Wednesday, March 31, 1965
Sure is hellish trying to write in a car. It’s 4:12 pm and we’re in the Shenandoah Valley. So far we’ve traveled through five states. I have a feeling this is going to be a short entry because I’m feeling carsick. Avril has been carsick twice already. We got up at nine and left at nine thirty. Call last night to Phil - saying goodbye was rather a greasy experience. I wish he had a sort of brake control. I promised him I would write. He will probably be back at school by the time I return. The countryside is all the same, dark woods, yellow grass and ridiculous road signs. We had lunch in a bone-chilling wind at 12:30 and now I’m starving again. We ate at Howard Johnson’s and Dad embarrassed us about the food. He always complains but I like the clams. Mom’s scarf blew out of the window so we are turning back to get it. FRIDAY APRIL 2, 1965 At last a moment! We have really been having fun. We ended up in Front Royal Virginia the last time I wrote you at The Colonial Motor Court. Dad said it was about as colonial as a TV dinner. We went to see Goldfinger after dinner and Dad pretended to be Oddjob in the parking lot. Mom was rigid and disapproving but whether of murderous Oddjob or boisterous Pussy Galore I couldn’t say. Next day we went to Monticello. I could spend a lifetime there! We made it to Williamsburg by late afternoon and went straight to the Candlelight Concert at the Governor’s Palace. Concert mediocre. Then we went to the Sheraton, which was a pretty cool place except the pool is shut. We ate at Chowney’s and I had Brunswick stew and apple pie. Dad rousted us out at an ungodly hour so we could see all of Williamsburg. First place we saw was Bruton Parish where I liked the graveyard. I found a small stone with just the initials B.S. on it. That’s the way to go – keep everyone guessing. Then we saw the George Wythe House. Rough way to live. I preferred the Palace, where we got lost in the maze. I said I was sure I had been an aristocrat I in an earlier life and Dad said everyone thinks that. I found the middle of the maze all by myself, but it began to rain and so we ducked into the Brush-Everard house. We had lunch at Christiana Campbell’s. I had potpie and stoked myself quite full. After lunch we hit the shops: I bought a blank book, a thistle seal (Mary Queen of Scots) and a gingerbread man. I was so sleepy I slept in the car on the way to Washington, but I woke up when we got to our hotel, the Fairfax. The Fairfax is a rather doubtful looking place – Dad has a tendency to choose hotels that look like the owner just died. Our rooms are on the eighth floor. We went to dinner at an Italian place called Nino’s. The food was good, but you can get better pizza at Benet’s. We drove around after dinner and Dad said this is the second most beautiful American city (after San Francisco.) Mom said its No. 1. All I could see was huge monuments looming at me through the gloaming. SATURDAY, APRIL 3, 1965 I was rudely awakened by someone trying to strangle me – it was Daddy. And yet nobody’s allowed to make noise while he’s trying to sleep – just one of the many inequities between parents and kids. Genevieve called me a sloth and I reminded her that it takes a sloth three hours to drown because of their generally superior construction. They probably experience things more deeply too. I know I was having a wonderful dream, I just can’t remember what it was. It was six a.m – earlier than I get up at school. We drove around looking for somewhere to eat, finally stopping at the Ambassador where I had strawberries and coffee. (You’ve gotta start sometime.) We decided to climb the Washington monument but a surprise awaited us: to be exact, a line that stretched as far as the eye could see, comprising: • Girl scouts • Brownies • Old ladies • Fat ladies • Dead ladies • Dead girl scouts • Hoboes hired to stand in line for somebody smarter. What to do? Fortunately Dad decided to pretend to be a tour guide and just walked in front, talking and waving his arms, something about how the building was built of pennies collected by Brownies and some statue, covered with pigeon poo, was a memorial to a man who invented a way of cleaning pigeon poo off statues. At one point we had at least thirty people in our group – everyone was riveted. Of course all that climbing was pointless and not worthwhile. Genevieve said the monument looked like a giant planeria, which is a repulsive image. Other deathless thoughts from the day’s experience: The White House does not look like it would be fun to live in. I failed to catch a glimpse of Luci Baines who has probably gratefully gone somewhere else. Dad made us stand in front of the Treasury Building for what seemed like an eternity (“because we owe them so much money”) and then we went to see our Congressman. Although he is a Republican he seemed like a good fellow. Daddy called him Chuck and he talked to us for quite awhile as if he wasn’t really busy. He gave us passes to the next session of the 89th Congress which I thought was nice until Dad pointed out that we’re paying for everything. So we trudged over to the Capitol. I liked the classy pillars and noticed the meander design everywhere (matching my sweater – which my mother knit while I studied the Greeks.) I also liked the chandeliers. They have a lot of them. There was one hall where each state had put two statues of famous men – one of ours was Garfield (who I’ve heard of) and the other one was Allen (who nobody’s heard of.) The tour guy said Garfield’s assassin is one of the Capitol ghosts and the guards see him occasionally. The best statue was Will Rogers. Then we went to see the Supreme Court. I wish they had been in session but they weren’t so I actually saw more of the ladies’ john. There were a lot more steps. I was beginning to get a rubbery sensation in the knees. We went out to lunch at Hogate’s where I had crab imperial and Dad lost his air travel card. Then we drove to the Pentagon because Daddy wanted to see it. Not interesting. We went to Arlington, which was very depressing. You wouldn’t want to live your whole life just so you could be seventh from the end in the thirty-ninth row of Section A. The Tomb of the Unknown Soldier was not as impressive as the one in France. Daddy was angry at us for giggling but I don’t think it was the kind of place to make you want to be quiet. The French know how to do these things right. I was taken out of my mood by the Jefferson Memorial. It’s adorable. I would like one in my yard. I think it’s my favorite thing I’ve seen. “I have sworn on the Altar of God Eternal Hostility Against Every Form of Tyranny over the Mind of Man.” Wonder what he would have said if they added “woman” to that. Back at the hotel Avril and I hung out in her room, Genevieve went shopping and Mom and Dad went to an art museum nobody else wanted to see. I washed and dried my hair and at six-thirty we all walked to a Japanese restaurant called Tokyo Sukiyaki, which Dad said, would be like opening a restaurant in Tokyo and calling it New York Steak and Potatoes. I must say we are eating well. Dad said it was the most authentic Japanese restaurant he’d ever been to in the States. They painted the walls to look like paper and we had to take off our shoes. The tables were low and there was nowhere to put your feet. We all ate with chopsticks. Dad said you’re a pro when you can pick up three peas I in a line. He can do it – I can’t – and Genevieve pretends she can. After that we tried to see Zorba the Greek but it was all sold out. So we went to Lord Jim instead. And guess what? Sold out too. Lots of parents would have been stymied at this point but Dad said he had just begun to fight. We went to a discotheque called LeBistro where everyone was dressed to the teeth but there wasn’t any dancing. Dad bought us all beers (except a coke for Avril. I hate beer, as it turns out) and we waited around but we didn’t want to be the only ones dancing so we went back to the hotel and played Hearts. I got the Queen of Spades twice, which is definitely a sign of something.
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PLUMLY PREP SEPT 1964
Friday, Sept 18 – 64 I can’t believe another week has gone by! This is amazing – I am actually too busy living to write! This has got to be a first. Friday seems like the only time because we don’t have sports in the afternoon. Lots of people are taking weekends but I’m saving mine up till I have somewhere special to go. I’ll tell you about my classes. ENG 1 – Strictly for losers. Miss Wienand is so old we can’t believe she’s still alive and not something that struggled its way out of the Tomb of Ligeia. When we speak to her we have to shout and then her head wobbles and her eyes fill with tears. At first I was shocked but you gradually get hardened. She quotes the Lady of Shalott by the hour. Genevieve says it’s the anesthesia they gave her in the war – now she is crazy. There’s a funny boy in class named Ted – he is not sexy at all but he is hilarious. When he said he preferred Coney Island of the Mind to Keats she got so upset she forgot to give us homework. Reading A Separate Peace. FR II- Not bad – taught by a real Frenchwoman named Ann-Marie Bustas. She wears very high heels and very tight skirts so she can barely walk and she teases her hair high in back with a rattail comb. I am smug because I aced the first test! She says I can read Françoise Sagan if I want to. ENG Hist – is my favorite class taught by a sexpot named Nichols. His teeth are stained with nicotine and his hands shake but he is very funny about Ethelred the Unready and the Venerable Bede. (Unfortunately he is married.) He never fails to crack us up. BIBLE - a romp through hell. Zealots 5, Sadducees 0! The teacher is the janitor – he probably works for free so they don’t put him in a home. He wears a hearing aid as big as a toaster and if you want to disrupt class all you have to do is hum. He takes it off his head and tinkers with it for minutes at a time. Gerry Woo is trying to program him by remote control but so far it hasn’t worked. Gerry is another writer (he carries his sci fi novel with him everywhere) unfortunately he spits when he talks and jumps in his seat as if he has bugs in his pants. (He probably does. I hear the hygiene at Boys End is nothing to write home about. Dr Freud to the contrary I am glad I’m not a boy. Sounds hazardous to the health.) So Gerry & I won’t be forming a writing coven anytime soon. MATH – Over my head from Day 1. I have a Math Deficiency Disease. Need I say more? SCIENCE – I have always admired Science from afar but here’s my chance to see it up close. I’ve promised myself to work really hard this term and plumb its mysteries. What else? Oh yes, HOME EC = putrid and ART is for babies. I’m talking finger-painting and cutting things out of magazines. If we are really good Mrs. Kurtz will let us make a potholder to take home to our mommies. Me, who made a pajama coat over and over again from scratch! (Teacher rejected it the first 4 times.) We are imprisoned in hockey four afternoons a week while a man-woman makes me run so much I’ve developed a heart condition. We are required to take at least one hobby and I’ve signed up for Workshop Theatre but the teacher hasn’t shown yet because he’s busy getting a divorce. I’m sure my impetigo is no longer contagious but no boys have come close enough to find out. A few drips circle warily and have to be dropped in their tracks before they spew. Sat. Sept 19 - 64 The most amazing thing has happened! I am the leader of the freshman girls! There are only nine of us living at Girls End! (The others are day students.) I know I am an unlikely leader type – I am not bragging or being aggressive. I think I am simply les panic stricken than anybody else. They are in hysterics about grades, boys, hair, parents, I say Why worry about it? And they sob gratefully. They put me in charge of the Freshman Skit for Camp Suppers. Nobody wants to look stupid because there may be Boys paying attention. Har to tell which pair of beady eyes around a campfire belong to a handsome face or an agile brain so we can take no chances. We are putting on GOLDFIGURE –a girl whose incredible physique turns men into statues. What do you think? Sun. Sept 20 – 64 Life is such a great adventure! I am planning to be so happy my whole life I wake up laughing. Got a letter from Andrea yesterday that made me momentarily nostalgic about The Past. Oh the times we snuck out of the house in the deep of the night wearing our father’s shirts. But one can’t look back one must move forward. Mon. Sept 21 - 64 A protective life regulated by bells. We come up the stairs at days’ end singing, hockey sticks over our shoulders like the dwarves in Snow White. Friends, bathrobes, curlers, bathing suits hang everywhere. You are Not Alone. You go into your room and kick off your hockey shoes so forcefully the spikes damage the wall and throw yourself full-length on the bed even though you have only 15 mins to get pretty for dinner. Your roommate is laughing and throwing socks about. Life is good. Yet somehow I am wary of this idyll. Tues Sept 22 – 64 I wish I was beautiful. It would make my life so much easier. But no, I have the Nose of the Aallyns, and the Jaw of the Boxer Rebels. Writing under the sheets ONCE AGAIN by flashlight. This would mean a deten if caught which involves cleaning flowerpots down at the greenhouse. It could be worse. Boys have to shovel manure, which explains their smell. Many are the benefits of the female sex. The smell of laundry soap is strong under here. Not that the sheets are clean – heavens no – they are stained with apple juice and blood. A brain-damaged girl got me in the ankle with her hockey stick. Got my first KOB tonight so of course I have to memorialize it. A boy in my art class named Bob. I don’t know about Bob. I’m not sure he’s got what it takes. He’s too nice. Oh where will I find the boy f my dreams? My eyes wander over the Senior Class. Left my razor kit at home and my legs are a hairy mess. Plus I wear kneesocks constantly and the rubber bands are cutting off my circulation. And my skin shows signs of becoming volcanic ground on a rich diet of creamed chicken and scalloped potatoes. Run for the boats, men, the Angry Goddess is about to explode! At dinner I sit next to a very cute boy named Phil although he’s at least an inch shorter than me. Got an interesting book out of the library about Anne Boleyn. Those Tudors certainly knew how to live. Well, enough of burning the midnight battery. See you in the AM. Thurs. Sept 24. 1964 Rewriting Agnes Strickland, Lives of the Queens of England. She has her ideas, I have mine. ISABELLA OF VALOIS – Unprepossessing, yethinks? Look closer: this little chickadee is padded like a football player. Life was very rough and tumble in those days. Her face is all greased up and her ears seem to be missing. She married Richard II when she was eight and had no idea what was in store. Later he either was murdered or committed suicide so he wouldn’t be murdered. JOANNA OF NAVARRE - Things are getting worse. Two fungus growths on either side of this head. She is wearing one of the new French bras but she still has to hold up her chest. When the French captured her, they gave her right back. Can you blame them? KATHERINE OF VALOIS - Isabella’s sister but you’d never know it. She’s a dead ringer for Ringo Starr. No chest, a potbelly, and when they called her “Katherine the Fair” they were being sarcastic. Still, Henry V was madly in love with her. Maybe he was kidding. MARGARET OF ANJOU – Maggie also well padded for the games, but content to take life as a bystander. From the expression on her face you can tell her team is not winning. She was a goalie in the Wars of the Roses. ELIZABETH WOODVILLE – Her head is wrapped in mosquito netting and she is sucking on a lemon. Your guess is as good as mine what she was up to. ANNE OF WARWICK - More sport, Old English Style. In one hand she holds a hockey stick, in the other, the ball. ELIZABETH OF YOURK – An amateur magician. Saying, “Nothing up my sleeves, nothing up my socks.” I’d watch those sleeves, though. KATHERINE OF ARAGON – Pictured holding a dead bouquet of flowers to symbolize her husbands whom she beat at wrestling. First one died, second one divorced her. More anon! Sun. Sept 27 – 64 Madness reigns! I’ve been behaving strangely for the past three days. Ah me. It is just too much that I have not been invited to the fall dance, and girls can’t invite boys here. Still there’s six days left. I will be disappointed if I don’t get KOBS from six boys all madly in love with me and threatening to throw themselves into the lake with one mighty splash. I can dream, can’t I? Saturday was Night Problems – a strange affair where they blindfold girls & boys, put them in trucks and dump them in the woods couple by couple and make them find their way home. I was dumped off with Art the Wolf who made no moves on me but very practically suggested we follow the railroad tracks to the school! There was plenty of moon. We were the first ones back and won the box of cookies (which I gave him because I hate ginger snaps.) Thurs Oct 1 - 64 Guess what, I’m in the infirmary. Lovesick or Night Problems? When first I entered Nostrils the nurse thought I was faking. But I had a real temperature all right! The doctor says I have SPOTS on my tonsils! (Lovespots.) Dr. Jax is one of those smooth mass-production doctors who advertise things on TV. Probably an incipient sex maniac. Nostrils went snoopily through my bag asking what my Noxzema is for and confiscating my chocolate covered cherries (they were getting old.) Her nostrils really are amazing. You could pick her out of a crowd. She asked if Felix Krull, Confessions of a Confidence Man is a novel of sex and violence! I’m reading it but I don’t like it. Sometimes I read Vanity Fair (vey good! – Nostrils had heard of that one) and sometimes Nero Wolfe. There are two boys in the Boys’ Section and I can talk to them over the swing door but I can’t see them! I’m going to write them both KOBS. Nostrils says I’ll be here till Sun which means I’m down for the count at the dance. These male sickos will have to be my dates. Wed Oct 7 - 64 Life is so full. My whole being is just one big question mark. While waiting here to be fulfilled I am actually living. Reading Violet Brooke’s The Prisoners of the Tower. That’s what we are – prisoners of the tower. But at least it’s a co-ed tower. I am introduced to the Art of Shiking – which is Being where you are Not supposed to Be. “Off bounds”. It has many sophisticated ramifications such as jumping from window to window, even running between the chimneys on the roof playing Viet Cong Vs French Resistance. Or it could just mean meeting boys in Central after dark! Thurs Oct 8, 64 Got a “social warning” for “lights out” with a boy! It was only six o’clock for heaven’s sake! I have much to learn about the Art of Shiking. Things are rough for the Prisoners of the Tower. We were talking about hobbies. His is photography. I said mine is philosophy. Social philosophy. Like why people are so very, very strange. Also got a warning for not wearing a “covering” on my curlers in the upstairs Girls’ End Hall! What is this, Moulay Idis? What a place! Favorite song this week – “I like it” by Gerry & the Pacemakers. “I like it! I like it! I like the way you run your fingers through my hair…” Exactly. Doggerel for English: “To laugh and love and run and sing Are gifts beyond all price. And when I die for die I will I’ll feel no pain or strife. It is enough for me to know I’ve sipped the wine of life! In a way I’ll always live In all I’ve loved and seen The whirling whiteness of the snow The emerald spring of green. A rock that’s round and hard and smooth The restless roaring sea The pale blank beauty of the moon All have a piece of me. So I can die without a qualm ‘Cause death is never mean. Dying too is part of life – Remember – dirt is clean! Eng teacher gave me a B MINUS and asked me to write it again without rhyme! But since it’s in the past, why would I? Life rushes on, Master Gwill! Better get moving! I recited it at the dinner table (maybe it is more of a recitation piece) and – Miss Wormrest liked it so much she gave me her notebook from a Trip to France in 18 BC. It is full of sketches of fishermen and birds – the poems are unbelievably bad. There are a surprising number of breasts – even men had breasts in those days! Maybe she is a nympho-lesbo. TUESDAY, MARCH 30, 1965 - Brockton, Ohio Fifteen minutes to midnight and the tears are still drying on my cheeks. I say goodbye to childhood. Tonight Mom and Genevieve and Avril and I went to a concert at Avril’s school – my old school. It was like walking smack into the past—a nightmare come to life. Old Miss Quinn came lurching toward us like Boris Karloff in the Mummy – she was even trailing some sort of torn drapery. I stared disbelieving at the puniness of the drinking fountain –more like an animal watering device than any kind of implement to be used by human beings – was I EVER that small? The halls were narrow and grimy but I remember them in my dreams as vast and spacious with the edges seeming to drop away like unmapped territory. The children’s faces even seemed familiar – as if I grew up and they didn’t – maybe children’s faces are indistinguishable. The Auditorium was pathetic. It had a tiny stage – made of wretched splintered boards. I felt my rear end itch in memory. I imagined myself, old and famous, donating decent drapes to replace those ratty dust catchers. But probably it would be better to deny any association with this place. Of course Avril performed horribly. Years of relentless babying have softened that poor child’s brain. Genevieve and I walked home so as to avoid the reception afterwards. I don’t recall my mother going to a single one of my concerts – and Genevieve doesn’t remember it either. This mothering thing is something she’s only recently discovered – twenty years into the job. Oh well. As Genevieve says, what doesn’t kill you makes you stronger. When we got home we watched The Man from Uncle, (naturally Avril gets a TV!) then I worked on my novel about teenage stardom while Genevieve set her hair with beer cans. That’s because we were going to the movies - the second showing of 36 Hours and she might see someone. Genevieve had already seen it and couldn’t help giving me a running commentary. I need all the help I can get in war movies. My favorite part was when Pike and Anna were in the hole and the German soldier, looking in sees a nest of baby birds instead of them and whistles to the birds. I thought it was very mature of the scriptwriter to resist the urge to have him murder the baby birds. When I got home Daddy called me into the study where he had an application for summer theatre camp! I can go! Off to sleep in a haze of bliss. Brockton, Ohio – Mon Sept 7 - 64
Diary you are the most recent diary in a long line. Today I took all my diaries out of the linen closet (up high where Mrs. Broadnax never dusts) and put them on the leaf pile! Did away with them. It was with considerable relief that I put away childish things. It seems right to burn diaries in the autumn when there are so many other burnings. When people on the street sniff the burning pile and say, “What a good smell” I can say “That’s Jeff and Harvey and that English kid who pretended he was the Lost Beatle and all those other small-town idiots I can’t wait to leave behind.” Tra la for autumn madness, new notebooks and new adventures! Tues. Sept 8 – 64 Well it’s happened. That thing I fought so long: I am crying. Next to pain, disbelief is my strongest emotion. There is no getting around it. I looked in the mirror and I am ugly. Mom offered to trim my hair – I was losing my flip – and I thought she actually would but she cut it so short its not even short length. It just looks stupid. You can still see the scars of the summer’s impetigo all around my mouth. (Mom calls it a “deficiency” disease! Great!) Can you imagine arriving the first day of school with a deficiency disease and stupid hair? And now my eyelids are swollen and my nose is purple! Can I rise above this? At least in my dreams I am beautiful. I’m exhausted from a day of shopping, sitting at my desk in my rabbit slippers in my own little room. Tired of wrestling with Mom over clothes, as usual. Finally got her to buy me a decent pair of heels and some black underpants (for my exotic moods.) I lost on the black party dress even though I promised to take the rose off the shoulder. All she will buy me are horrible Villager, John Meyer and Walter Lanz desecrations that make teenagers look like members of the golf club. At least she let me buy makeup to cover my impetigo and a powder blue cardigan I really like which will look good once I shrink it. Genevieve caught me in the bathroom trying it on backwards and she said nobody wears cardigans backwards and if you wear your circle pin anywhere but at the collar of your cardigan it means you’re not a virgin. (Also if you wear your kilt pin upside down.) I said everyone in France wears their cardigans backwards and nobody in France is a virgin. Mom and Dad say I need a “progressive” school because I am creative and Genevieve needs a “snob” school because she is smart. Unfortunately for us both it’s the same school. Next-door creep Avery raked my diaries out of the leaf pile but they were too burned to read hahaha. He will never know whether I wrote about him or not, the little grossness. (He chests his pants.) How he would love to be preserved for posterity. Fri Sept 11, 64 So many days since I wrote! It shows how exciting my life has been. My only problem is my roommate who seems to come from another planet. But I want to write about everything. Wed AM I woke up early, washed my hair in beer, put Dep on the ends and set it on orange juice cans. This really seems to work – it held the flip till almost noon. I had to drag the hairdryer out of my trunk where it was mixed up with all the unspeakable hockey things they make you buy. Had my breakfast under the hairdryer in my room because I didn’t want to hear Daddy’s remarks idiot women whose hairdryers melted on their heads, burned their hair off leaving only a scarred patch, welded orange juice cans to their skulls, etc. etc. Then my sister’s boyfriend Granger showed up. My parents really like Granger but the joke’s on them. They are allowing Granger to drive me and Genevieve to school for reasons I’ll never understand. He drives like a hellion and makes “vroom vroom” noises with his mouth like a little boy. I hope none of the other boys at school are this disgusting. He and Genevieve are perfectly suited for each other however. Neither know the meaning of true maturity. Plumly is NOT a pretty school but I’d seen it before so it was not a shock. It looks like a prison out of Dickens. Why don’t they just call it “The Workhouse.” (Oh no! Don’t send me there!) However the trees are pretty and at least it has a lake. My roommate Thekla is an albino. When she is speaking I am just staring at her wondering what its like to have pink eyelashes and not do anything about it. She is very religious and says if I say “Jesus Christ!” one more she will report me; that it’s wrong to use the Lord’s name in vain. How does she know its vain? Aren’t you supposed to call on your savior in times of trouble? I’m in trouble a lot. Also, this is supposed to be a progressive school – my father says “Jesus Christ” all the time and he is very progressive. I think I am going to lose this one because Thekla is from Nebraska. She is like one of those frontier women who stand in the middle of fire, water and Indians and never get budged or scraped. I am writing with a flashlight under the covers and Thekla would be threatening to report me if she was awake. Fortunately she snores – it’s very handy for knowing if she is asleep or awake. My Big Sister came to visit me. They are assigned to you to show you the ropes. Her name is Lauren and she is so cool it hurts. She came in wearing one of our awful gym suits and on her it looked good. She has cut the sleeves off and ripped the bottom into fringe. She says I will get a big brother named Larry Murchenwold and he is a WOLF so I’d better be careful! Great to go to a little school where everyone knows everyone and you don’t need to waste time on trial and error. She showed me how to write a KOB (these are the notes sent from Girls’ End & Boys End at night.) You have to fold them a certain way or people think you’re queer. Also never use the Senior Stairs. (Boys who do this at boys’ end get their heads SHAVED. At Girls’ End things are more ladylike. They just cut up your underwear when you are out of the room. (Obviously I’m going to need some better underwear.) My first sight of the freshmen boys was a big disappointment. They are such babies I assumed they must be visiting. Some have feet, which do not touch the floor when they are seated, others were crying for their mommies. The really tall one chests his pants! Lauren says sometimes the senior boys ask younger girls out. Let’s hope so. That never happened at my old school. The very nicest seniors are all taken. There is even one who looks like Jeff Hunter, my favorite movie star. (Genevieve dropped Granger like a hot potato because he has a girlfriend!) So far no sign of my personal Big Bad Wolf. I don’t think he is taking his Big Brother job seriously! July 4, 64 – Stratford Ontario
Happy Independence Day! The trip just began and tonight’s the last night! I will pitch it to make it really great! Arrived in Stratford too late to get the mail. Drat. Cruised around town, listened to some bagpipers, then pitched tent on the edge of town. Dinner was delicious: tuna fish salad (in honor of the Catholics) and doughnut balls (Bisquick blobs in boiling Crisco) for dessert: delicious! After that, we were all getting ready for the play Le Bourgeois Gentilhomme which I had seen twice and loved in the original French. In English I should understand so much more. Wearing my figure-flattering sailor suit and white wood heeled sandals. Unfortunately my hair is dead after all this camping. It isn’t doing anything. Stratford is a lovely town and the theatre a splendid combination of old and new. Front balcony seats! The play was very good. At intermission Debbie came over and said two of the ushers were asking about me! I gave my address to the handsome one Dave Rynehardt. They walked us back to the bus Dave holding my hand. I would have let him kiss me but he didn’t try. We performed our song, the Trailblazer Anthem and Steve talked about how much the trip meant to him until the tears were hot in my head! I apologized for not doing more for the group and he was very understanding. Afterwards Andrea, Vicky and I slept in the same sleeping bag!!! Later – Saw the Falls! They were so beautiful but I did think they’d be taller. Too bad we won’t be seeing them by night – must be even more breathtaking than by day. Beginning to think tenderly of home, especially the sunlight striking that gray rug in the hallway. SusiAnna (he’s a boy) always hogs the brightest sunlight on the dining room floor. Plants everywhere, green and rich, the wood carved king with his tired kind face. Maybe there will be a letter from Mark! Last but not least my room with its green walls and twin pink-covered beds. Furry white flokati rug. Ending this on a happy note. Isn’t that the way all good things should end? TRAILBLAZER ANTHEM Oh we set out from Toledo on a bright and sunny day And our parents were there to wave us on our way! Gettysburg was our first stop where we made a movie flop As we rolled along the bumpy Eastern Roads! Bruises and hives, seven campers lost their lives as we rolled along the bumpy Eastern Roads! CHORUS: We’re still moving thank God, still moving Hallelujah! And the bus hasn’t conked out on us yet! Valley Forge was just a hop where We were picked up by the cops And the New York Fair made us spend our money there! Hanover we found was a Dartmouth kind of town As we rolled along the bumpy Eastern Roads! Peanut butter, jam, bug repelling spam oh we rolled along the bumpy Eastern roads! We flew to old Percé which is on the great Gaspé Where we realized French boys just love to fraternize “Bonjour, good day, ou est le cabinet?” As we rolled along the bumpy Eastern roads! Garçons of all kinds, Steve & Shavonne lost their minds As we rolled along the bumpy Eastern roads! We went out to the Boardwalk to see what we could find And each girl there had sailors on her mind The last two of our hauls were Stratford and the Falls as we rolled along the bumpy Eastern Roads! Rollers and combs, without money from our homes As we rolled along the bumpy Eastern roads! Oh, our sleeping bags were nests for nasty insect pests And the mess on our bus was very picturesque Though the trailer broke down once We’ll remember this for months As we rolled along the bumpy roads toward home! Impetigo and fleas, we had Band-Aids on our knees As we rolled along the bumpy roads toward home! Charlaix, Ontario – Sat Sept 5 – 64 Motto of the week: What Can You Do When You’re As Sensitive as Sunburn? How slowly the days pass before school! Each day 24 hrs of experience, a million tiny memories. Someday most likely, I will be an old woman with grandchildren. Probably great-grandchildren – the Aallyns are notes for longevity. Will my face be wrinkled my dresses baggy, my shoes ugly and my mind thick with old-fashioned thoughts? Will I think my life is happy or sad? Will I laugh at the foolishness of youth? Somehow I think I have the capacity to make myself happy. My future may be great or insignificant. I must say I keep hoping for the former. I write aboard the Gryphon, docked at Carmine Bay. So far we have not been able to get out of the bay, every time we try we are hit with ten-foot waves, the boat heels over with its portholes in the water and my mother screams to go back. My cousin Jarvis, who seems a good sort, keeps being sick fortunately so far into the sea. Strange considering his mother is a homeopathic doctor who plies him constantly with “nux vomica”. Not working in his case. Glad we came in when we did; otherwise I might have seen my insides float by also. Unfortunately Genevieve is also aboard; meaning the days are rife with injustices. I want to go swimming but I am on dish detail. Maybe I can swim later. Water balms all wounds. Soon I will be beyond this, at Plumly School the last word in Preppy Co-Education. Next Wednesday! In the meantime I get to practice shopping and self-control. |
Alysse Aallyn
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