In addition to the basics, I was able to take a course in woodworking. Happily, I was not the only girl to have fostered such a "sexually uncharacteristic" whim, and the two of us felt less ridiculous seated among our masculine counterparts, knowing our endeavor was not entirely foreign to the minds of other females. My apprehension was unfounded, I discovered, for in time I saw that my work exceeded that of many of my classmates; I was more particular, concerned with the appearance of the finished product and willing to direct effort toward the perfect, rather than haphazard, completion of a project. Moreover, I had a natural love of wood and wished to acquire certain skills therewith, reasoning that one day I would rebuild or at least refinish antique pieces for my own home. I was no advocate of women's liberation; I simply found interest in many activities and subjects. I had to prove nothing to anyone but myself.
After finishing a class project to my satisfaction, I began earnestly on a project of my own design. That which I determined to make was a cedar chest, and looked on excitedly as the instructor pulled a stack of cedar boards from the storage closet and placed them on one of the work tables. The first course of action, he said, was to glue the smaller boards together, after which the uneven width would be surgically altered in the planer. I noticed several imperfections (worm-eaten tunnels) in certain boards, but the teacher was unmoved. "Those can be filled with wood filler," he replied, walking off. I gazed after him doubtfully wondering how I could trust a man who, in one hour, had to coach his 25 students through their 25 different projects. Nevertheless, I started my work, trying to envision a lidded box in the stack of wood which had probably been intended for a bonfire.
Meanwhile, other school-related activities gathered momentum as the academic year drew ever closer to its end. As one of the art editors for the yearbook, I was instructed to design several covers for possible use. My effort resulted in developing four options ranging, in my opinion, from "nearly philosophical" to "cute"; I placed my endeavors on the desk of the teacher whose spare time was choked with yearbook duties. My designs would not necessarily appear on the yearbook cover, but I was satisfied that I had succeeded in creating original ideas.
Mar. 31, 1977… We had a band concert in the aud. and during the middle, Mr. C. got up and read off the nominee for HALL OF FAME and I was one of 'em! (A friend of mine) wasn't tho, and she didn't even congratulate me.
April 20, 1977… I was nominated for American Legion! I didn't really know 'til homeroom, when we were to vote on it!! (I voted for me!!) There were 5 boys and 5 girls altogether.
Mr. Cox took a photograph of me for the special American Legion section of the yearbook so that my grotesque photo, taken when I still had no hair, would not, at least, appear in the separate section. I was relieved and quite thankful to my understanding instructor.
April 21, 1977… Mr. C. said my design would be used for the cover of the yearbook!!
Perhaps all of the previous events were too much for me; I was suddenly ill with migraine headaches in a manner which I had never before encountered.
April 26, 1977… Got a migraine headache at 5th period. Didn't go home though. Called Dad when school let out, but there was no answer, so I had to walk home. It was hard, but I made it.
April 27, 1977… At 2nd period I got another migraine. It took a half hour to get Dad 'cuz he was outside. Finally I got home. I felt bad!!