April fool’s day pranks – Babu fell for one but didn’t enact her own.

Her teacher embarrasses her again – but it’s not an April Fool’s joke, it’s her M.O.

Babu laments her lack of popularity and her abundance of zits.  Fooey !  She is beautiful, kind, interesting, and smart.  People clearly love her and with every reason.

She has to write a poem for class but can’t bring herself to.  I wonder if any of that has to do with what Miss Short might say.  I wouldn’t want to share a poem I wrote with her either!

She gets a bag of chips from “Cavemen”  but says she doesn’t think he likes her.  He clearly likes her.

She’s daunted by her school work – especially her “bookkeeping” which I guess is from her accounting class.

For those of you just tuning in, these are my grandmother’s journals from 1935.  She wrote something EVERY DAY since at least 1934 – the journal I cannot find!  I began this job of transcribing her journals at first for posterity and for the joy of sharing what she wrote, and mostly doesn’t remember with her.  What a great experience!  It has become much more than that.  It’s such as cliche, and as a writer I should have seen this coming, but of course this has become an experience I am learning and growing from.  Reading these journals from EIGHTY years ago I see in stark black and white how common the human experience can be.  For an evolved species, we cannot yet figure out how to teach our daughters that the way you naturally are – pimples and all – is how you are meant to be, that you are beautiful, and that insecurity doesn’t have to be a long enduring and consistent devil during your adolescence.  And how have we not yet taught this to our sons- who hold the same deep wells but have so expertly learned to cement them over with aggression and machismo?  Because still, everyone – all of us – master in comparative studies and languish in our feelings of ineptitude.  It doesn’t really go away as we get older, either.

And how have we not yet figured out relationships?  I know the answer to this one.  It’s not as simple as communicating how you feel, kindly, and moving on.  Sometimes we don’t know, and it changes, and words can be so permanent – we don’t want to loose.  But we might not want to have.

So, if you’ve dropped by and checked this out – please keep coming back.  Please share how her simple recounts of her day strike you.  What buttons do they press or what small revelations do you have?