dianaschnuth

One of my earlist vague memories is of being held by my mother at an open door during a rainstorm. I remember the feel of the mist on my face, the sound of occasional thunder and the flash of lightning, the constant patter of rain, and the clean smell on the wind. As I got older, Mom would stand with me at the door, and I remember her telling me how pretty the rain is.

Mom had had a bad experience with a thunderstorm in her youth, and she consciously tried to make me feel calm and pleasant about thunderstorms. It worked — even now, I prefer to have the windows open during a good rain, to smell the freshness and hear the thunder and the water coming down.

There’s a nice, mild rain happening outside, with constant low rumbling thunder and a gentle breeze. I’ve opened the windows in the basement, where the overhang from the upper floor will keep the rain from coming in. The only thing that would make me happier right now would be a porch and a swing. That way, I could stick my feet out in the rain, like I did during those perfect rainy evenings at my apartment on South Main St. in BG, during the summer of 1999.

Right now, in this moment, I’m content.

I had thought maybe I would do a “Five Years Ago Today” entry, or ten years, or fifteen. (I’ve kept a journal of some sort ever since 1984, mainly at the suggestion of my mother at first, then kept it up to keep myself grounded and sane.) When I looked through my journals, though, nothing exciting really happened on or around September 26 in 2001, or 1996, or 1991.

As a snapshot: Around this time in 1986, I was ten years old. I was getting over a nasty bout of headlice, during which Mom had to cut off five inches of my hair, to make the fine-toothed-combing easier. I was distraught; when I pulled my hair around over my shoulder, “it barely came to my elbow!” Cry me a river.

Also in September 1986, I joined Girl Scouts. I also read the Star Trek novel Uhura’s Song for the second time. I’ve read that same battered copy literally dozens of times since, and can quote several passages as well as I can quote Monty Python.

Fifteen years ago, in 1991, I was quite the church-going lass. For example: I was reflecting on a lesson on gratitude, and decided to write my high school choir director a letter of appreciation for all she was doing for the choir. She ended up receiving the letter on a day when she really needed the pick-me-up, which did my little Freshman 15-year-old heart good.

I was also interested in composing, and had high aspirations for my music. I’d given a copy of one of my choral scores to the aforementioned choir director, and she said she was going to have the choir sing it… but she never did.

Ten years ago, in 1996, I was hanging out with Aaron and with the Mary/Mark duo. I had also started my personal homepage, giving out my “Di’s Unegotistical Homepage” weekly award to none other than Jeffrey Zeldman Presents. I was also missing my late stepdad, Tom, who had passed away almost one year before. Aaron was always supportive and understanding, and helped me be OK with being all weepy about it sometimes.

Five years ago, in 2001, I had one semester left of my undergrad. I had just moved off-campus, and wasn’t journaling much — on paper, anyway. I may have done some “Talking To Myself” on my trusty Mac, although I’m not inclined to hook that bad boy up right now to see what’s on it. (Yes, I still have it — or at least, a later incarnation of it. I believe I upgraded to my PowerPC 6500 after the year 2001.)

Edit: I actually do have my Word file of random ramblings on my PC, transferred with all my half-finished short stories. The entry for September 26, 2001 begins:

I should learn not to talk wedding with Aaron over the phone. It’s never a good thing. He always gets "realistic" on me, saying such confidence-boosters as "I’m going to have to get a second job," and "maybe we should just go down to City Hall," or my personal favorite: "We’ll get married… eventually."

I’d forgotten that I was thinking about wedding planning at that point, too. Another good quotable from that entry:

I’m so upset, in fact, that I’ve just spent the past two hours researching cost-cutting tips on the internet instead of writing my four-to-five-page script for Video class. And Aaron always says, "graduation comes first, then getting a job, then getting married." I know, I know. Life won’t stop while I try to find a job, though, and it certainly won’t wait for us to plan our little wedding. Or decide when it will actually be held.

What struck me as I was browsing these entries was how I’ve changed throughout the years. It’s obvious through my writing when I became the person I am today, for the most part. I matured through high school, as does everyone — I was painfully dorky in my Freshman year of high school, in retrospect. By 1996, my writing flowed a lot like it does today, and my brain seemed to think much like it does now. I know I was less responsible, more self-centered, less realistic… but I think that, by age 20, I was “me.” Maybe even before that.

That makes me wonder: when I get even older, will I still agree that I was “me” by age 20? Or will I have reached some sort of personal epiphany between now and older that makes age 20 seem even more childish?