Tuesday, January 17, 1939
17th Day–348 Days to Follow

No choir practice. Went to see Mrs. Grimes. Saw Gladys & Smiley.

Mrs. Nicholls came. We gave her some meat. Mr. Gatliff came. Murray sold meat to Lo. Wright.

Billy, Inez and I put the quilt in the frames.

Amos Gilley left for Whipple Barracks.

– – – – – + – – – – – + – – – – – + – – – – –

Tuesday, January 17, 2012

All of these bits of life being lived. In the height of the depression, before the second world war, before the baby boom, before cell phones and internet piracy/censorship acts. How I wish I had known about these diaries before my grandfather passed away. Would he remember stretching the quilt into the frames? Is it a quilt we still use now, when we’re up at the cabin? I lie here under this quilt, unable to sleep without its warm weight, and I wonder when it was made, and by whom.

Today was a full day spent mostly in the house watching the snow fall. Hour after hour fat, fluffy flakes drifted to the ground, and I monitored the inches as the piles rose atop the benches, table and the garden stakes. When it finally stopped I climbed out onto the deck and stuck an ancient yardstick down until it reached the bottom, eight inches below. I took pictures and sent them to family members while my mom pleaded with me via text to stay put and not drive to the store. I warmed the house by roasting turkey legs and thighs, and even made stuffing out of some old bread. After lunch I wandered around outside, not wanting to disturb the still, fluffy whiteness around me.

When my roommate got home we walked to the store (half & half is kind of a necessity around here) and then made snow angels in the front yard. We weren’t able to pack the snow enough to make snow people, so I suggested we hit the booze and so the Snow White Russian was born. (At least, born to us. I’m sure in the history of snow and liquor this all has been done before…) The new powder was perfect, though the drinks didn’t exactly compliment our salads with grilled chicken for dinner. : /

Later in the evening I watched Sylvia, and I remembered the year I read The Bell Jar, The Catcher in the Rye and Franny and Zooey almost back-to-back, how I felt like I was surely going to lose my mind. And how I didn’t, but I sold my house and quit my job to return to school instead. Six of one, half dozen of the other, right? To be continued…

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