So, I was going to tell of my other memory. It was about Da and making him sad by my singing. This one is more recent – well, a month ago, but I want to record it because it is so important to me. I can't believe I have had this book for a month already, and have only managed to write in it a few times. Well, actually, I should be glad I've written as much as I have. I have taken to sitting up at the table with a candle after Tilda and Bain have been put to bed. Da will mend ropes by the fire and smile occasionally at me as I write. I think he is glad I am enjoying my gift.

The day he gave it to me, (my birthday, fifteen, if you remember) was cold and bleak. All of my birthdays were – that's what comes from being born in the winter. Tilda's birthdays are like that too, but Bain has sunny weather and warm air for his. Anyhow, he told Bain to keep an eye on everything after the midday meal, which we took together, Da planning to take the barge out late after he had given me my gift. Bain said he would and he and Tilda got out the charred sticks he had begun to trade to his friends, and began to draw on the bricks of the hearth. Da beckoned me to come with him, and so I put on my coat and shawl and followed him out onto the balcony.

There is a fine view of our town from up there, and I often like to come out here at night and look at the lights of the town shimmering in the waters of the lake. Da put his arm around me, and smiled, saying to himself, "What a grown girl I've got for my daughter." I feel a lump come to my throat whenever he talks like this, and I don't really know why. I don't think I am sentimental, but I love Da so much and wish that I could help him much more than I do that I sometimes get a little undone when he talks such.

"I'm not so grown, Da," I found myself replying, my voice shaking a little. "Fifteen isn't so old."

"Not many more years and you'll be leaving us for some fisherman's son." He smiled at me, and I felt my face grow hot. Not that I have anyone in mind I'd care to marry – all the boys I know are silly and awkward, or else just plain rude – but I don't like to think of marrying. Of course it has to happen someday, and maybe I'm just deluding myself into thinking things will always be like this, Da, and me, and Bain, and Tilda all together, just having normal life. Normal life is so good, sometimes.

"It'd take more than a fisherman's son to woo me away from you," I said at last, putting my arm around his back and hugging him tight. "I'm not so sure about it all, anyway."

He chuckled, and said, "Well, I'm not either, so that makes two of us." He pulled back, and regarded me for a long moment, my hands in his. My heart always beats faster when he does that.

"I think this so much, but I never say it. Partially because if I said it each time the thought crossed my mind you'd be as vain as an heiress, and partially because –" he broke off and drew a hand over his mouth, taking mine once again as the water filled his eyes. "Because of this." He let out a wry chuckle and turned his gaze skywards, blinking into the cold wind until he recovered his composure again. My face hurt with sympathy, and I was worried about showing too much, lest Da think I was pitying him. But I was.

"You have grown to look just like your mother, and are such a strong, beautiful girl. Every day I thank Valar for your willing mind and heart in raising your siblings and caring for our home. She –" His brown eyes poured love into mine. "-she would be very, very proud of the young woman you've become."

"That's fine there, Da," I murmured, overcome with the compliment. "Thanks, but that just fine there." I mentally kicked myself for pushing away the praise, but I always feel it isn't right for a person to hear nice things about themselves. Others can say it, maybe even in their presence, but to their face is always so – wrong feeling...

"I love you," he concluded simply, drawing me into his arms, and burying his nose in my hair. "Happy birthday, Sigrid."

"Thanks, Da," I said into his shoulder, and a tiny prod from the package he held made me pull back. "Is this for me?"

He nodded, hiding a smile. "I hope you like it. I've been saving it for a long while now."

Pulling the oilskin covering off, I beheld a leathern book, full of fine pages – blank pages. This book. I'm sure I made some sort of amazed face because he laughed, and asked, "Do you know what to do with it?"

I nodded. "Write in it."

"That's right. Write. Write what you think, what you feel, what you do. That way people will read of you someday."

I rather doubt that anyone will ever read of me someday, but if they are, then I thank you. I hope you are not too bored by the things that I will write about.