Last month, a villain broke a window on my car and swiped a pouch from the back seat. (The door was unlocked, wretched burglar!) The criminal was likely disappointed by the plunder; they made off with only pens, pencils and a sketchbook of priceless sentimental value.
Alas, the sketchbook held about ten years of doodles, all drawn by me and my kid; drawings at the park, at the beach, at the zoo, sitting in the coffee shop. Here are two drawings of my daughter during her ballet classes when she was six years old.
I’m over it now, mostly. But here are a few of the doodles lost. I took pictures of some pages over the years, but not very many. It had a black faux-leather cover, and if you held it just so in the light, you could see a black sharpie caricature of me, drawn by a four or five year old Evelyn. That was my favorite drawing in the book.
Not totally down in the dumps over it, but watch out! There are some real jerks roving around out in the real world.
The End
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