KC ends her 1968 entries in November, but then continues with a few more entries in early 1969

    So many things have happened recently that it’s hard to remember them all. 

    Of national importance is the fact that Nixon has been elected president.  I was rooting for Wallace, although I knew he didn’t have a chance.  However it is much more difficult and brave to stand for that which is unpopular.  Though I’m sure future history books (that sounds funny doesn’t it?) will paint Mr. George Wallace as an evil figure I completely disagree.  Remember, history is the propaganda of the winners?  But actually, if Mr. Wallace hadn’t been in the race I would have been for Mr. Nixon and certainly Spiro Agnew. 

    Grandpa and Helena were robbed.  A television, a whole bunch of kid’s tapes, and Grandpa’s favorite radio.  The thing of it is, it’s so mean!  You see, Grandpa has about a hundred different [VHS] tapes, worth a mint, but the thieves, whoever they were, just took the little kid’s tapes.  And I remember so many summer nights Grandpa listening to his radio.  It’s awful. 

    Daddy got an eight hundred buck stereo.  It’s lovely, really. 

Nov. 14, 1968  (a Thursday) 

    It will be winter in a matter of weeks.  The nights are cold and now I do not open my window wide before I go to bed.  The wind blows fierce and the shutters bang against the house, bang, bangbangbang.  Faraway the train whistle blows, a lonely call in the darkness. 

    I feel so sorry for Pope Paul.  Poor man, the idiocy he has to put up with.  I don’t know what history will say, but the pope is a brave and courageous man.  It takes a lot of courage to stand against the world. 

    I fear a terrible time for us in the not-so-far future.  Things are bad, very bad.  But there’s hope yet and I believe there always will be till the end comes.  I wonder if that’s so far. 

    I don’t like it, I just don’t like the way things are going. 

    Thank heaven for brave men like Pope Paul, George Wallace, and William Buckley, Jr. 

Jan. 18, 1969  (a Saturday)

    Though I had not intended to continue this any further, I changed my mind. 

    There are still some things left unsaid as of now, and also, I don’t like wasting all this good paper.  So I will go on. 

Jan. 19, 1969  (a Sunday)

    Life has been most difficult of late.  I have quite a bit of work to do.  Personally, I would rather avoid that issue. 

    What do you do when you’re not sure whether or not a person is really crazy or just a slightly off-beat normal?  How can you try to help them when you don’t [know] if maybe you’re hurting them instead? 

     The [Boston] Globe Scholastic Art Contest has begun.  I am entering five pictures. 

     I am tired, so tired.  I don’t know how I’m going to keep on.  Sameway everybody else does, I guess. 

     It is wet out today.  The sky is damp grey.  It must be beautiful down by the ocean now, so wild and free.  Here, though, the weather seems ugly to me, very depressing on the whole.  The temperature has dropped ten degrees since this morning and I am hoping desperately for snow. 

    This whole journal thing, the way it’s written, I apologise.  I hope my descendants have a considerably better literary ability. 

    The way things have been written here, well, it all depended on my mood at the time. 

    I wish I were down by the sea, all alone, but I’m afraid I might commit suicide if I were. 

    Really, though, I know I could never kill myself.  I enjoy life too much for that. 

    Christine is better and is going back to school Monday.  I was talking to her on the phone Saturday night.  She’s doing very well on her tests despite her sickness, as far as I can see. 

    For Easter Mom is making me a navy blue blazer with brass buttons.  I plan on getting a sailor dress or a jersey and a white skirt to wear underneath.  Should be quite nautical.  But, of course, that figures.  I think at least two of my grand-uncles were sea captains and my great-grandfather was a cabin boy.  No wonder I love the ocean as much as I do.  Funny, how you can inherit general tendencies like that. 

    What a dead day this is!  I wish I were doing something good.  Of course, there are some nice projects I could get started on but they would take too long and I wouldn’t get my homework done. 

    Today everyone is being very nice about L.B.J., even the newspapers. 

    Figures, of course. 

    He did a wonderful job, considering the problems he had on his hands, and I don’t just mean the long-buried ones, either. 

    I suppose I should get going now. 

Jan. 20, 1969  (a Monday)

    It is 10 past 5 now, and the sun has set.  I just went down to the fence to get the Globe where the boy had left it.  You can see everything at the sharpest, clearest detail.  All the houses are spread out like wooden houses in a toy set.  The branches of the trees are silhouetted against the deepening-blue sky like black lace and the moon is like a finger-nail paring.  The air is cold, but now too cold, like the weather we had earlier this winter. 

    The red light on top the Blue Hills is blinking and the skiers’ lights are twinkling like stars fallen to earth.  At the foot of the hills occasionally one can see a white or red light moving along slowly, then it is lost in the trees. 

    Now there is no trace of the sunset.  A star is shining above the moon. 

    Once in a while someone rides by on a bike, or a boy runs by, yelling to another boy; his feet thudding on the pavement. 

    The lights are on in the windows of the houses, shining against the darkness of the night. 

    A truck is rumbling down the Stop & Shop Highway.  A siren is whining. 

    It reminds me of the summer, almost, a summer night, cool after a long day, with a special kind of peace. 

    It’s a lonely night. 

    I think I’m going in town with Dad tonight, he has to get some pastel paper.  I’m looking forward to that.  He got a lovely set of pastels, 96 all together. 

    I have a bad cough and my voice is awful.  Eileen and I were singing patriotic songs and we sound like Readville’s Senile Old Dames’ Parade marching down Truman Highway.  My voice gave out completely. 

    We’re thinking of going to Labrador this summer or the next.  It was my idea. 

    I said to Dad how it would be nice if we went someplace different in the summer and he said yes, but where could you go?  So I said, why not try Labrador?  I’ll have to admit I was sort of kidding, but he took me right up on it.  It should be interesting. 

Jan. 22, 1969  (a Wednesday)

    I am feeling better today than I have in months.  There isn’t any reason for this happiness that I can see, I just guess some of the tension has lifted. 

    We were having a good joke in school today.  Denise mentioned that the art nun said I worshipped Andrew Wyeth, so I said, “Sure Barbara, you’ve seen the little altar I have.  And I don’t have a Bible I have that Andrew Wyeth book.” 

    Diane said how before I went to bed every night I lit vigil candles in front of his picture. 

    In my own defense I must say that in actuality I do not worship A. Wyeth, I admire him, yes, but worship?  Also, though apparently there is some resemblance between our styles I have never copied any of his pictures.  That would not be enough for me, I would not be satisfied. 

    Boy, I feel great tonight.  It’s [a] nice change.  I saw a great C.P.O. shirt in the store in Mattapan.  And I don’t remember whether it said 5 or 15 dollars.  I’m afraid, that, in light of my pecuniary resources, it would make quite a bit of difference.  If it’s 5 dollars I could get it tomorrow. 

    I got my picture sent off to Globe Scholastic today.  Hope I get at least a few accepted. 

Feb. 9, 1969  (a Sunday)

   We’re having quite a bad storm here, from 10 to 14 inches of snow expected. 

    It’s almost eight at night now.  We’ve been without light for more than three hours now.  It’s driving me crazy, not being able to see anything, carrying a candle around, and dripping candle wax all over myself.  I like the spirit of the pioneers that pervades the air, but I don’t like bumping into everything and everybody. 

    Barbara called.  All excited over not having school.  I’m not.  I really don’t care. 

    I don’t know what’s the matter tonight, I just don’t feel too happy. 

    I burnt my fingers half a dozen times on the candle.  Dad went out shoveling snow.  There are bright flashes in the sky, blue-green in colour.  
Probably the wires. 

    I am writing this by candlelight, of course.  Just like Abe Lincoln. 

    The refrigerator has stayed fairly cold.  We’ve tried to keep it closed, not open it too long.