November 10
Poor little grad school me, back in 1975. But it got better.
1965 (the first post in this diary since August 14)
Hello!
I went to a Sadie Hawkins Dance (girl invites boy) with H. I loved every minute of it! It was so different from all the dances I went to last year to moon at V! How could I stand him? H is so nice and kind and decent, not like that boozehound V. H is such a good dancer, so smooth, I can’t keep my eyes open. I think he’s one of the nicest guys in the school. I hope he likes me. I really do!
Comment 2023
And thus endeth my 1964-1965 diary. H moved to Wisconsin later that year, and was listed in the “memorium” section of the program for our 30th reunion.
1975
Strange day. As usual, I feel like I have done nothing. Yet I went to faculty meeting, Spanish class (94 on the second exam!), worked for an hour on the bed rug diagram, farted around for an hour feeling punk, corrected exams for two hours, set up a display for tomorrow’s class, made cornbread, corrected projects, and prepared a lecture. Whoosh! From 9 am to 11 pm, that’s 8 productive hours out of 14.
Tomorrow: from 9am-11pm, I have a meeting with my advisor, a couple of phone calls, order dissertations through InterLibraryLoan, more work on the bed rug project, lunch, class, home to cook and do dishes. If I can do all the dishes, that would be 10-12 productive hours out of 14. Even ten would be an improvement.
Now I am trying yoga.The new box spring as helped, as well. I should do some quilting at the museum this weekend.
Comment 2023
Poor little grad school me, back in 1975. If she only knew how it would eventually turn out, she wouldn’t be so stressed. I can’t imagine why I wanted to achieve a productive 12-hour day.
1988
I’ve slipped farther behind, though it’s hard to tell how much. The three-week class at OASIS turned out to be a waste of time (ouch). The semester is 2/3 over, thank God, and has been pretty awful. Getting back on track has been impossible. My only hope is to hang on for another month, then spend December and January regrouping. Alas! If I could only catch up enough to be just 2 weeks behind on my writing again.
1997
Better is an handful with quietness, than both hands full with travail and vexation of the spirit. Eccles. 4:6
My chest cold is fading, but my head cold is now the main attraction.
Comment 2023
The more I read, the more I realize what a pivotal year 1997 was for me. When Mom died in June, something very profound changed inside.
1998
The “Tin Whistle” CD is playing and the leaf machine is roaring down the street. I look out my window at a gray and green morning, wet with cold rain. The leaves in the oak tree ten feet from my desk are deep orange-brown, but farther in the distance I see mostly green. Some branches are bare, but very few. Winter is just five weeks away, but autumn is hanging on in the back yard.
The spiritual discussions on AOL are a puzzle. It is so odd and repetitive. Always the same newbies asking, the same insults, the same misunderstandings. At first, I felt odd expressing my beliefs. But now it feels like part of my daily practice. Just try to explain yourself to a stranger. I don’t know if what I say connects with anyone.
Not that I am comparing myself to Jesus, but I wonder what was the reaction to the Sermon on the Mount? Did he and his disciples ever just talk casually about religion? What did they talk about in all those hours they were together? Did any of them ever roll their eyes?
Comment 2023
Spiritual discussions on AOL? I do not remember those, so it would be pretty amazing if anyone else did.
2023
The entry about the bed rug stirred up some memories! The term refers to woolen bed coverings that were made in southern New England (mostly in the Connecticut River valley) around 1800. The farmhouse museum at the University of Rhode Island had one which the donor had been using as a floor covering under her dining table. The fall of 1975, I was doing an independent study documenting it: doing research into how it was made, and drawing a diagram of the design. At that time, there were only a few dozen in existence, and I felt privileged to be working on one. I remember it as a fun project, especially the slow process of creating a pen and ink drawing of the item.
Our bed rug looked like this one at the American Folk Art Museum in New York:
I used to have quite involved discussions about Melrose Place on AOL bb’s or whatever they were called. Hearing your description reminds me that social media hasn’t changed in some essential ways from those very early days.