More than 75 people — children, teens and adults — contributed to this collective diary, describing one particularly note-worthy day: December 12, 2012. 12-12-12. The last of the month-day-year dates for a long long time.
Below you will find a flowing list that offers a glimpse into group consciousness, with entries coming from Ithaca, California, New Mexico, Afghanistan, and other places too.
I call this a Word Mosaic, and hope you'll enjoy reading this account of a day, arranged in random order.
THANK YOU to everyone who participated. All the contributors' names are listed, alphabetically by first name, at the end.
I'm reading a mystery novel that's a bit confusing because there are two characters named Freddie. Walking to work this morning, I noticed as I do every year at this time that the sun was crouching as we circled it rather than standing, as it was a moment ago, in summer. I heard a woman in surprise say "whoa!" and I wondered when and how our command to horses shifted to this new meaning. Driving my daughter to school today, I felt a surge of happiness as I realized that she is always ready to laugh. New York City, all lit up, hustle bustle crowding pushing, cash registers, carolers, too much too little, too loud too hard, too hot too cold, too far from home. I woke up in Afghanistan. The dryers were all full, but as is custom here at Camp Sabalu-Harrison, Afghanistan, I carefully folded someone's dry clothes for them, and then filled the dryer with my clothes. I realized it was Wednesday. For lunch on Wednesdays, it's wings! I got a package from my mother — she sent me snacks and Christmas decorations; I'm saving the fudge for Christmas Day. I left work a little early so I could come back to my room and write these sentences about what I did today. The contractors invaded the house to rip out ceilings due to a flood two days ago; it shocked me how quickly a room could go from charming to raw. And then you take out the recycling and everything changes. Today at work I snacked on a pear, an apple, an avocado, a hardboiled egg chopped up with mayonnaise and cottage cheese, steamed zucchini and some rice cakes. Is it my imagination, or was that a younger version of me that I saw in the mirror after this morning's shower? After reviewing and tweaking an email at least 12 times, it was disconcerting when a glaring error popped out just a hair before I hit "send." Cleo and Fiona, the cats, insist there is a mouse in my study. Accidentally set off my car alarm which makes me feel like I've been caught doing something very wrong, but that's ridiculous. The alfalfa sprouts were covered with a network of fine white hairs, so I rinsed them thoroughly, removed the ones that hadn't sprouted, and set them on a sunny windowsill. I French-braided by daughter's long blond hair, kissed the top of her head, and made her shiver. I wondered these things: how can I keep from singing; how can I make money; how can I grow taller; how would I look with bangs; how would I look bald; how come I don't dream. I began the day with prayer and meditation. I hold out my hand to this day's revolutions and open my heart to knowledge yet to come. Read poems by Walt Whitman and had ambivalent feelings; later learned about Victor Hugo. Played basketball, but not very well. Today I received a round of applause. I laughed several times when I meant it and several times when I didn't. I missed an opportunity to use "albeit" in a sentence. Confused The Taming of the Shrew with The Turn of the Screw. Wondered if there is a chance I would live to the year 2101. Read a chapter of Madame Bovary. I had a ripe red pomegranate for lunch. I bought a not-very-good cupcake in the school cafeteria and pretended to like it. Looked at the yellow setting sun, though not directly at it, of course. This morning the leafless hills looked brown and furry, like a bear's back. Tonight we will light the menorah and eat leftover green curry for dinner. I developed my fourth roll of film and my hands still smell like rapid fixer. Some things went better than expected, but some things bode ill. I didn't really talk to him, but he said my name as we passed in the hallway. In U. S. History class I encountered a deep sense of nostalgia; I worry sometimes that nostalgia will soon be all I ever feel. I made paper snowflakes for the first time since pre-kindergarten; very zen-like. I realize that rhymes come naturally to me. Today I learned that my science teacher eats road kill. As the clock ticked to 12:12 the principal's voice crackled over the loudspeaker, reminding us to remember this day; I whooped and hollered, along with all my classmates. I was ambushed by my alarm clock. Appreciated my history teacher's frequent references to the movie The Hobbit. Drew a picture of a wolf and talked about waffles. My teacher bribed me with 3 mint candies so I would sit next to a troublemaker in math class. Remembering a dream about the 1930s. Why do all these so-called health bars taste exactly the same (and not very good)? Learning to play Chanson by Robert D. Vandall at my piano lesson today, the teacher showed me how to curl my thumb under my fingers in order to move it easily onto the next note. My purple little toe, which I'd dropped the dust-buster on over the weekend, hurt only a tiny bit on my walk today. I ate freshly baked rugelach, a gift from my neighbor, with my English breakfast tea this afternoon. A friend asked me: Is this the day the world is supposed to end? Wishing a long and happy life to Baby Girl Patterson in New York City, born at 12:12 p.m. on 12/12/12. A party in the office: 3 plates transformed into clocks with the number 12 made out of bulk treats from GreenStar. To nap or not to nap? I set my neglected fantasy books together on the shelf for company. This room needs more magic. I tack up photos of the future. If I drink pink bismuth with this energy drink, will I regret it? If I don't get rid of all this catnip, people are going to catch on. Coffee grounds as an air freshener is the best idea I've had in a very long time. I watched as a hawk scooped a little bird up in her talons. An elephant ventured curiously into the dream-world. It was a cozy morning of cushiony socks, thick paperback novels and miso soup. A mad scramble for a celebratory morsel turned one precious minute into a race against time. In the dim light of the downstairs, I heard mysterious squeaking coming from above; it was the guinea pig. The day started promptly at midnight with a crying (and crying, and crying) baby. The afternoon was a blur. I heard the most amazing story in a phone conversation with someone I thought I'd never speak to again. I sat on a red comfy couch and slowly chewed a pumpkin bagel. The pre-school where I read for Traveling Books gave me a giant poster of their finger-paint hand prints forming a Christmas tree, with much glitter. The oatmeal cookies I baked made the house smell good, and Ella Fitzgerald made it sound good. An old boyfriend phoned (we'll call him "Kermit"), not to whisper sweet intimacies across the miles, but to beef that Coach Munn hadn't played him enough on the Honeoye Varsity basketball team — in 1956. This is the first December 12th that I am considered a breast cancer survivor. Gingerbread cookies are bald until you paint hair on their heads with frosting. Lounging around with my son, waiting for inspiration — "where to go for breakfast?" becomes "where to go for lunch?" My 64-year-old body aches all over from three consecutive days of tennis and moderate weights. Almost time for bed and the cat howls to come in and my right wrist aches to the point where I consider taking some pain medication even though I swore I wouldn't today. I felt a cold coming on today, took a hot bath and a nap, and now I feel a lot better. For dinner: 5 chicken wings, one piece of cherry pie, pomegranate seeds, and a spoonful of cole slaw; I have to go now and eat a banana. Today was a lucky day, full of great decisions. It started out only as a Moroccan yogurt cake, but quickly turned into an eight course meal. Discussing coffee with a stranger reveals many truths about them. Walking past the trees, the deer rustled the pine boughs. Walking across the horse pasture, every single blade of grass is covered with thick frost, the red tailed hawk screeches above me, and the sun catches us all. Settling into sadness — this can be okay. After years of hearing it squeak, I oil the wheel barrow wheel and it is instantly quiet. Darkness descends without me riding the spotted horse. Frozen mud makes for easier walking, but I have to wonder: is frozen mud still mud? Black beans for lunch, black beans for dinner. Stepping out into the night of dark dark sky, bright bright stars, and tiny me. What is that incessant ringing that goes on and on? No keys, no money, no breakfast, and I've missed my appointment. "Unglued" is a mild statement for the way I am feeling. Comfort food in the form of a grilled cheese sandwich and tomato soup makes all right with the world. I have to remind myself to breathe. At the Passion Pie Cafe in Truth or Consequences, you cannot help bumping into someone you know, and this auspicious morning, as the New Mexican sun starts to warm the mountains, it's packed. Water exercises with my cohort of old crones. Dozed on and off through an interminable meeting. I am hooked on a new picture puzzle and got most, but not all, of the border done. Watched a program on NOVA about a leopard single mom — such a beautiful, nurturing, clever, and resourceful creature — so much like my single mom granddaughter. A good day, left much undone without regret. A day of many small incompletions, adding up to nothing. Some days sing, this one didn't. Packed my bag (keeping it under the 50 pound limit) for my four-month trip to Bogota, Colombia. Too tired to even turn on the Christmas tree lights. Sage, lavender and dried plant stalks are all sparkling with frost tonight. Didn't see another soul all day. Delighted to see an uncommon Brown Creeper, as part of my FeederWatch observation for the Cornell Lab of Ornithology. Was awakened this morning by the sweet breath of my 3-year old granddaughter who climbed into my bed to snuggle me awake. Danced with wild abandon, with a 2-year-old, to Bob Marley's Three Little Birds. Had an enjoyable conversation about great jazz musicians, while dunking delicious biscotti in espresso. At the oncologist's office, information definitely trumps not knowing, but getting the best possible answers to my well thought-out questions leaves me exhausted. I awoke from a complex dream and lay still for a while, piecing it all together. My coffee percolator clucked and burbled away like a happy hen. I worked at memorizing a poem, reciting it to myself in the mirror as I dressed. I exchanged a knowing grin with my friend across the table. Today a friend said goodbye instead of au revoir. Today my heart stopped for a moment but then it revived when I received good news. I got a text saying I am officially divorced. My five-year-old's blessing: "God cough you, Mommy." Unpacked Dora, Sigmund Freud's work that reads like a detective novel, a steamy one, if you believe the back cover. Exchanged my band-aided clamshell cell phone for an iPhone, and it only took 2.5 hours at the store. Ate homemade chicken soup, then took great care in dressing myself to attend the memorial service of a very young man. Sleep came early — is that because it was dark at 4:30 p.m.? Took a brisk morning walk and delighted in the strength of my almost 65-year-old body and the warmth of sunshine on my face. Pondered the difficulty of leaving the world of many brief experiences in order to explore one thing deeply. Celebrated Hanukkah with singing, dancing, stories, and latkes; then helped my grandson set up a nativity scene. Began my morning trying to perfect the smokeless fire in my new wood-burning stove. Took a longevity test and discovered I would live until I'm 94; that's another 30 years, so I began to re-think how I want to live the next bit of my life. Daylight exits earlier and earlier, stage left, while my life invites me to do more. My 79-year-old feet carry me into my 80th year. Painted a small watercolor of a yellow butterfly and orange flowers, its only merit being its cheerfulness. I looked for the last glimpse of the old moon. Chased the calico cat, again, from under the bird feeders. As the clock was moving into 12/12/12 I opened the day with a breathing meditation, using the words, "Everything that is" with the in-breath, and the words, "is perfect" with the out-breath. At noon, joined by a friend, I popped some popcorn, broke open a block of beautiful dark chocolate, fixed a cup of luxurious Tea Forte, and curled up to watch Pride and Prejudice — absolute perfection, experiencing a quiet and clear sense of peace and contentment. Brewed and drank half a pot of Cafe du Monde coffee, but alas I had no beignet to accompany it. Microwaved (and ate) a bowl of McCann's Instant Oatmeal: maple and brown sugar, extra milk (two percent). I didn't feel even a drop of Impending Doom today. I wished I was in Ithaca, and five minutes later I wished I was in Ithaca again. Pumpkin yogurt, leftover pasta, the 3 p.m. cup of coffee I can't give up. Acupuncture needles: three in the ears (two left, one right), one in the forehead, one in the crown, two in the belly, two in the right calf. 270 days without sugar or flour and I'm still missing cookies. Just another Wednesday. Bought groceries that I didn't have time to get on Saturday. Enjoyed a bottle of Woodchuck "Granny Smith" hard cider. A moment of clarity — choreographing rain, rivers, and water droplets. I watch two women in a booth at the coffee shop, with their silver hair, crinkly eyes and raucous laughter, and plan to be just like them 25 years from now. I don't dig numbers. A brisk walk with a friend who is tired of being a friend. Today I resolved to draw something every day for a year and on days I don't draw I will put a dollar in a jar. I buy a Christmas tree, so tomorrow morning I can breathe in the lingering scent of a Douglas fir in my car. Today I finally figure out how to use Facebook, but not really. Walked up Willow Avenue to watch mallards on Cascadilla Creek. Read up on certain marine creatures designed by H. P. Lovecraft, uncannily similar to my own happy fantasies. Grateful to end the day in a warm bed, good house, peaceful neighborhood, and lovely town. While my coffee brewed this morning, I lovingly studied an old photograph of myself as a three year old child squinting into the sun, all dolled up in a cutesy-white-girlie-dress, standing in the middle of a dirt road with my wagon, my favorite toy of all time, piled full of rocks that I seemed to be hauling somewhere. On the way to the recycling center this afternoon, I wondered what kinds of annoying bags full of stuff people will be cramming into their cars (or whatever it is they drive), taking them off to the "dump" on the next 12/12/12 in the year 2112. I spent an hour and a half writing an important e-mail to a dear friend this morning and then, when I read it again this evening, erased it and spent another hour writing something "better" that ended up sounding about the same as the original. My older sister and I talked on the phone tonight and were amazed at how profoundly different our memories are of our father, who died when we were both still in grade school. Crisp white frost makes the grass pale. Lots of construction, beans on the floor, rotten pomegranate, busy mall, tears, farewells. Having been to East Africa in October I especially enjoyed going into Diaspora on the Ithaca Commons, to share African stories. The line at the post office was long, prompting one woman to loudly say "mercy, mercy, mercy," over and over again, as she walked past everyone in line, did a U-turn, and walked back out. Geese flying north in a perfect V-formation suddenly turned and went south. I do my daily ten salutes to the sun, to bring out the sun. I have my granddaughter's hand in my right hand, the dog's leash in my left hand, the gifts of vinegar and horseradish mustard, both homemade, both packed in glass, I had planned to deliver in this silver bag also in my left hand, when I drop, not the child, not the leash, but oh, yes, the bag with glass bottle and jar: smashed on the sidewalk, oh well. I practice the recorder pieces at the bright, sunny window and now feel ready for tonight's concert. A good friend and I went to a class at Lifelong to learn together about the Ten Signs of Alzheimer's. I took myself out to lunch at Moosewood and tried to calculate the number of times I had eaten there since it opened. My son helped me fill up the bird feeders so my cat and I can be entertained, watching the birds dine for the next week, from inside the comfort of my warm house. I wake up thinking of the Dalai Lama on his exercise bike. Today we are nine days from the Winter Solstice — it is the fourth night of Chanukah, the second Wednesday of Advent, St. Lucy's Day, and the feast of Our Lady of Guadalupe. My doctor listens to my heart and says, "Very good, just like a turtle, slow and steady." I woke up thinking about a mistake I made, and how I might never make it right. Went to the kitchen and opened the door to day 8 on the Chocolate Christmas Countdown Calendar — we are a couple days behind. Called my mom and cried as soon as I heard her voice. I met a sweet baby, born today. I remembered Little Chap, my lovely grey and white cat, and I cried, knowing that I'll never forget him and hoping that I am forgiven. Did the cryptoquip and crossword puzzle, both in pencil. Thought about my upcoming surgery and realized that sometimes denial doesn't work. I think of Jimi Hendrix, who would have been 70 this year. I think of the child I gave birth to in 1969; I saw her briefly and never again. Saw the funeral director walking into the optometrist's office in her black coat and felt sorry that she will never be able to wear a red coat. Taught my private client to meditate by counting his breaths up to twelve (instead of the conventional ten) because I am a maverick. Gave someone a present and signed it, "Love, Hanukkah Harry." I decided to start a new routine today and listened to the Writer's Almanac while still cuddled up in my coziest of all beds. I feel a bit like a reality TV star, recording the little details of my day for my own boring show. It's the last day of class, and I think I spot tears in my professor's eyes as he thanks us for the semester (or maybe I'm projecting). My heart jumps a little at 11:11, but then I realize I should wait until 12:12 to really get excited. I feel powerful and unstoppable, zooming downhill on my roommate's speedy purple road bike. Everything is foggy while I bike uphill, and I have a fleeting fantasy that something has happened to my eyes and I will never see clearly again. A well-dressed man lovingly massages the shoulders of a woman sitting next to me in the cafe, and though my back remains knotted, I feel less tense— as though I'm receiving a second-hand massage. I promised myself I would eat healthier today, but I could absolutely never turn down chocolate bread pudding with vanilla ice cream. I put a check mark next to each small task I accomplish. I re-discovered how helpful it is to speak out-loud (to myself, to my friends, to the shower head) in figuring out the mess in my head. Filled in the last empty box of the crossword; surprise, surprise the theme is 12/12/12. The little blue knit cap is sewn up, pompom attached, ready for Christmas Day giving. With coupons in hand, my husband and I head to the mall to buy gifts for ourselves. Math class: feeling lost and confused. Music class is alright and kind of easy since I'm very musical. My elective class is Stencil Art, we design our own stencils and print them on shirts and napkins. My mom surprised me by taking me to a see the Dave Matthews Band in Raleigh; so exciting; I died inside. After 12 weeks and 12 days I rather suddenly stopped being angry at someone. Grateful for this day and a reason to write.
Thank you, every one of you:
Amanda Coate, Ana Luisa Brady-McCullough, Ana Malina Ramanujan, Annemieke Ruina, Antonia Matthew, Barbara Cartwright, Barbara Force, Barbara West, Bill Holcombe, Bridget Alano, Carla DeMello, Carol Bossard, Chris Fontana, Chris Lemar, Debbie Allen, Donna Holt, Elaan Greenfield, Elissa Wolfson, Gary Russo, Gwen Glazer, Gwen Guo, Joan Victoria, John A. Yntema, Julia Grace Brewster Rosoff, Julie M. Weeks, June Wolfman, Karen Koyanagi, Karina Burbank, Kathleen Galland-Bennett, Kathleen Morrow, Kathleen Thompson, Kay Bacon, Kris Ebert-Wagner, Laura LaRosa, Laura Levinson, Lee Miller, Linda Keeler, Loretta Louviere, Lottie Sweeney, Lynne Taetzsch, Maggie Goldsmith, Margaret Strumpf, Martha Blue Waters, Marty Hiller, Maude Rith, Michael Lakin, Mira Vanek-Johnson, Nancy Gabriel, Natalie Detert, Peggy Adams, Perri McGowan, Phoebe Lakin, Phoebe Shalloway, Priscilla Walker, Rachel J. Siegel, Rose Pinnisi, Rosi Holcombe, Sara Brown, Sasha Paris, Seraphina Buckholtz, Sharon K. Yntema, Siouxsie Easter, Sophia Hiller, Stacey Murphy, Sue Hirschberger, Sue Norvell, Sue Perlgut, Summer Killian, Susan Koon, Susan Lesser, Sylvia Miller, Tara Shanti Kane, Victoria Boynton, Weiwei Luo, Will Koon, Yasmin Kassam-Jamal, Yvette Rubio, Zee Zahava
