It is that time of year when I just want to hibernate. I'm taking plenty of vitamin D and I use my Happy Light every morning, but winter still gets to me. Not only is the daylight limited, but we have had a plethora of gray, drab days. We've had very little snow so far this year, which is unusual but we've seen it happen before. Yesterday we got about 4" of heavy, wet snow and then it turned to rain and made a sloppy mess.
I've been at home more than usual in the past week, too. Thanks to the holidays, I haven't needed to babysit my granddaughter, nor have there been appointments to run to. The positive side to that is I have been getting all sorts of little odds and ends caught up at home, and found time to do a jigsaw puzzle. The downside is I am getting cabin fever.
One of the things I've had time for is reading more in my old diaries. I've written about that before, but took a long break from reading. Sometimes it just gets too intense! I am now up to the fall of 1981. It was fun reading about meeting the man who eventually became my husband, and about the time we spent together that spring and summer. Getting to know him was the only good result from my year of teaching music in that tiny town in central Montana, which is beautifully situated among several mountain ranges, with a fantastic view whichever way one looks.
I became acquainted with some of the grandparents of my students and found them to be of solid pioneer stock, hard-working, honest, generous, and friendly. Something happened to the next generation, though; the parents of my students seemed to think they and their children were automatically better than everyone else in the world just because they grew up in that region. They thought their children could do no wrong. Every problem was blamed on the new kids who moved there from elsewhere. I eventually learned they spoke highly of their town and their school, but were quick to find fault with the staff at the school.
It was considered normal and acceptable for the children to vandalize cars and homes on Halloween. Parents let their children take band, but weren't committed to getting them to the concerts so they could participate. Even longtime teachers were not supportive of newcomers like me; some of my students repeated to me the highly-unprofessional remarks that were made in my absence.
Somehow I survived that school year and returned to my parents' home for the summer, where I worked at a fast food restaurant. That school was the second-lowest paying school in the state, and I needed another job in the summer to make ends meet. I had a very busy, mostly-fun summer, but then in the fall my boyfriend's temporary job came to an end and he moved back to the Midwest. I was very sad, because I didn't know if I would ever see him again.
Although I find my old diaries to be quite absorbing, I think most of what is in there would bore anyone else to tears. I toy with turning parts of them into readable stories, but haven't figured out how to go about it yet. And now I am going to go bake some cookies, because it seems like a good thing to do on such a drab day.