Where does a poem come from? God or Pedition or Fantasy? No, whatever is in the pitcher is what must pour out. There is a difference between water and wine, however. "UGSBERG (1013.575 ARCHEVES 3 3
SEPARATION It was a gray summer day. Somehow it didn't seem any different from any other day. The house was the same, logs with cement squeezed out in hard lumps be- tWeen them, like Abraham Lincoln’s house, I thought. They were all the same: the old barn, with the long slanting roof on one side,... Show moreSEPARATION It was a gray summer day. Somehow it didn't seem any different from any other day. The house was the same, logs with cement squeezed out in hard lumps be- tWeen them, like Abraham Lincoln’s house, I thought. They were all the same: the old barn, with the long slanting roof on one side, and where it ended the chicken coop roof slanting on down almost to the ground; the orchard—-21 few apple trees——but our "orchard",'behind the barn the woods way off in the dis— tance that I had never been in because Mom was afraid I would get lost; and over to the left of the barn the deep well that didn't have any water in it, and where there were snakes, and maybe other things down in its darkness; and beyond the well the fields that burned one night, and Dad had such a hard time stopping it, and it melted the snow and burned down a tree. I looked over the winding two—rutted road in front of the house that led out through the field to the dirt road that led to town. Every day Dad went down that road driving into town, off somewhere, to do something, it’s a big place where there are a lot of things to see. And one day Sid went down that road and got lost in the woods across the way. And Mom thought she would never find him. As I looked I hoped I would not see Dad coming. And I thought, "He must not come now, not today, maybe tomorrowutomorrow he can come anytime." Againl looked as far as I could see down the road, afraid I would see his blue car with the crooked bumpers. Mom was telling a man where to put the furniture and things she wanted to take along, I thought. I hated to leave the cellar behind, and the attic. And I thought how I would never find the little car that I lost in the or- chard, because the orchard wouldn’t be around anymore. But Mom didn't seem to mind, and then I didn’t either. Show less
I TEIVII/IOZ The house looked awful funny with some of the furniture gone. The two men I hadn't seen before :wueefmmg‘xmoimaxifiasiseeomamfim bud been digging in when he walked in his sleep one night. But the funny shaped couch and the clock that told Mom when to do'fnhiflgsnmzaydd... Show moreI TEIVII/IOZ The house looked awful funny with some of the furniture gone. The two men I hadn't seen before :wueefmmg‘xmoimaxifiasiseeomamfim bud been digging in when he walked in his sleep one night. But the funny shaped couch and the clock that told Mom when to do'fnhiflgsnmzaydd whbrkithmmefleedcééw one of the cats sliding over the window and I shivered when I thought how mad [)ad would be if he taught a Li“ inthexhousewand'hmghsd bhdlntmcwnw‘ailmlflaxcads to the barn be- fore he got home at night. And in the barn was "boss" and I wondered who would take care of her tomOm‘ow andffieedxheomdr, mflkohgmiltlmhght of the grain bin and the stories of kids who died after sinking out of sight into the grain. And I thought of the corner-.wherefwe‘finel1y founflrthefrkitttinsgthatsode cat had hidden. Up in the havloft was the nail that Sid fell on when he came running to the house bleeding, and Mom L'an'down thetroad-tO'getIadocmret/lmd/mém to the barn was the dirty (hit ken COop with all the noise and the air hard to breathe. m :‘ ~ ' “I: '- r «7 ‘11-} flu" But the Chickens weren't anv different that summer dav. Thev Went right on pecking and-:holdd-th-heix heads up.and clucking. But something was different. livervthing looked the same, but everything seemed different. The barn. the house, the rain barrel; emerymiagxfeledifierent. And sudderllv time seemed so short, and each movement like it was the last. And then it was the last and the truck bumped and growled-downvthe‘ road-like indidnTt care'a't all. u,‘ Jen-4m Show less
SONNET I He who, most loving, left our temporal state, Alone is pure volition choosing death; He who, most wounded, bade his wounds create A man, in gnostic sorrow gave him breath, Leaving himself in him, in pain, withdrew—— (How meager must our frantic lusts appear, Will for possession, raging... Show moreSONNET I He who, most loving, left our temporal state, Alone is pure volition choosing death; He who, most wounded, bade his wounds create A man, in gnostic sorrow gave him breath, Leaving himself in him, in pain, withdrew—— (How meager must our frantic lusts appear, Will for possession, raging passion through Our thwarted systems--p1agued with deSperate fear Of having and not having, blessing change) "Touches our heavy, heated human hearts, lnfusing holy serum, whollv strange, Yet therapeutic, new creation starts Made eros which delights to have and know Becomes agape at the letting—go. Why Tis true I am not good I never will be good, But can't I soothe mv soul With nourishment from others? Can’t I see the good They have, and fortify my life With hope that the world Will benefit from them? Tis true The world is not good. Show less
“I've been working on the railroad all the bad damn dayl"sang Barry as he stepped from the bathtub of his $20 a month apartment. "These fish odors z 'e making me sick," said Hugh as he stood in front of the thrice cracked mirrm in the bathroom. “Why for heaven's sake must we have these fish lying... Show more“I've been working on the railroad all the bad damn dayl"sang Barry as he stepped from the bathtub of his $20 a month apartment. "These fish odors z 'e making me sick," said Hugh as he stood in front of the thrice cracked mirrm in the bathroom. “Why for heaven's sake must we have these fish lying around here all the time waiting for them to dry out enough so we can tan their hides? Besides, someone left one of those things on my Sports Afield manual and now the fish on the cover has a bad smell. Bad. My blue, double breasted suit has fish scales all over it and I don't like to have scales all over my suit. Get that!" "Well, you shouldn’t complain. I remember when you used my new electric razor to scale a fish once. A whole group of people wondered where I got the Open Seas shaving lotion. I was too embarrassed to tell them the truth." "Joe says there's a huge demand for fish bladders these days. He says they use them for vitamin capsule covers." “Ya, I heard that too." "Uncle Hank used to eat raw fish eggs. He said they were good for the hair. Even when he was 97 years old he had pitch black hair. It's sort of funny, because at 95 he was totally bald. Maybe there is something to that tale." "Oh yes, I noticed when I was in the tub just now the water was so slimy that the soap wouldn't even lather." "Darn' it, didn't I tell you I cleaned a mess of fish in there a couple of days ag071l “No. Well it doesn't matter. I’ll have soft skin because fish have the amazing wonder ingredient in them, ZCRSl, that keeps fish eyeballs soft and smooth." "No, really? They also have 46GB to keep their bones sharp." "Really?" “Reallv.” “That's really interesting." “Hal is coming today to put some more ice in the fish box. He says fish can’t live in water that’s too hot." "Really?" "Really." "We’ve got to clean the fins off the wall today." "Really?" “Really. Because if we don't we won't be able to see the skylight and then the moss on the floor might die." “Did you call the man that usually mows the moss and trims the bushes on the walls?" llNo.ll "I'll have to tell him tomorrow." "We'll have to dust the statue of Sarah Bernhardt too." "I noticed one of her Shoelaces is untied." "Tie it. will you?" "I hear someone unlocking our door. Oh. it'sUncle Hank and he's got our vests. Here let me help you with yours.0ne buckle, two bULkleS, three and four buckles. Now put your arms behind your back while lturn the key on the sleeve. (lee, you look nice in your nice, clean and white vest." "Gee. thanks, Hugh. I kind of thought I did." Show less
Journey Across the Boundary Dav drove dawn over Siva's hills. Far to the north lay the white Himalayas, guarding the boundary to the old Hindustan. Southward, toward the Indian sea, the hot plains shimmered in the morning light, while to the west, the darkness retreated to give place to the plans... Show moreJourney Across the Boundary Dav drove dawn over Siva's hills. Far to the north lay the white Himalayas, guarding the boundary to the old Hindustan. Southward, toward the Indian sea, the hot plains shimmered in the morning light, while to the west, the darkness retreated to give place to the plans and work of man. Beside the placid Ganges, where it turns southward to reach for the sea, lay the little Bengali village of Kantara, a haven of humble folks, faithful followers of the good god Krishna. Up from the water’s edge the green, grassy grounds lifted toward the hills of happiness, the rolling Bahagalpur. The tinkling of bells sounded abroad as the village girls drove their cattle out to the lush grass on the hills. From every courtyard in the village came the cows and goats, the pride of the family, the treasure store against times of want. Among the herd girls of Kantara village there was one to whom the hours of watching were not tedious. Gopini Lal lived in her own world, a dream world quite apart from the other girls of Kantara. /\ Show less
Her dream Went back to the day, now two seasons ago, when she had gone with her mother to the market town to see the great festival in honor of the god Krish— na. "Mother, who rides in that sedan chair? Some man of honor must have come to make sacrifice at Kantara today." "My daughter, I heard... Show moreHer dream Went back to the day, now two seasons ago, when she had gone with her mother to the market town to see the great festival in honor of the god Krish— na. "Mother, who rides in that sedan chair? Some man of honor must have come to make sacrifice at Kantara today." "My daughter, I heard yesterday from a journeying Sadhu that a prince's son has come to visit in the home of our noble lord. He is a distant kinsman of the one who lives in the palace of the lotus flowers." The milling crowd parted to let the chair bearers pass to the temple with the noble prince. With shouts of command they pushed the people back. They set the sedan down; the young lordly prince stepped out and cast a boyish smile upon the admiring crowd. Nor did his roving eye fail to see the pleasing beauty of the shepherd girl, as her eyes met his in that age-old understanding that knows no barrier of caste. One day, in the month of the harvesting, Gopini Lal rose to a new day of labor. The sound of flailing grain could already be heard from the threshing floor, but Gopini seemed to be far away. "Gopini, my child, where are your thoughts these days? Yesterday you dropped a bowl of milk, and today you seem to be walking in a dream. Can it be that my child is ill?" Gopini did not answer but went about her work a little faster. “Mother of mine, will you tell me the story again about our lord Krishna ” I remember you told it to us when we were young. You said that we must be watchful in our herd— ing because this would please our god, who came to dance with the maidens of old as they cared for their flocks. Did you not choose my name in honor of those Gopinies to whom the lord Krishna showed his favor? 0, Mother, could a girl watching her herds on the hillside still find favor in his sight?" “My daughter, though you are trying to veilyour thoughts. your mother under— stands. Can it be that my child is dreaming of another prince who one day came to worship lord Krishna at the temple? For shame, my child, to dream such haughty dreams] Are you not the daughter of a village cattle raiser? Will your father not find you a worthy man of our caste? For your very dreams we could be chastised at the temple. Know you not that caste is a river that no man ever crosses and lives? Know you not that only when your soul leaves the lowly abode of a farmer’s caste can it return to the princely mansion of marble?" Show less
TRUE DIRECTION What infinity of expectation is worth but one hour of conviction Life is pained, light or dark, yet in either is True Life. God created, not stereotyped — Millions were made to be. Happiness is to be sought, not with anotlier's conviction. All must seek. Questions arising are... Show moreTRUE DIRECTION What infinity of expectation is worth but one hour of conviction Life is pained, light or dark, yet in either is True Life. God created, not stereotyped — Millions were made to be. Happiness is to be sought, not with anotlier's conviction. All must seek. Questions arising are ansWered in the heart, not by one for all, but by one for one. We travel the long, darkened hallways of life, the walls without diversion or alternative; With faith we follow the Guide at the journey's end. Its Ray to lead us. We find the Rainbow, the Light, and Real Life. Sunday, February 22. 1959 The small ,boy, his dirty face streaked with rear stains, cautiously peered around the corner of the red, brick building. His clothes were spattered with mud and along jagged tear showed his sidewalk—scraped knee. Blood trickled down his bare knee and was soaked up by the frayed edges of his torn pants. When he looked down, he had to fight hard to keep back the huge tears that were gathering his eyes and he looked a\\'ay.Acryof fear came from his lips as he glanced down the street and saw a group of bigger boys dashing toward him. He turned, stum— bled and ran. A shocked sob or two and he was in the protective arms of his mother. 10 Show less
I Saw God in the Mountains i saw God in the mountains and He was painted in hues of glad birds singing brooks sparkling blossoms smiling i saw God in the mountains and He was painted in hues of good trails winding trees whispering Thickets wandering i saw God in the mountains and He was painted... Show moreI Saw God in the Mountains i saw God in the mountains and He was painted in hues of glad birds singing brooks sparkling blossoms smiling i saw God in the mountains and He was painted in hues of good trails winding trees whispering Thickets wandering i saw God in the mountains and He was painted in hues of grand peaks thrusting pines tOWering passes tunneling. i saw God in the mountains. The Place Called Due Melancholy at times, but more than this, sad, as the bluest wine bottle that decorates one of its many shelves. Still happy, for within its boundaries no mood is king, a melting pot of emotions, and this is the place called Due. On the outside, it is a weathered old mansion from the prohibition era, lavishly decorated with the proceeds of a basement still. The green undraped figure of a girl, shooting water from her mouth, stands guard at the entrance. Pinched be— tween the flashing neon of Chicago's near north side, it remains isolated with a simple rusting iron fence enclosing the square. What inhabits the upper portion of the structure, continues an enigma, for the steps to the Due lead down. A long girl, with long back hair, stretched tight to a knot in the back, a long black dress, body hugging. directs the patrons to a table and they sit. There is no incandescence, only candles, aided by the glowing embers of various forms of tobacco. Empty wine bottles serve the support to the wax cylinders, one on every table. And there are people, artists, poets, actors, students, and spectators. Some sit in little cliques, clacking over the strokes of Goya and Matisse, cooling their debate with occasional sips ofwine. Others sit quietly, interrupting their thoughts with a sampling of food and a nervous scribble of their pen on a soiled napkin. Some, with elbows growing out of the table, and heads resting in cupped hands, gaze into the eyes of another in like position, seated opposite them. Some just watch. While the flickering shadows play their tricks, time stops. at the place called Due. ll Show less
MISSHOCK In the first grade. everybody loved Miss lauch. The second graders didn't like ' her, and the fourth and fifth graders crossed the street so they wouldn't have to meet her because they said she always acted like they were babies. But every— body in the first grade loved her. (When kids... Show moreMISSHOCK In the first grade. everybody loved Miss lauch. The second graders didn't like ' her, and the fourth and fifth graders crossed the street so they wouldn't have to meet her because they said she always acted like they were babies. But every— body in the first grade loved her. (When kids talked about her, especially first graders, her name got pushed together so that it came out "Misshock." "Misshock" was wonderful. She played the piano and when she hit a wrong note she just went on as though nothing had happened. She always wore a bracelet and she kept her hankie stuck under the bracelet so that it would be handy, and she made all the first graders sit in nice straight rows with their hands folded and she knew lots of songs and stories. Every year, “Misshock” and the first graders gave a program for the school. Everybody was there, even the "high— schools". The "high—schools" were the big kids and "Misshock" never let us first graders leave the room when the classes were passing, because we Were so little and got in the "high—school’s" way. This year I was a first grader and lhad to be in the program. "Misshock" gave me two parts to learn because I was the best reader. Oneofthemwas about a dress and I had on a new pink dress that my mother made especially for me to wear when I said my poem. Another one was about a bonnet and I wore a bonnet that belonged to another girl. It was an old—fashioned bonnet and had a flower on it and it tied in a bow under my chin. When it was my turn to say my poem about my pretty new dress I got mixed up and put on the bonnet and when I tried to get it off, my fingers got mixed up and I couldn't get it off and the bow got to be a knot. l was afraid that "Misshock" would be mad because I couldn't get the bon— net off and I wouldn't go out on the stage , even though it was my turn and every- body was waiting. Finally "Misshock" came and told me to go out and say my poem and she didn’t say anything about the bonnet on my head when I was supposed to say the poem about my dress and so I~stopped trying to get it off and went out on the stage. The stage was big and when I looked out I saw all the grade kids and all the high schools and all the teachers and even some mothers and fathers. lwas scared for a while. Then I looked down and saw my pretty pink dress and re— membered my poem and I said it and curtsied like “Misshock” had showed me and went off the stage. Then after awhile I had to go out and say my other poem, the one about the bonnet. This time "Misshock" didn't have to tell me to go on the stage. Somebody else told me and I went out and this time I didn’t even look at the “high schools" and the grade kids and the teachers and the mothers and fathers. I just said my poem and went off the stage. After that, all the first graders sang a song about a house that had a spook in it and another song about George Washington and then we all marched off. the stage and that was fun. I still couldn't get the bonnet off, though, and we finally had to break the string that went. under my chin to get it off. But "Misshock" still didn't get mad. "Misshock" was wonderful. 12 ...é_.-.___.‘ _... __ ._._._.., , l Show less
Caught by my shirt-tail On a branch jutting Out from a cliff—wall, While night is shutting. in, Can I grow so inured To my suspension That I can assure you There is no fourth dimension? A Criticism of the Above The modern age is said to be characterized by secularism. Secularism in com— mon... Show moreCaught by my shirt-tail On a branch jutting Out from a cliff—wall, While night is shutting. in, Can I grow so inured To my suspension That I can assure you There is no fourth dimension? A Criticism of the Above The modern age is said to be characterized by secularism. Secularism in com— mon terminology means "thinking and acting as if God does not exist." This poem is a mild protest against this form of existence. Throughout the poem there is a feeling of Something more than man's power. Something is holding and Sup— porting this lonely figure that we seen in the poem. The first four lines of the poem present a nice picture that many a modern newspaper would like for the human—interest, tear-jerking story that gets people aroused about declaring certain places of nature off—limits for children. These lines could picture a small child who has wandered off from his home and is now found hanging timorously just over the edge ofa precipice on a deep canyon wall. The time is night and all hope for finding the child that day has been given up. Only the parents remain looking, tearfully searching for the lost. But from the small child's view there is a power that holds him and will not let him fall from such a precarious perch. But using this image as being the entire class of men, we come to the real meaning of the poem. Man is hanging by his "shirt—tail/ on a branch jutting/ Out from a cliff—wall." Man is just hanging, with nothingness around him, These four lines give us a very defected picture of man which is brought to its fullest heights in the fourth line. “While night is shutting in," and soon it will be too late. Then the hope comes in the fifth line and continues to the end of the poem. Realizing that this suspension would be impossible without some sort of divine, power that is from a higher source, the protagonist questions his own attitude of denying the fact that a God does exist. The “fourth dimension” here is obviously faith. faith in a God that does exist and a God who is holding man from complete destruction by not letting him fall into the chasm from off the cliff—wall. 13 Show less
SNOWY SUNSET A pretty pinkish palor Bearing broader, burning brighter, Dipping deeply in December's Sliding skyline. The nordant melting motif Into icy incarnato Shagging shows into silence, Fancied formless. A cast of copper capping Distant dimness; drawing discord Folding feebly——flitting... Show moreSNOWY SUNSET A pretty pinkish palor Bearing broader, burning brighter, Dipping deeply in December's Sliding skyline. The nordant melting motif Into icy incarnato Shagging shows into silence, Fancied formless. A cast of copper capping Distant dimness; drawing discord Folding feebly——flitting further . . . Listing languor. TWISTED GENIUS In bitter disinclination I.was placed in this room, With nothing but sullen walls and those tormenting violins. The formula had been perfected. I was about to perform the final experiment — then I‘m a murderer, a destroyer of'mankind. Foolsl I’ll show them yet, For it is not I, it is they. Reflections A knock on the door, Who can it be? Perhaps a king, or a queen, Or even the President of the United States, Who can it be? Rerhaps a drunk begging for money, Or a shoeshine boy looking for pennies, Who can it be? Will I find disappointment awaiting, Or will joy welcome me to its midst? Perhaps even lurking behind the door Will be . . . . death. Who can it be? 14 Show less
With uncertain steps, blinded by a veil of tears, Gopini drove her herd out upon the green hills. Obediently the cattle found their way to the pleasant graz— ing grounds. Gopini's heavy thoughts made weary her feet, and she sat down to rest upon a large rock. Her mind was captivated with thought... Show moreWith uncertain steps, blinded by a veil of tears, Gopini drove her herd out upon the green hills. Obediently the cattle found their way to the pleasant graz— ing grounds. Gopini's heavy thoughts made weary her feet, and she sat down to rest upon a large rock. Her mind was captivated with thought of the river, death's riVer. which blocked her desire. The ripples of the stream made spark— ling eyes which beckoned her; they said that here was the way, here was the stream that though it retained the body would quickly transport the soul — the soul which then would return to cross the barrier of caste. As suddenly as rainy season clouds are chased from the sky to reveal the light. so quickly the melancholy mood left the heart of Gopini Lal. She sang a song of praise to lord Krishna. who had revealed to her the journey. The pungent odor of evening fires lay heavily on the motionless air. The sound of the tinkling cow bells was heard approaching the .village as Copini Lal sought shelter for her herd in the far corner of the courtyard. Night had fallen on Siva's hills. On the moonlit grass the dew was beginning to glisten. Thin wreaths of smoke rose slowly from the dying fires of the village homes. The bowl of a hungry jackal broke the stillness of night. On the bosom of the placid river, the mother Ganges, the body of (:Opini Lal moved tranquilly toward the sea — the low caste shell of a released spirit _ Gopini Lal. The roll of drums had awakened the people of the place. The jovous news that had long been awaited quickly spread from the palace of the lotus llOVlers‘ out into the streets. The festival of Krishna this year had been made doubly aUspi- cious by the birth of a little princess. During the night some transient spirit had found a home in the body of a child aborning. A- great least was being prepared for the lowliest citizen as Well as the Visit» ing family of nobility. Great was the rejoicing in the palace, when the truth was known that at last had come the blessing of a girl. Long had they auaited the coming of one who could link the two ancient families through the bond 01 mar riage. When all was prepared for the (east, and the people were seated r0“ upon row, the princely lather brought out the child, carrying it in his arms to bring joy to the hearts of his people. The ruler turned and walked to where the young prince was seated. As the boyish prince gazed upon the face of the little princess, sud— denly, she opened her eyes and smiled. Show less
Sometimes I get tired Sometimes I get tired—— Like now. Sometimes I wish I Could empty my Soul Of all the musty-dusty—rot That’s in it And really live. Sometimes I do. But 1 don’t remember how—- Now. The Cardplayer Ashes fell as he took several vigorous puffs on his cigaret and let it hang limp... Show moreSometimes I get tired Sometimes I get tired—— Like now. Sometimes I wish I Could empty my Soul Of all the musty-dusty—rot That’s in it And really live. Sometimes I do. But 1 don’t remember how—- Now. The Cardplayer Ashes fell as he took several vigorous puffs on his cigaret and let it hang limp on his lip. With nervous deliberation he slammed down the jack of spades, pounded the table with his fist at the same time. He shifted from side to side, suspiciously eyeing his opponents. Then his glinting eyes focused sternly on his partner as he spat words of prompting and coaching. As his partner’s card fell he stiffened, his eyes nervously oscillating from one opponent to the other, his face expressionless and waiting. Then, before the last card could settle, his face broke open with a grin and he shrieked. As he laughed he breathed a heavy sigh and mopped his brow with the back of his hand in a gesture of relief. Then possessively be swept the skewered pile of cards toward himself. 16 Show less
MOST DISTRESSING There was a time that I could not think about it without feeling a distasteful- surge, wishing that I had never met her. But now, now that I can sit and reflect without any emotional involvement, I can see the moral and Spiritual good that has resurrected to life. Objectivity is... Show moreMOST DISTRESSING There was a time that I could not think about it without feeling a distasteful- surge, wishing that I had never met her. But now, now that I can sit and reflect without any emotional involvement, I can see the moral and Spiritual good that has resurrected to life. Objectivity is sometimes painful, even though it shouldn’t be according to many definitions. But, I am not the ordinary person with the simplicity of accepted feelings and reasons thereof. So I shall relate . . . . It was before Christmas and the office gang had gotten together for a drink, nothing excessive, just a small party. As we walked down Broadway looking for a suitable place for patronage, the dominant thought must have been one of con— tentment, You ask why I'm so sure . . . well, the answer is a simple one. We had just prior to this hour encountered our employer for our bimonthly reward. To add to our usual joy filled evening we had received a bonus for Christmas. The streets were all aglow with the usual pre—Christmas rushing: People with more money than time, and then of course there Were those like us who had more time than money . . . or shalll say we had time, but no desire to spend too much until those pretty "last minutes sales" signs appeared. After much deliberation and lengthy discussion we finally entered an estab— lishment . . . with a little imagination Imight even say it had character. We walked with determination, right past the cluttered barwithout even a cold stare. We were indeed proud of our successful attempt. After all we didn’t want anyone thinking our putpose was one of dissipation. After deciding quickly the waiter came, curtly asked for identification and, being satisfied disappeared into the adjoining room to fulfill our wishes. The lilting music was soothing to our wracked nervous conditions, effects of a busy and most frustrating day. Humming along with "Tan shoes and pink shoe— laces” gave us all the calming element we needed. Then, with the reappearance of our waiter we settled down to what we were anticipating to be a quiet evening. l7 Show less
Now this is how it all started, and you must admit it did look promising. As the hours progressed, however, I had the darkening premonition that this was not going to be the type of evening I anticipated. The waiter had by this time becomeavery good friend, one with whom we could easily converse.... Show moreNow this is how it all started, and you must admit it did look promising. As the hours progressed, however, I had the darkening premonition that this was not going to be the type of evening I anticipated. The waiter had by this time becomeavery good friend, one with whom we could easily converse. Each time he came for the sole purpose of pleasing our taste however, I felt a bit uneasy, not because he was becoming impatient and a bit disgusted with our various tastes which changed each time we ordered, but be— cause one of our group seemed to be becoming increasingly wild in her accusa— tions. Once she insisted that her Singapore sling contained too much sugar. the next, that he gave her no stirrer. Now the rest of us felt that these were un— warranted, the poor man had absolutelv outdone himself with never being satis- fied till we were. We could well understand his minor annoyance when she in— sisted upon his taking back her bit of refreshment for the ninth time. By the third hour our friend had become almost violent with dislikes, of all kinds. 1 was constantly repressing the desire to throw my olive pit at her. It was then the end of the fifth hour and my patience was at its end . . . so I gently and carefully aimed. As the stirrer bounced noiselessly from its mark on her forehead I knew that the party was to become one of disagreement. She lunged but with my quick movement I averted her hand, and instead of finding me it found the face of her who was at my right. Then it happened. The waiter appeared as if from nowhere and intercepted her succession of blows finding himself being bombarded from all sides-—orange slices, coasters, matches, empty cigarette packages, and of course a lady's most constructive assistant, the handbag, which might easily in modern up to date description be called. luggage. The evening ended quite suddenly, or should I say with a jolt. l have since de— cided never to venture forth toapleasant quiet evening with a group of such com- pletely undisciplined ladies. Their behavior is most distressing! 18 Show less
Then let us pray that come it may As come it will for a’ that, That sense and worth, o’er a' the earth, Mav bear the prize, an' a’ that. For a’ that, an' a’ that, It's coming yet, for a' that, That man to man, the warld o'er, Shall brothers be for a‘ that. —— Robert Burns 19
