That got me curious, and since I can’t just go to my online archives anymore - having purged all that in a fit of, what, rage? embarrassment? disgust? does it matter? - I found an old hard drive I keep for as a reference or for a paperweight. Whatever the need it meets, I guess.
July 6, 2005 I wrote my first post on Whaling Season (Whaling Season eventually evolved into Just a Northern Girl when I thought it was cool to have a vanity url. I’ve since changed my mind about the vanity part, but not the url.)
A long time ago in a galaxy far, far away, a friend from college joked about summer...in a northern town such as we were in...that it was like Whaling Season: short...but with a lot of large, white bodies beached on the sand, baking - unappealingly - under a colorless sky. So. Here we go. It's whaling season.
Such humble beginnings. And still, here we are. Or here I am. Or…oh, hell. Who cares.
Muffy started seventh grade today. I helped her pack her bag, took her picture, and waved as she boarded the bus…all kind of in a haze. Normally, I feel a bit of nostalgia or sentimentality or homesickness for my own misspent youth. Not this time.
I don’t want to go back to seventh grade.
I remember the first day of that school year very well. My house was the closest to the school of all my “friends who must walk to school everyday” friends. All three showed up on my front porch at the same time that sunny morning; I joined them there, pony-tailed and backpacked, and we stood there in the anticipation together, grinning. I was anxious - mostly about upperclassmen (the junior and senior high were under one roof). My friends, far more studious and clear of thought, were worried about teachers and homework and balancing athletics with confirmation classes and Other Important Stuff.
As we walked to school that morning, I worried about different things. I didn’t want to take a wrong turn and get lost in a maze of ‘squared circular’ hallways. Or get pantsd (having one’s PE shorts yanked down to the ankles) during co-ed PE. Or made to work in collaborative groups on science experiments. Or asked to recite poetry in front of my peers.
All of those things happened to me at one point or another that year. And yet, I lived.