December 19

Christmas is almost upon us and for once I am both ready and in the mood.

1964

It really isn’t the 19^th now. It’s been the 20^th for 4 hours. The Os just got home and so did I. Mr. O was drunk. In fact, he paid me $6.25 for eight hours work. I had a tooth filled today and almost died in the chair. Painless dentistry! Bah, Humbug! Next Saturday I go swimming at Canterbury. Heh, heh, heh! I got Bob’s vest pattern at Grants and told the people at Bartons not to bother with the order.

Comment 2022

When I change the subject so many times in a single entry, it’s hard to decide how to respond. I am picking the most obscure note: “Next Saturday I go swimming at Canterbury. Heh, heh, heh!” Canterbury was the local boarding school. A Catholic BOYS boarding school, just a short walk from the town green. (It’s still there, still Catholic, but now coed.) As a transplant from elsewhere, I was totally unprepared for the whole boarding school thing in New England. At first, I assumed (from reading the orange biography of Clara Barton) that kids were sent to boarding schools because their parents wanted to be rid of them, and that, like Clara, they were desperately lonely and miserable. Then, at the end of eighth grade, when nearly all of my honors class left for private boarding schools, I learned that only stupid and/or poor kids went to public schools. Finally, as a “townie” I was informed by my more worldly-wise friends that prep school boys (“preppies”) were simultaneously highly desirable and completely untrustworthy with a girl’s virtue.

So when one of my Catholic friends started to babysit for a teacher at Canterbury and suggested I join her for a swim at the school’s indoor pool, I was thrilled. Also feeling a wee bit naughty: “Heh, heh, heh!”. Sadly, it never happened. In fact, I have still never been to Canterbury School. But I did marry a preppie.

1977

Exams are over, the semester is over (sigh!) Christmas shopping is almost done; I am pleased with most of the presents. I does seem we have spent a lot, but then what is money for?

Gotta blow my nose.

1983

Some “journal”’ “menstrual” is more like it. Well, I have been busy the last month, so I’m excused.

Christmas is almost upon us and for once I am both ready and in the mood. The situation between Mom and Dad came up again. Mom called to inform me that Dad is over $1000 behind in his alimony payments and she’s taking him to court. I felt a bit guilty, since I already knew, from a later from Dad. I see the inevitability of Mom living with us at some time. My feelings are mixed. It might be nice. I might not be. If it didn’t work, it would be hard to get out of.

1984

Well, we just had quite a day. Kiddo went to daycare in the morning while I went in to work. Then I got her and we went to the department holiday party. She was doing fine until Santa (Norman Hollies) burst into the room with a hearty “Ho, ho,ho!”. She was just walking to the same door and was absolutely terrified. It took lots of calming down and a long walk to get her peeled off me. She’s really just a little girl, for all that she is tall and smart for her age. I forget how scary life can be to a kid, and how close to being a baby she still is. If I could just remember to be more patient .

For all the work and worry, she is a pleasure. My life has a dimension it never could have had otherwise. Deep down inside, I want another one. Oh, my.

1997

Suddenly, Christmas is just around the corner. I am already anticipating the letdown that comes from Christmas being “just another day”, once the presents are open. Christmas is more of a season, than a day. Every year I want to wrap myself up in its sounds and smells, in its flavors and memories.

It’s the doorway to winter (which I love!), the threshold of the new year (time to reflect and dream). Time to look back over the year and revisit childhood. Time to bake cookies.

Comment 2023: and so I have!

2024

No cookies yet. Today I have a rehearsal (early music) and a performance (Riderwood Rocks), so baking must wait.