February 18

Too bad you can’t order weather from a catalog.

1965

Do he or don't he?

I finished my history report - Ahh! It's nice to be done. I went to a rehearsal, too. It was neat. There was no confusion - it was organized - very neat. In other words, we got somewhere! Mr. S likes the script. Hooray and Hallelujah. We had a test in Biology and I only got 4 wrong. That's a 92 at the most. Mr. P had told us it was hard, but it was very easy, very simple. (Fun for the feebleminded.)

1984

What a day so far! I felt as if I were getting nothing done, as I had to go on errands with Kiddo. Sometimes I get so impatient with her dawdling, and then I get mad at myself for being impatient. But now I’m at the campus library and got some stuff done and I’m feeling more human. How can I reclaim my writing time? I write best in the morning. Except on weekends and Wednesdays I have no mornings. If three days a week I could get up early and have 1 1/2 - 2 hours to work, then nap during her nap or go to bed early…if she doesn’t nap, I’m in trouble.Ao…get up at 6 on Saturday and Sunday, at 6 on Wednesday and write. Make lunches the night before!

1997

This has been a very good year so far. Not one of great peaks of achievement, but a smooth one, punctuated by many more moments of contentment than I have had before. Spring seems to be waiting to burst upon us, but I wish it would snow one more time… a good 4-6”, no ice, and during the day, so I can watch it come down. Too bad you can’t order weather from a catalog.

The Kiddos are on the move again, growing to some new level. Kiddo 1 is both trying harder to be responsible and being more responsible without having to try so hard. Kiddo 2 is suddenly turned on by complexity and technical details. Beneath these surface effects, what changes have occurred? Life is a mystery. I guess someone looking at me would marvel at my sudden ability to exercise and have a quiet space every day. Today I feel like reading a poem or maybe birthing one.

February

Spring showed up today,
With swelling buds and poking sprouts.
I have my doubts.
Winter’s been too short.
With too much icy rain.
Some long for spring;
I need more snow.

1998

Another day with a headache. It's a sinus headache this time; I know the familiar feeling. But it is a nice day, and I am looking forward to exercising tonight while Kiddo 1 is in Spanish class. Someday I would like to take a Spanish class. It was my favorite subject in high school, and I really feel bad about letting it lapse.

I think that when I retire I will have enough to live on; it's an amazing realization. I will especially have enough if I begin now to scale back on my needs and habits. I think we'll do OK. I wish we were there now. But I don't mind working. My work is very enjoyable and stimulating. It is one of the best parts of my life in fact along with cooking, music, and making things.

As a kid, I missed the chance to try different activities, especially different musical experiences. As a kid, I lacked encouragement. As a kid, I could have used my own record player. As a kid, I dreamed of being a star. As a kid, I wanted a pony. In my house, we never had enough respect for each other. As a kid, I needed more attention. I am sorry that I will never again see my parents. For years, I have missed North Platte and wondered what is is like now. One thing I like about my town is I can walk in the street. I think I have a nice smile. Writing my morning pages has shown me I can write nearly 1000 pages a year! I believe I am getting better at staying calm. My self-care is naps.

What do I need to let go of, and how is it impeding me? I suspect it is my vision of myself as a young woman. At nearly 49, I must admit that I am not young but comfortably middle-aged. I am not in anyone sexual fantasies. I am a roundish, tall, motherly-looking women of a certain age. I am not unhappy in this self but I have not accepted it fully either.

2023

Some days I read these old entries, and it’s like sitting on the beach and watching the waves. Good days, bad days, a few more good days, then an awful day. I try to remember what it was like to ride those waves, but it is hard. Now and then my past self gives a hint, like the undertow lurking in my question “Do he or don’t he?” In 1965. I was steeling myself to go to the post-game sock hop and see it V would ask me to dance. Asking him was out of the question back then. Girls didn’t ask boys to dance, or call them on the phone or anything else that would be construed as the first move. Good girls didn’t, that is. And I was decidedly a good girl.

My relationship with poetry is very odd. I have always enjoyed reading, memorizing, and reciting poems, and wrote my first one in elementary school. I think I remember it:

When I go down to see the shore,
I see a hundred waves or more
To me, they are white horses grand
That race along to meet the sand
When they get there, they turn from me
And go back to the great, wide sea.

Or maybe it’s a poem by someone else, that I memorized. I have tried to find it online, and there are dozens of poems about waves looking like horses, but not this one. I seldom share my own poetry; I never learned to write them, and some are awful. I certainly don’t compose them. They pop into my head and I write them down. Sometimes I will fiddle with the wording a little afterwards. 

I just read ahead in my 1965 diary and need to warn you: there is a really terrible poem about V coming up in two days. 

2024

They just keep showing up in my old journal pages. I just counted; I am up to 43 poems, most of which I don’t even remember writing.

2025

Current count: 85 poems. No, 86.