Archive for the 'My old journal' Category

Page 3 of 4

My Old Journal: Bittersweet

Published on Sunday, November 11, 2007 in My old journal and NaBloPoMo 2007. 1 Comment

NaBloPoMo – Day Eleven

In case you’re just tuning in, for NaBloPoMo, I’m revisiting an old journal that I kept in high school and college. This entry starts on page 64 of my old journal. (I’m sixteen and am a junior in high school.)

TWO BITTERSWEET DAYS AND ONE IN PARTICULAR by me (December 4, 1990)
Today is the second bittersweet day off. Yesterday, most of [the state] was pounded by a blizzard that shut the whole state down. The [major city] airport, businesses and schools were closed – including [where I go to school].

I was glad to hear that we got a couple hours extra sleep and a couple days off, but was saddened to realize that on March 25 and 26, instead of basking in the glory of Spring Break, we will be trudging to school to make up these two days. Not only that, because we are snowed in and not at school, we had to help move the cattle from up at Grandma’s down to [my uncle]’s (my dad’s brother…), where there is more water in the winter for the cows.

[My two sisters] and I had to walk to Grandma’s because a huge drift (we’re talking mountainous – 4 ft! – here!) is blocking our road and our driveway. We get to Grandma’s only to find out that we have to wait at least 20 minutes for [my uncle] and Dad to come up with the tractor, and on top of that, we have to walk a mile to our stations.

Since I’m the oldest, I decided to take the hardest spot – guarding 2 roads (how I’m supposed to do this by myself was beyond my intelligence and the laws of nature.) [My youngest sister], since she is the youngest and the most inexperienced of the three of us, took [a neighbor]’s driveway (they live between my grandma’s place and the corner near [my uncle]’s) because it seemed to be the easiest place to guard. [My other sister] begged to have the next driveway because even though it was more complicated than [the neighbor]’s first driveway, it was easier than my station.

“The cattle will naturally want to follow [my uncle] around the corner because of the enticing aroma of the hay bail on the back of the scoop-shovel tractor that he is on,” I thought to myself as I was trying to decide the best place to stand so as to guard two roads at the same time.

After what seemed like an eternity, I could hear the jingle of the chains on the tires of the tractor, the bawling of the cattle and the harsh yelling of my dad, “Come-on git” and [my uncle], “Come-baws.”

The first bunch of cattle went around the corner just as planned – only a few cows challenged me, but I held my ground and wouldn’t let them go west or south. (They are coming from the north and need to turn east – I’m guarding the west and south roads.)

I think to myself, “piece of cake, no problem,” and then I realize that the cows have separated into, what I thought at the time, two groups. Along comes the second group and with them is one of the 3 bulls – the other 2 were with the first group. He stops and looks at me like “You’ve got to be kidding me.” I can see the headlines now, “High School Student Trampled in Confrontation with a Bull.” He finally decided I wasn’t worth the trouble and went around the corner.

“Great, all done, see that wasn’t so bad.” But wait, why is Dad still yelling? Another group of cows!? Up over the hill come the stragglers and scardy-cat cows who are totally confused about what is going on or couldn’t care less. These cows, instead of being nice cows by going around the east corner, decide to go around the west corner – “fine, that’s why I’m here, to keep them out.” But while I am contending with these cows on the west, a flighty one gets excited and runs south instead of east! Now, I ask you, is there any way that I can be two places at one time, especially when there are cows who intend to go both ways at once?!? The answer doesn’t matter because I already got yelled at, even though there was no way I could have changed the situation. We ended up getting the cow back anyway, so I guess it really doesn’t matter that I was unjustifiably reprimanded.

The best part of the day so far (considering it’s only after 2:00 PM now) would have to be riding home in the front scoop of the tractor. [My sisters] and I fit perfectly, so we weren’t crowded, but that breeze would have liked to frozen my nose right through my scarf. [My uncle] could not make it all the way to our driveway because of the huge drifts, but it was a fun experience just the same.

Wow. This was a long one, but well worth the read…for me anyway. I can still hear the chains and the cattle and my dad and uncle yelling. I can smell my scarf through the frigid winter air. I can feel the anticipation of facing the unknown. I can still see that bull sizing me up. I can still remember the joy and relief of seeing that group of cattle go where they were supposed to and the panic when I realized that it wasn’t over and things weren’t going as planned. I remember being very happy when that was done and we’d all escaped relatively unscathed.

To be honest, I never liked working with the cows. In my experience, they are not the loveable adoring creatures you see in children’s books. They are usually predictable, but often unstable creatures. And, some of them are just plain crazy. The only thing worse than full-on crazy is one that you think is predictable. It will get you every time.

Claire got to “meet” a real cow for the first time when we traveled back to the farm this summer. I don’t remember the first time I saw a cow, because before I moved away from the farm, they were just always there. Part of me wonders what it would be like to grow up not having the kinds of experiences like those in the above journal entry. Will Claire believe me when I say, “Well, when I was a kid, your aunts and I had to trudge a mile through the snow and then nearly got trampled by a herd of cattle!”?

Time will tell, I guess.

My Old Journal: Candlelight

Published on Saturday, November 10, 2007 in My old journal and NaBloPoMo 2007. 0 Comments

NaBloPoMo – Day Ten

CANDLELIGHT by me (November 8, 1990)
Right now, I’m writing by candlelight. The power is out at our house, and my mom is putting candles all around the house.

I was sitting here at the kitchen table (it’s the “lightest” here by two candles) doing my History worksheet, when I thought about how neat it would be to write in my journal by candlelight.

This light is so much softer than the “electricity run” lights that I take for granted. (I almost flipped the lightswitch [sic] in my room when I went to get my flashlight to check the batteries – now, that’s really intelligent! At least I caught myself before I actually flipped the switch.) Americans take electricity for granted probably more than anything else. Nearly everything we have now needs electricity to run. It’s hard to think of things that are “manual” anymore.

Technology! Technology! Technology! Smarter…better…faster! Is electricity really better? Sure, there are things I would never want to live without that are only possible because of electricity. But having candlelight around sure is a pleasant change.

No, the irony of transferring an entry dealing with technology from page 44 of my old journal into an online blog is not lost on me. I think it’s rather fitting. The girl that wrote my old journal would get quite a kick out of that notion.

We have become dependent on electricity. I would be lying if I said I wasn’t totally addicted to this lifestyle. I love getting filtered water and ice from our fridge. I love being able to look at all our photos on my computer or on our television set. I love getting my news instantaneously online. I love email. I love telling a device what shows I’d like to watch and having it record them for me so that I can watch them at my own leisure. I love our dishwasher, washing machine, dryer, and garage door opener.

Could I live differently? Sure. Would I want to? Absolutely not. But, I agree with the girl what wrote this journal. Sometimes, when the power is off, the quiet and calmness of the house is a comforting change of pace. Knowing that the power will soon be back on and we can get back to normal is a great feeling too, and it makes enjoying the “candlelight” even easier.

My Old Journal: A Fable

Published on Friday, November 9, 2007 in My old journal and NaBloPoMo 2007. 3 Comments

NaBloPoMo – Day Nine

I can’t be certain, but I think Mrs. Crazy AP Writing Teacher had given us an assignment to write a fable. Either that or we were studying fables, so I wrote one of my own. At any rate, for my next entry in the NaBloPoMo series, here is A Fable: The Planning Fish, as found on page 43 of my old journal:

A FABLE: THE PLANNING FISH by me (November 3, 1990)
There once were two fish who loved swimming around and around in their fishbowl. Their only problem in life was the cat that would always stare longingly at them as they swam.

One day, the two fish decided that they’d had enough of that stupid cat. They were so sick and tired of the cat that they decided to take revenge on him in any way they could devise.

They planned their strategy for days. They even made charts and diagrams plotting what would ultimately teach that cat to leave them alone for good. They only stopped planning long enough to grab a bite to eat, and then they were back to work – drawing and discussing their revenge.

The night before the fateful day finally came, and instead of staying up on their regular night shift, they each slept so that they would be prepared for that cat in the morning.

But that morning, the fishbowl lay tipped over, and the cat was purring in the corner, his food untouched.

The moral of the story: People who live in glass houses should never underestimate their neighbors.

The funniest part about this story is the fact that when I wrote it, my closest neighbor lived a quarter-mile down the road! And, she was my grandmother! So, the concept of dealing with neighbors really was foreign at that time.

After growing up and moving away, I encountered many interesting neighbors. When we first moved to this state, we had an apartment on the second floor. We were in a good location in that we really only shared one wall with a neighbor. (Well, there was a brief time when the nice elderly QUIET gentleman who lived below us moved out and was replaced by a family with a Pack of Wild Children. The laughing and playing at all hours was doable. The slamming of doors throughout the night was not. Thankfully, they moved out and another quiet couple moved in.)

Anyway, the people who shared our kitchen wall were an African American couple in their mid-forties, maybe mid-fifties. (I’ve always been horrible at guessing ages.) He was this tiny slip of a man, and she was actually rather rotund. Together, they made an interesting couple.

She worked every day, but he didn’t. In fact, we’re still not sure exactly what he did, other than gather scrap metal from parts unknown in his beat-up truck. On Sundays, they would make the most incredible breakfasts. Well, we’re assuming they were incredible, because the smell of the bacon frying wafting through the wall of our kitchen was awesome.

We would often sit on our balcony and watch him work on his truck in the parking lot. The one day he had it propped up on milk-crates made us really question his mental capabilities. We made sure we had the portable phone handy for calling 911 when the truck came crashing down on his head, but that never happened. He obviously wasn’t the sharpest knife in the drawer, but, he was always nice and would always say, “Show me some SUNshine! Show me some SUNshine!” every time he saw me. When I smiled at him, he’d say, “THAT’s what I’m talkin’ ‘bout.” He was nice in a “we hope he’s harmless, but he seems kinda creepy” kind of way.

Speaking of glass houses and neighbors and balconies…I will never forget when we discovered that the rather nice-looking man across the parking lot from us liked to do Tae-Bo…in his second-floor bedroom…stark naked. Yes, sans apparel. One of my good friends and I would often sit on the balcony and watch him. Oh! I mean, we would sit on the balcony and discuss life in general, paying no attention whatsoever to the naked man in the window.

“Where are you girls going?” the guys would ask.
“Oh, nowhere. We’re just going to sit on the balcony…”

We couldn’t contain ourselves, and they finally realized what we were doing out there. Oddly enough, they just weren’t as interested in chatting out on the balcony as we were.

The moral of that story? People who do Tae-Bo naked should never underestimate the importance of curtains.

My Old Journal: My Question for the Day

Published on Thursday, November 8, 2007 in My old journal and NaBloPoMo 2007. 0 Comments

NaBloPoMo – Day Eight

MY QUESTION FOR THE DAY by me (November 1, 1990)
“Why?” I ask. “Why?” is my question for the day. I can plug any aspect of my life into that question, and I still won’t know the answer.

“Why?” don’t I understand what exactly we are doing in Geometry – even though I try my best. “Why?” is everything due at once – do the teachers have a secret plot to make us all crazy!? “Why?” do I start everything earlier and still get to bed later than the night before? “Why?” do we have to run in PE – I’d much rather walk. “Why?” do I work hard without seeing any results?

I think I know the answer. The answer is: BECAUSE! Isn’t that the answer we always give to questions we don’t really want to answer or to questions we really don’t know the answer to?

There I go again with my love of running and PE Class! After seeing this entry on page 39 of my old journal, I was reminded of how I dreamt of the day when I would be free of those classes. It’s great to be so removed from them that I’d forgotten how much I disliked them. (The girl that wrote my old journal wouldn’t think that could be possible!)

This entry is just a little peek into the psyche of a high school student. From the grades I got in Geometry, you would assume that I did well in it. What you don’t see was the struggle to not only get the ‘A’ in that class, but to really understand what I was doing. From the grades I got in everything else, you’d assume that I could handle large workloads and classes and projects and papers all due at once. What you don’t see was the struggle to get the best grades possible so that I could earn the scholarships I needed to go to my college of choice.

Struggling doesn’t mean failure, and it’s hard to see that when you’re a high school student. (It’s hard to see that now!) I got the grades I wanted, and I got the scholarships I needed for my college, so all’s well that ends well, right? Sometimes it’s hard to see that when you’re in the midst of it all, especially without the benefit of being able to look back and say, “See? That all worked out. All that hard work was worth it.”

Mrs. Crazy AP Writing Teacher has written a little red question mark (underlined!) with a “writing shows results!” comment in the margin. I understand what she’s saying, but I remember reading her comment at the time and thinking, “Whatever…that’s not what I meant!” Of course, I didn’t put what I meant in the journal, so it is lost to me. Obviously it wasn’t that important if I’ve forgotten about it. (Kind of like PE Class…)

On a separate note, I can’t help but wonder what I’ll think of this journal entry when Claire has stumbled upon the question, “Why?” She’s not even two years old yet, and although she talks all the time, she hasn’t started the dreaded “Why-to-Infinity Inquisition.” I’ve made the conscious decision to try to answer her questions with a “real” answer, but it’s good to see that I have an answer prepared for when that doesn’t work.

My Old Journal: Petals on a Daisy

Published on Wednesday, November 7, 2007 in My old journal, NaBloPoMo 2007 and Photos. 0 Comments

NaBloPoMo – Day Seven

Today’s entry for my NaBloPoMo series is found on pg. 38 of my old journal:

PETALS ON A DAISY by me (October 31, 1990)
Today in Chemistry, when we were all done with our chapter questions, Mr. [science teacher] decided we deserved a break, so we decided to play a game. Mr. [science teacher] brought out five dice, and he said, “Petals on a daisy is the name of the game; the solution to the game is the same as the name. How many petals are on the daisy?” then he tossed down the dice onto the desk.

He told us the answer and after receiving some dumbfounded looks from us, he repeated the saying and tossed down the dice again. For Example: [I’ve drawn the dice, see the picture below] would be six petals.

And: [more drawings] would be zero petals. (figured it out yet?)

Here’s another: [more drawings] would be twenty petals.

I tried this on [one of my sisters] and [my brother] and they finally got it. (I figured it out in class – some weren’t so fortunate and are still wondering what a daisy has to do with anything.) Mr. [science teacher] has a rule to this game that I didn’t mention before: Never tell anyone the solution, let them figure it out for themselves. I hope you figure it out before it drives you crazy!

Here is a picture of the page out of my journal, so that you can see the diagrams:

You can click on the image to make it bigger,
and then you can click on that image to make that one bigger as well...

I had totally forgotten about this game! It is a lot of fun to play on people who’ve never seen it. When I first read this entry (after not seeing it for 17 years!), even I was taken aback. But, after a few moments, it came to me. I’m really tempted to write the solution somewhere in the journal, but that would go against the rules.

So, have you figured it out? If not, it will come to you. And, my science teacher was right. The solution to the game is the same as the name…

My Old Journal: Classtime

Published on Tuesday, November 6, 2007 in My old journal and NaBloPoMo 2007. 4 Comments

NaBloPoMo – Day Six

CLASSTIME by me (October 12, 1990)
Right now I have completed my assignment, no homework for the weekend – from this class – and all I have to do is write in my journal…so here it is…since I have nothing better to do.

There is a calmness over my soul now because I have found an island of tranquility in a violent sea of homework, assignments and tests. Six minutes more of this classtime and then I swim to my locker and on to the King’s Assembly. There’s even a rumor that my PE Class has to run to SA [a gas station that is a mile round trip] from the High School – I’m trying not to panic.

It’s 10:30 now, 5 more minutes of paradise. 5 more minutes to just sit and collect my thoughts on paper. It’s 10:32 – seems like I’m thinking more than I’m writing! Well, I’m going to wrap this up and put my things in order to leave for my locker. Does anyone have a life jacket?!?

The above entry is from page 29 of my old journal.

Ah, yes…finding a moment of calm in the midst of high school and that good ol’ PE (Physical Education) class causing me strife. I wasn’t a runner in high school. I ran when forced to, and I could run a mile in a decent time, but I hated it. I’ve never understood the point of running ‘just because.’ I’d like to reserve my running for times when you ‘have to.’ I’ve had to run before (Oh, that’s a story for another day! It involves real-life drama!). The fact that I’m still here today proves that my running abilities suffice, especially when escaping a rabid skunk. (Just to give you a little taste of the story…) Tell me to run in a circle (or to a gas station a half-mile away and back) while you time me, and I’ll comply with your wishes, but I won’t be happy about it. Tell me I have to run because my life depends on it, and I’m gone in a flash.

That reminds me of that joke about you and your friend running from a bear…and how fast do you have to run? Not faster than the bear, just a little faster than your friend…

Seriously. Running is not fun for me, and it never has been. Running while playing other games is fine. So, I guess, in essence, one could argue that if I liked the games I was playing and running was an integral part of said games, I must like running on a certain level. Nope. Not really.

Speaking of running games, one of my sisters and I used to play “Dukes of Hazzard” with one of my cousins. He was always Boss Hogg and he would chase us around the outside of my grandma’s house. My sister and I were Bo and Luke. (No, neither of us wanted to be Daisy…go figure.) My sister always insisted on being Bo, so I got stuck being Luke. My choices were be Luke or not play, so I always begrudgingly played the part of Luke Duke. (It’s not that I have anything against Tom Wopat, just that he wasn’t Bo.) Anyway…we ran for hours and hours and Boss Hogg always caught us. He was sneaky and would double back around the house and catch us. Every time.

But, I digress…by the time I wrote the above entry, it had been years since we’d played that game. Still, this entry is one of my favorites because it really reminds me of what it was like in high school. I worked hard in high school. I graduated 4th in my class of 242. School was usually pretty “easy” for me in that if I studied, I got good grades. And, I always studied. Some of my friends seemed to do really well without studying. Some of my friends also appeared to like running. Weirdos. (Just kidding.)

I still remember the feeling that jumped into my heart when the bell rang. Getting to where I needed to be in time to beat the next bell, keeping it all together, and making it look seamless…As much fun as I had in high school, it was pretty stressful being a high school student. It was nice when I could find those few minutes of tranquility, and I’m glad I captured that in my old journal.

My Old Journal: Today’s music tomorrow

Published on Monday, November 5, 2007 in My old journal and NaBloPoMo 2007. 4 Comments

NaBloPoMo – Day Five

TODAY’S MUSIC TOMORROW? By me (September 22, 1990)
I’m sitting here on the couch in the house where I babysit. The clock just chimed 10:00 AM. I’m listening to [an FM station], my favorite rock-n-roll music station. I was just wondering, will this music someday be on an “oldie” station like [an AM station]?

When I’m in Kermit (green Chevette) I listen to [the oldie station] because it’s the best music station on an AM-only radio. Back in the ‘50s, ‘60s, and ‘70s, that music was like this music now in popularity. What will happen to that music when today’s music will be considered “old”? Many “old” songs are even “coming back” with new sounds and techniques. What will happen to these songs? Will they be considered “oldies,” “oldies made-over,” or “old oldies that were made over”? Here’s a bigger question: Will my kids be as closeminded about the music of my generation, as I was about my mom and dad’s music? Answer: Probably.

The above entry is from page 18 from my old journal.

There is nothing that can make me feel like an old lady faster than hearing one of my favorite songs remade into a Muzak song. I find myself humming along or singing the entire lyrics in my head. Then it hits me. The songs of my past are getting really, really far away from the present. Even songs from my college days are being remade into elevator music. How does that happen?

Or, I’m driving along and hear a new song. For reasons unbeknownst to me, all the words the singers are singing are popping into my head…before they actually sing them. What? Wait a second. I don’t recognize the tune. Why are the words so familiar? By the time the chorus rolls around, I’ve figured it out. This is a song that has been stolen from another band! A cool band! Who are these people totally ruining a perfectly good song?? Ugh. I’m old.

What’s even funnier is when kids these days actually think that what they’re hearing is new. Before I start yelling at them to get off my lawn (in my best impression of a grumpy old man), I remember being really excited about Tiffany’s “I Think We’re Alone Now.” I still remember the day one of my friends came to school and said that her mom said that Tiffany’s song was really an “oldie.” *gasp* No! Say it isn’t so! But, it was true. She played the album for us. You know, an album…those big round plastic things with the grooves.

My Old Journal: Observing my family members

Published on Sunday, November 4, 2007 in My old journal and NaBloPoMo 2007. 1 Comment

NaBloPoMo – Day Four

For this installment of my NaBloPoMo series, I’m including the entries I wrote for a “series” I did about my family members. (They show up at various times throughout my journal, but these entries were specifically about them.) We were told to be observant in our lives and write about the things around us. We could even be sneaky if necessary to capture things as they were in the moment. It was fun writing about my siblings and my parents.

I’ve withheld names, due to privacy issues, and my comments can be seen in [brackets]. The (parentheses) and underlines were actually in my journal. Here are the entries, as found on pages 15, 17, 20, 21, 23 and 24 of my old journal:

IN THE “CLUB HOUSE” WITH [MY SISTER*] by me (September 15, 1990 – 6:04 PM in the club house)
*Note on side of page: [This sister] is almost 11 and in 5th grade. [I’m the oldest of four children – three girls and a boy. This sister is the third born in our family.]

Our club house is a platform 10 ft. off of the ground with red gates acting as walls on all four sides. Dad just recently attached a “home-made” slide to the east end.

From 10 ft up the world looks bigger. Our house, right now is surrounded by corn on the south and west sides, but from up here, the corn is not a hinderance [sic].

I can see the [small town] watertower [sic] from here and that’s nearly 8 miles to the south. On a clear night I can see [the town were I go to high school] lights and that’s nearly 17 miles away! (Yes, 17 miles!)

I can see the pasture where we had fun sledding in the winter (I shouldn’t say sledding, I should say careening to our near demise!) Now, instead of crystal white, it is a weird shade of green, as it can’t decide whether it is summer or fall.

I can see the trees that line the creek that slowly moves through the pasture. I remember getting all muddy trying to save my little brother from falling in the mud.

The sky from up here is magnificent! Translucent clouds encircle the awesome blue sky. At night the myriad of stars shine so bright in the sky that it makes one feel so small and insignificant.

Right now, my sister [name withheld] is up here spouting off ideas about what I can write about. She says she just saw a car go by on the highway about three miles away. Now she is upset because I wrote about her. She can’t believe I really wrote about her in this journal! Oh, oh, now she’s scowling at me – correction, she isn’t scowling she’s just making faces. She is concerned now that I’m writing too much about her and not enough about the club house. Now she denies the whole incident. In fact, she’s accusing me of lying. How dare she! (Now, since she is part of this observation, I’m adding her name to the title.)

IN THE PARKING LOT AT FAREWAY WITH [MY SISTER**] by me (September 17, 1990)
**Note on side of page: [This sister] is 13 and in 8th grade. [She is the second born in our family.]

I’m lounging in the backseat of Kermit, our green Chevette. I’m waiting for Mom to get back with the groceries. I get terribly bored walking around and stopping to talk to everyone she knows, when I could be getting my homework done.

My sister [name withheld] is in here with me. She doesn’t know it, but I’m going to write down what she says. So far, she is just reading the book “Through the Valley Kuai.” She’s been dying to read me the gross parts, but I tell her that she had better not – or else!!

She just said something: “Look at his head of beautiful hair.” She’s talking about a guy that just got out of the brown truck parked next to us. I think there was a mocking tone in her voice.

“Did you see that guy go by in a business suit riding a scooter?! Wasn’t that funny; he was going reeereee!” (here is where she did the actions of him on the scooter with his body bent down.)

“Oh gross,” was her comment about an elderly gentleman who had a coughing fit right behind us. Well, Mom just came back, so [my sister’s] part in history is done.

OUTSIDE WITH [MY BROTHER***] by me (September 23, 1990)
***Note on the side of the page: [My brother] is 8 years old and in 3rd grade. [Yes, he’s the baby boy of the family…]

I’m out here sitting on the cold ground shielded by the tall Cana Lillies [sic] from [my brother]. He is in the club house with [my youngest sister]. I could hear faint mumbling and then all of a sudden: “I am not! …Stupid!”

Then the wind picked up and my shield is rustling, so I can’t hear them. I’m surprised they don’t know I’m here because Dad just asked me a second time what I was doing here. All’s quiet in the club house, so maybe they did each other in!

Finally when the silence was too long and the mumbling too faint I yelled, “Yoo hoo!” from my hiding place. Here is everything Jonathan said: “What? What?” – What do you want?! – Come on, spit it out! – Come on! —[here is where he calls out my name a couple of times] – (and then to my sister) “I don’t know.” (Now he is coming this way with [my sister]). “[he calls out my name again] I can see your hair, turn around! – Hi [my name]. Hi [my name]. I see you.” (then he is playing with a weed on the fence and singing “do doop do” – he kicks the fence – says “hi” to me and then to [my sister] “A car is going to come, I bet you!” Then he says, “Look! I know you are writing about me!” Well, I guess I have been found out.

IN THE LIVING ROOM WITH DAD by me (September 23, 1990)
Note on the side of the page: Dad is 41 yrs old and a farmer.

I’m sitting on the recliner at one end of the couch, and Dad is in the other. [My brother] just came in from outside and asked Dad who was winning – we are watching Channel 13’s Football Kansas City vs. Green Bay. Dad says, “Kansas City, I think, no, yah, I don’t know…”

Then [my brother] comes back with all his money. “How much is 3 quarters?” Dad: “75-cents. Where’d you get all that money?” [My brother]: “How much is this?” and he dumps all the coins on the couch. Dad: “75-85-95-105-115-120-130-131, where’d you get all that money?” Now Dad is doing three things at once, fixing his shoe, watching the football game and listening to [my brother’s] lengthy story.

“What are you hiccoughing for?” another story, and when [my brother] gets too loud “Shshsh!! Mom’s probably asleep in there” as he nods toward the bedroom. The game is nearly over so I’d better stop here!

IN THE KITCHEN WITH MOM by me (September 27, 1990)
Note on the side of the page: Mom is 41 yrs old and a housewife.

Right now, I’m sitting in the “big stuffed chair” in the kitchen. Mom is walking back and forth through the kitchen. She has on a pink dress and it matches the pink curlers in her hair.

When Custher barks, she said, “Oh she’s in here, yes she is!” (She’s talking about [my youngest sister].) She talks to Custher and Susie – our dogs – as though they are little children.

It’s 5:15 PM now and already she has supper in the oven and the timer ticking. We have to eat early tonight because [my other sister] and I have YF (Youth Fellowship) practice at the church.

“I got your green dress fixed, [name withheld],” she hollers from the bedroom. “All it needed was a thread in the seam.”

Now she’s back in here shuffling through the mail on the table. Now, she’s back from the wash room with a dress in her hand. “Oh no, do you know where the button is that went with this? Fiddle faddle!”

Boy, she’s a busy lady. She just went into the bedroom again and now it’s 5:19 – that’s a lot of moving in 4 whole minutes. Well what do you expect with four kids?!

Note: This marks the end of my “planned” family member series.

WHAT I LEARNED FROM MY “PLANNED” FAMILY MEMBER SERIES by me (September 27, 1990)
Through these past couple weeks I have had the opportunity to observe my family when they are at their best – when they least expect it.

When I observed them I wrote down their actions and what they were saying and then when I felt I had observed enough, I read it back to them. Did I get shocked looks! “I can’t believe you actually wrote that in your journal – let me at it!” was a common response.

If you notice, I did Mom‘s entry last. That was because she knew I was going to do this series and was watching for when her turn would come. As you can see, I was able to sneak it in.

By doing this, my journal became my friend. My friend and I could be seen sneaking around just observing.

If there’s one thing I learned from doing this series, it’s this: Always be careful about what you say and how you act, because who knows? You may be in someone’s journal some day!

These entries are great for me to relive, because I can picture exactly the way things were when they happened – the club house we played in, one of the old cars we used to drive, and the house where I grew up.

And, who would have guessed that these entries would not only be in a journal, but online in a blog someday.

My Old Journal: Lightening & Dust

Published on Saturday, November 3, 2007 in My old journal, NaBloPoMo 2007 and Photos. 2 Comments

NaBloPoMo – Day Three

My old journal is a huge collection of many things from my past. There are trip itineraries, movie reviews, book reviews, dance moves, dream synopses, wrappers, ticket stubs, newspaper articles and diagrams of various sorts. There is drama, mystery and intrigue.

It has it all!

It was hard deciding which entries to choose for my NaBloPoMo posting extravaganza. There are 206 of them! I only have 30 days! So, I’ll start at the beginning and work my way through over the course of the next month. Keep in mind, this is only a taste.

So, without further ado, I’ll start with these entries, found on pages 12 and 13:

LIGHTENING by me (September 12, 1990)
The other night the lightening came fierce and bright. So bright that the colors of everything in the yard were turned from black and gray to their daytime colors of green, white, and red.

As I lay there in my bed looking at the night sky, I subconsciously counted the seconds between the flash and the rumble of thunder.

When I awoke in the morning, there was no evidence of what had happened the night before. It was as if the sunlight had wiped the slate clean.

DUST by me (September 12, 1990)
It comes in a sweeping and engulfing torrent, devouring everything in its unmerciful path. The swirling clouds press against our bodies as the bus door is opened.

It fills our lungs and stings our eyes; it thrusts its dirty fingers in our hair. We gasp for air as the particles force their way to our lungs.

It clings to everything as it is stirred about by the wind. The bus seats boast a filmy cover of light shadowed dust.

It is gritty to the touch and only smears into a bigger mess on our hands when we try to wipe it clean.

The reason I really love these two entries is that they really capture what it was like growing up on a farm out in the country. I still vividly remember how the lightening would light up the red drainage tiles near the garden and the field. It was always so shocking, because we lived in nearly complete darkness out there. We were miles and miles from the city lights.

And, the dust! I’d totally forgotten about the dust! (The ‘bus’ I’m talking about is the school bus we rode to and from school every day.)

In fact, when we visited the Midwest this summer, I was taken aback by the forcefulness of the dust. After having been away from it for so long, it’s easy to put it out of your mind. I remember standing in my sister’s yard and watching a car go by on the gravel road and watching the huge cloud of dust slowly move toward us. None of my nephews seemed to notice; it was so common place for them. I tried to brace myself, but it was no use…the dust totally consumed us and moved on.

Imagine my surprise to find the journal entry I’d written about it 17 years ago! I can’t believe that was nearly half of my life ago. (Think about that…I’m 33 now…and I wrote these when I was 16.)

Oh, and in case you’re curious…here’s a snapshot of the pages discussed above:

You can click on the image to make it bigger,
and then you can click on that image to make that one bigger as well…

(If you look closely, you can see the entry before Lightening is about spiders. I am not going to discuss that entry, but you can feel free to read it, if you like.)

Stay tuned for more tomorrow!

Speaking of which, my favorite part about NaBloPoMo is being able to read my favorite bloggers on the weekends!

Unearthed

Published on Friday, November 2, 2007 in My old journal, NaBloPoMo 2007 and Photos. 6 Comments

NaBloPoMo – Day Two

As I explained yesterday, while searching for one thing, I found something completely different. Isn’t that when we sometimes find the best things?

I have thought about this journal at different times in the past. I thought it was probably safely stored in one of my many boxes of books…and sure enough…there it was.

…and here it is!

On August 28, 1990, I started a journal. I was 16-yrs old and had just started my junior year in High School. I was in an Advanced Placement (AP) Writing Class, and the teacher was quite possibly certifiably insane. Or, maybe her hormone levels were off. Or, maybe she wasn’t on the right medication. Or, maybe she’d been teaching way too long. At any rate, she liked me, and I really learned a lot from her. Her irrationality scared me to death and every class nearly pushed me over the edge. Even her last name sounded shocking with a slightly violent twist. I won’t say what it was, just in case she’s someone’s grandma (and I would hate to ‘out’ her on my blog), but I’ll never forget her.

She had us start a journal. From what I gather from the entries (you’d think I would remember!), we were required to write three journal entries a week. Being the little overachiever that I was (am?), I wrote much more than that.

She would read and critique the entries, the red ink of her pen marking spelling and grammatical errors. She would also write little encouraging notes in the margin. Maybe she wasn’t entirely evil, after all.

What started out as an assignment grew into something that I embraced willingly. I continued journaling long after I’d successfully escaped that class relatively unscathed. I loved writing. I loved capturing the world around me on the pages, and little did I realize how cool it would be to find this journal so many years later and relive those times.

This isn’t a frivolous little journal. This grew into a 277-page tome. There are 206 entries, and each is recorded in an index in the back. I wrote in this all through high school and college. Toward the end, the entries became fewer and farther between, and when I graduated from college, my journal got packed away. I wrote the last entry on December 6, 1996, just over six months after I’d graduated and started my new life. Little did I know how different even that life would be from the one I have now.

A few days ago, as I sat holding my old journal on my lap, I was overwhelmed with what I’d discovered. I couldn’t wait to read it. I couldn’t wait to look back into my past. All of that sounds so silly, since I’m the one that wrote the words on the page. I should know what happens at each turn, because I lived it! Right? But, I’ve forgotten so many things. As I was reading, all the memories and feelings of those times flooded the room.

Some of the things are so completely different from who I am now; some things are exactly the same. I’m definitely calmer about most things now, but I’m still battling that Inner Perfectionist. I guess I chose the right name for my blog, huh?

I’ve mentioned before on this blog how writing has always been a passion of mine, and how it makes me feel balanced. I also mentioned how I used to write in a journal but how emails to friends and family seemed to fill that void after I stopped journaling. Well, this is that journal.

Now, I feel as though I’m picking up where my journal left off. I’ve started recording the things around me again, and I’m writing them down for the world to see. People are going to comment about the things I’ve written. As crazy as my AP Writing teacher was at times, I really valued the feedback. It’s nice to have some of that again.

So, I wrote another entry in my old journal. I entitled it Unearthed. I wrote a brief synopsis of how things had changed and how I’m writing again. I explained that I’m writing in an online blog, something the girl who started this journal would have no concept of understanding.

Being that November is NaBloPoMo, and I have discovered this treasure, I’ll be revisiting some of my favorite entries over the next month.

Even though I know the writer personally, I’m sure I’ll be surprised by what I’ll find!