17-year-old Helena Muffly wrote exactly 100 years ago today:
Saturday, November 30, 1912:
It often seems the best comes last,
And so it must be with December.
As the end of the year recedes into the Past,
We see her last holiday, Remember.
Wanted to go to McEwensville tonight but Ruth won’t, so I didn’t. Made me feel sore for awhile.
Her middle-aged granddaughter’s comments 100 years later:
The first day of each month, Grandma began the diary entry with a poem. I’m still trying to figure out if she wrote them herself or copied them from somewhere. This month it almost seems like Grandma struggled to find a word to rhyme with December—so I’m leaning towards her writing the poems herself.
Why did Grandma want to do in McEwensville on a Sunday evening? . . to visit friends? . . . to attend an evening church service ? (Though, based on the diary, I don’t think that there generally were evening church services.)
And, (I guess I have more questions than answers) why did Grandma feel like she couldn’t go if her sister Ruth won’t go with her?