a third of her life. What I know of her is a small portion of who she really is. I see pictures of her in frames on the old antique buffet table in her dining room, and I don't recognize that woman. The truth is though, that she is a woman, a woman who lived a full life before I was even born, and a woman who has secrets in her heart just as anyone of us. She too was once 30 years old like me, feeling, loving, struggling to find her way through life. Sure, I can ask her questions about her life, but would I ever really know? Would she really offer up the stories of how she cried herself to sleep at night when my grandpa was in World War II? Would she confide in me secrets about infidelity, violence, inadequacy? And so here in lies my interest in the art of a diary. When you grow old, it is my perception that your mind and your heart stay young. Granted, life may make some people colder, wiser, or more cautious, but, it is only your body that creates a dual identity. To be able to leave an imprint on the world, to be able to show my lineage that I was a real person with feelings and thoughts, and to offer a connection of my spirit; this is the essence of a diary. One day, I too will be wrinkled and frail, with grandchildren at my knee, and I hope that through my oral and written history, they will find a deep connection in our kindred souls, while also carrying on the legacy that "LISA WAS HERE".