The Abbot Courant

Digitized by the Internet Archive
in 2014

http://archive.org/details/abbotcourant1 001 abbo

The Abbot Courant

Published In December, March and June
Printed by Town Printing Co., Andover, Mass.

1972
COURANJ

5 Howes

£ SYLVIA KEVNICK

7 mary clements

8?^ Ellen hoitsaaa

10 A6B)E 6u;EN

11 /AAY IRWIN

12- USA H£Np£RS0N

\l\ $ 15 pereR stapleton j faculty

16 marv clements

\7 sally Smith - petersou

|8 ? 1^ MAY JRWiM

70 U 6&Y HOWES
2J,22 6 2^ NANCY R0S£N8fcRRY

21 Ll£A H£N PERSON/ LLU STRATION)

^ NANCY ADAMS

25 ? i£> sreve perrim j faculty

27 Sue VI6MEISTER

2€> ! 29 CLMJQIA RULLMAN

^ Ae>8i£ OujEN

2

SYlVIA IcEMlCK
SARAH (^ROSVEWOR
KAREN PERNOKAS
MARY CEMENTS

{>ee>oRAH sELpeM

MIKE: HfBER

PP^ONT COVER - EUZA CHARLES
BACK COVER - Wg/VDY Kl»V6

31
35

Loose your doubts and
Tell no lies
Only the poppies

And dragon iiies
Can whisper and wimper
And scatter their lives
To tickle the wind
And pepper the skies

5

VOL

NO. 1.

THE

FOR THE

Summr Terra, Wi.

PUBLISHED BY THE ABBOTT ACADEMY.

n o ccclxx in.

4j|t — — *fy

Vermont Hillsides

Greening

in fervent passion

the low, ruddy, rolling, rise and fall of sea-form hills
white-capped with the jutting stone
churned by browning bush

leaps

catching itself in the red-brick-tavern shades

leveling higher; drawing the line between forest's scenting

spray and valley's blinding tones
this red that silently resounds; a siren, drawing me towards the fire

above it all

the turtle-green blends dark and low
haunting its misty moors of mountain pines
ghostly forms in upward flow

escaping the reality of the darkness below
trees become indistinguishable as they blend in the cold colorwheel

cycle of green becoming blue absorbing brown fading black

the mountain in abruptness becomes again a sailing sea
overladen in the dips and droles coloring clouds
feeling the soft salt spray as it echoes from within the belly of
subtle form

drifting

carrying my eyes until again they come to rest in dreams

We usually took the Metro when we wanted to go somewhere because that
was one of the best parts about living in the city. The ideal time to ride it was
just before the siesta, when everyone went home for lunch. At that time one
couldn't possibly avoid getting completely submerged by the Spanish culture.
People are in their best humor and it's so crowded that everyone but tired mo-
thers and old ladies and drunken men has to stand in the aisle, all squished to-
gether as one. There is always someone who just makes it as the metro pulls out,
and everyone except the stuffy businessmen buried in their newspapers smiles a
congratulatory smile to his perspiring face as he wipes it with his white handker-
chief. The car takes a great lurch forward and we're all on our way, swaying back
and forth. Sometimes it will stop suddenly and it's too bad for you if you're
not holding on to the arm of your companion. Of course, you're tossed about
anyway by the people who haven't got anything to hold onto because they can't
help it. Everyone is quiet but happy in anticipation of the big meal. That is, most-
ly everyone. Sue and I could rarely resist the temptation to astound our fellow
passengers, and being unwilling to be recognized as Americans we would speak in
the obble language, which sounds like maybe Russian but rounder and even less
intelligible. As I recall it involved adding obble to the first letter of every word.
Sue was much better at it than I was because she's been using it ever since fourth
grade to boggle her teachers.

Often when we wandered the city together we'd get the urge to run and run
and run, arms linked, hair blowing in the breeze from the port; both laughing. I
think we must have done it just to see the reactions of the Spaniards. Gray -haired
women in black stare, their tired wrinkled elephant faces strained from a day's
worth of shopping, muttering to themselves as they go. Little girls, holding tight
to their mother's hand look up at us in wonder, and say loudly, See, Mama, how
they run in the street. Mama pulls them along, explaining as they go that they
were not from Spain and they didn't know how senoritas should act. We were un-
mistakably foreign. Tall girls were rare in Spain, and Sue's light features attracted
many a curious eye. Men in tight pants and transparent pink shirts unbottoned
to their navels followed us, calling, "Americanas, we espeaka dee Eengliesh. Come
danzeeng weeth us."

We walked on, peering into the windows of cobblershops and bookshops and
twineshops and bars. And a bakery -yogurt-chocolate-candy shop with warm-from-
the-oven donuts and croissants and danon yogurts calling us from the trays in the
window. We walked down a little back street with sidewalks so narrow that you
had to scrunch up against the tiled walls to let someone pass. We came upon a
small open grocery store, not the big impersonal shiny linoleum-floored ones
with gaping metal shopping carts on wheels that never stop rolling. This one was

8

different. There were sausages and dried peppers and cheeses hanging above us,
and there was a special place for milk, unrefrigerated because that's the only kind
of milk there is in Spain. It's always sitting on the plastic tableclothed table with
the wine and oil and vinegar. In the corner, behind the meats there lay the most
wonderful assortment of fruits. Besides the everyday apples and bananas and
bright red-orange oranges there were smooth white melons and deep red cherries
in a wooden crate and . . . pomegranates. Sue let out a squeal of joy. Oh, Ellen,
do you know what those are? We must get one. I can't resist. John bought me
one in the very beginning and I've been looking for them ever r ince! She pulled
out her little brown leather purse and chose the biggest, reddest pomegranate in
the pile. Her excitement had aroused the attention of the shop keeper and he
stood by us with great curiosity while she made the decision. She handed the
large hard fruit to him very carefully, and he smiled and brought it over to the
scales that were hanging by the door. His round cheeks got even rounder with
pleasure in the interest we'd shown in his prized fruits, and he said, that'll be only
eitht little pesetas for two beautiful senoritas. Thank you very much, and may
you have a good day. We thanked him and grinned back and walked out slowly,
being careful not to bump the hanging goods.

We continued on our way, in search of the perfect place to eat a pomegran-
ate, past more bookshops and jewelry stores and news-stands and paper stores un-
til we came to a park where only the sound of laughing children could be heard.
Climbing over hopscotch games and garages in the sand we sat down on a green
wooden bench under a palm tree and Sue brought out the red fruit and unhooked
her pocket knife from her belt loop and split it in half very carefully. She cautious-
ly plucked a small, almost round, shiny red berry. Open your mouth, she said,
and she popped it in. It was a new and unfamiliar taste to me, so smooth and juicy
and sweet. How do you like it, she asked me with a sparkle in her eye. She knew
I'd like it because we always like the same things, so I just licked my lips. She
handed me half of the pomegranate and told me to be very careful not to eat the
white part because it was bitter.

9

I think when I'm older, 111 be like a dead gourd
All dried up and faded, with dead dried up seeds
I soon will not hear the sound of the rattle
Which implanted seeds might make from within.

I think when you're older, you 11 be rather different
I think you'll remind me of yellowing print
Which is brittle and breaks with the turn of a page
With little respect forwhat has been said.

My happy man sits on a wicker rolling chair, only to lie still. Has the morn-
ing come yet? No, he feels not. Ah, his bottle, it is hen;; liquidy and deliciously
pure. He pours a glass of tarnished brown brandy - whiskey (it does not matter),
which flows to the groggy, but to the supposedly stimulated intestines of moving
film. Can he wait til it hits the pit. His body shaking and withdrawn; to laugh, if
only he could, but that liquid is so tasty.

The glass is short and piggish with bits of perfuming particles and beads, new
and past. His hands play and fondle this glass.

His crystal cut eyes follow the reflecting melody of his fret. The feet are
large and clumsy, yet narrow. They seemed to be planted firmly upon the wooden
floor, but his dribbling shoelaces are only a whisper to the folding pants of sha-
dows, for his body is lithe and has a huge socket of plungers. His shirt reaped from
buttons, bears this instrument, a function of gluttony. The top is a metallic ball,
hobbling up and down to swallow. The lips are crusty; they do not savor the taste.
The teeth are gnawed out, hollow, and the tongue poreless, nonfiltrating, but they
ask for one more tide pool.

His bed is unsheathed gray, just waits for a single luminous tone. My happy
man sits on a wicker rolling chair, only to lie still.

12

L3

Steak House - Peter Stapleton
King Lion

Order, please. Can I have order? I'd like to call this segment of the meet-
ing to order. C'n I have your attention please? I have a number of announce-
ments for the fellow Lions here today, and we want to be sure to include 'em
all 'for SOME of us have to get back to work. Notice I said Some.

Now today we're honored to have several distinguished guests here with
us that we wanna recanize and give 'em a little round of applause and recognition
an' show we're pleased to have 'em with us.

Firstly I'd like to recognize one of our most distinguished citizens who's
just been named to an important office. I'm sure we're all gonna be seein' a lot of
him in the next few months. As you know Meriwether has been getting set to cele-
brate its sesquicentennial next year. This is gonna be a very big and patriotic e-
vent I'm sure everyone of us is looking forward to. We all know that Meriwether's
a Community on the Move like Jake Morley keeps tellin' us over't the Chamber of
Commerce, but we know too that we got a fine history behind us as well we can
all be proud of. Well this celebration's gonna give us some of that emphasis with,
I understand, some parades and pageants and a lotta carrying on. Well, anyway,
we got a committee now's gonna start planning this very important event in our
community, and today we're very pround to have with us the newly appointed
Chairman of that Committee. He's a man we've all known a long time, and we all
respect and admire him, and we're real pleased he's gonna be running this grand
sesquicentennial celebration. Would you all give us a big hand for guest tbday re-
tired Brigadier General Moses A. Teezevant! Yessir, General it's good to see you
at our meeting today. We hope you'll keep on coming to join us an' let us know
if you need any help on this fine historical event.

Now as you know one of our problems in recent years has had to do with
attendance at meeting and collection of dues and fines. Now our tail-twister over
here he does a fine job of collecting for some of the little slips that happen here
at some of the luncheons. Hi, Billy! But we wanna make sure that our Den keeps
on attracting the high calibre individual our Organization stands for. Now this is
particularly true when we're talkin' about attracting the Young People and giving
them a place at meetings. Well that brings me to introducing our next guest. He's
up here at the head table, and 111 know you'll wanna greet him as Cub Lion Bev-
erly Wicks. Beverly's a key athlete over't the High School, and he's also on the

14

debating team, and the Future Farmers. We chose him to come and join us here
today so he could meet us and we could meet him and let him carry back some of
his experience her to his classmates. It's young men like Beverly that are the fut-
ure strength of the nation, and we're surely glad to have him with us today. Let's
give Beverly a good round of welcome.

Last but not least now on our list of distinguished visitors is a visiting school
principal. He comes from Boston actually, and you know that's a part of the
country I've been trina' sell to Canada for years, but anyways he's come down here
to visit our Day School and fill in for Lion Sweitzer while Lion Sweitzer's up there
in Boston telling them how to do things. By the way I'm all sure you'll be most
gratified to hear that Lion Sweitzer's had an honor in the last two weeks. He's
been selected by the Jaycees as Young Educator of the Year. Yes, indeed. Any-
way we're glad to have new folks coming around and we hope you'll come back
real soon.

Finally in conclusion, I'd like to tell you a little bit about next week. Lion
Herbert's been doing an outstanding job as our program chairman this year as I'm
sure you are already aware of. At next week's meeting he's gone to special trouble
to bring us in a real fine speaker to address our meeting here at the Steak House.
At that time we'll be having Mr. Reg Walaburton from the Y.M.C.A. fitness pro-
gram. I'm sure we all know how important this program is to our community's
health and fitness. Reg's got some fine businessmen athletes down there. I guess
maybe some of our brother Lions are enrolled too, though I can't think of who
just here at this particular meeting. Anyway, Reg is gonna talk to us about jog-
ging and its importance as a hobby and a sport. This isn't a topic you get to
hear about too often from a pro like Reg, so I'm sure we'll all want to be right
here for that special event in our calendar which promises to be entertaining as
well as educational.

Now if there's no other announcements we'll stand and sing America be-
fore we adjourn.

15

"You've got to treat him like a human."

"What do you want me to do, slap him across the face and tell him

he's a son of a bitch?"

"Does that make him human?"

"No. . . it makes him a goddam son of a bitch."

"Well, is he?"

"No!. . . yes . . . yes, because he's human and I love him."

"You love him because he's a son of a bitch?"

"I don't care if he's the son of a bitch or the son of God, I love
him and that makes him human!"

"Do you believe he loves you?"

"Yes."

"That makes him human."
" ... or the son of God ..."

17

I am now just giddy enough to write my dream and my mind is loose, and
mmm, yes, head, stop blinking around and flashing me all your opinions, because
they just are not cohesive enough to present.

Pick-pock, pick, pock pick pockety pock pock pock, that is somebody play-
ing on the tennis courts. That sound is pretty nice, and hitting that ball is very
nice, and I know who's playing, and he has never let me play tennis with him, and
I want to play. Gotta put on my tennis shoes, so LH to into this house, which I
know is my house, though my parents have never lived in it with me, and I've
never seen it, but there are some very friendly people in it. None of that attracts
me the way he does, and so I've got to find my tennis shoes. So I walk on to this
lovely sunporch, where I recognize my lovely, lazy, unmade bed. No, bed, sorry
I am going to get my tennis shoes, because the pick -pock is picking up, and there
is nothing I'd rather do. I've never played with him before, and there's never been
a game like this one is going to be. Hello, friends, you're all people I like to see, no,
I want no tea, have you seen my tennis shoes?

No response, and they are unconcerned by my search, so 111 find them my-
self. Soon my game will start, those damn shoes are nowhere-though perhaps-and
I go out to check that sunshiney porch, because it looks like a fun place to play,
and perhaps tennis shoes like to jump into the drops of sunshine that squeeze be-
tween the leaves, which move constantly, trying to protect the persian rug from
fading. It's a lovely dark red which teases the sunlight, and that sunlight hasn't
done any harm to the rug that I can see. All very pretty pictures, but I now see
everyone, including the persian rug is teasing me out of playing. And I am fur-
ious. No one is helping me. The pick-pock has stopped, and I cry into the shoul-
der of my soft rumply bed, which gives me sleep to play with. The tennis play-
er returns and has tea with my friends, and he comes and lies on my bed with me,
but I don't want him like that, because when I ask him to help me find my ten-
nis shoes, he rolls over, and kisses my shoulder, and thinks I will forget.

18

There are two loves,

Love for humanity and love for a loved un.

My loved un loves an occasional pat on the back,

And loves to be told to be happy,

And loves to nurse flowers,

And loves to talk,

And never talks of love.

20

I

evil clowns

of satiric souls and edged laughter
swaggered in *
and raped the town.

they stole down the alleys of the peoples' minds

and into the back doors of their fear

the clowns grinned and jested horror

their razor blade laughter slit the veins of true joy

in the town

they smiled poison into pure water

and befoulded the food

they stole into the dreams of the people

and twisted them into nightmares

of white painted faces

red bulbous noses

and terror filled grins

the river ran brackish and golden green trees

were distorted into deformed black limbs

without bodies

clawing for the sky

a crimson, the crawling old age

of the yellowy dancing sun of yesterday

sank across the dirty sky without spirit.

and the clowns rejoiced and giggled

behind their garish costumes and white faces.

II

fear constantly screamed along the wires
in the spine of the people
and horror seeped in to the mind,
the town drunk

quietly drowned the leering clowns

in wet sticky nightmares

floating in his private sea of oblivion

the hollow judge with his echoing courtroom

withered and died

his coffin lawbooks

and his mallet was the neglected cross

no flower on his grave

the people thought for their own fear.

the law was now only the whispering

of dry brown leaves

soon to be blown away by the winter breath
of the clowns

the town justice was enforced

by a jury of jesters who shouted merry murder.

the clowns unlocked hallowed doors

and threw mud at the holiness inside.

they shreiked with delight

and danced in the debris

their caravan became bright blood red

stained in jagged splotches

with brown greed.

Ill

the town began to disintegrate

under the merciless whipping

the rags of the town's spirit fluttered

hopelessly in the biting wind

a sweet virgin no longer

the people are stones

squeezed of blood

night closes on the town like a steel glove
and the sky dropped its suffocating black
over the charred and shriveled buildings
over the people pale with empty numb fear
the clowns' mockery
oozed to the depths of the people
and turned the fluid of their image
bitter as gall

and fragile as pale blue shells
total eclipse is imminent
and in its place
a shabby peace

for the judge entombed in his musty books
for them all outside their cringing spirits,
the end of the last night
of the last hour
of the last minute
was coming, heralded
bye the booming boredom
of the evil clowns

they left to gash and scar their way across
another country
in elsewhere

they left by the only passage out
in a solid wall of hopeless stares.

Folly Amuses Wisdom
Youth Confuses Itself
Beauty Disturbs Tradition
Abbot Disrobes Truth
Folly Seduces Fools

Youth Amuses P.A.
Beauty Confuses Wisdom
Abbot Disturbs Itself
Folly Disrobes Tradition
Youth Seduces Truth

Beauty Amuses Fools
Abbot Confuses P.A.
Folly Disturbs Wisdom
Youth Disrobes Itself
Beauty Seduces Tradition

Abbot Amuses Truth
Folly Confuses Fools
Youth Disturbs P.A.
Beauty Disrobes Wisdom
Abbot Seduces Itself

Folly Amuses Tradition
Youth Confuses Truth
Beauty Disturbs Fools
Abbot Disrobes P.A.
Folly Seduces Wisdom

Youth Amuses Itself
Beauty Confuses Tradition
Abbot Disturbs Truth
Folly Disrobes Fools
Youth Seduces P.A.

Beauty Amuses Wisdom
Abbot Confuses Itself
Folly Disturbs Tradition
Youth Disrobes Truth
Beauty Seduces Fools

Abbot Amuses P.A.
Folly Confuses Wisdom
Youth Disturbs Itself
Beauty Disrobes Tradition
Abbot Seduces Truth

Folly Amuses Fools
Youth Confuses P.A.
Beauty Disturbs Wisdom
Abbot Disrobes Itself
Folly Seduces Tradition

Youth Amuses Truth
Beauty Confuses Fools
Abbot Disburbs P.A.
Folly Disrobes Wisdom
Youth Seduces Itself

Beauty Amuses Tradition
Abbot Confuses Truth
Folly Disturbs Fools
Youth Disrobes P.A.
Beauty Seduces Wisdom

Abbot Amuses Itself
Folly Confuses Tradition
Youth Disturbs Truth
Beauty Disrobes Fools
Abbot Seduces P.A.

Folly Amuses Wisdom

s gP

10/30/72

2"

Endymion

The crystal moon,
Smiling her strange,
Wide-eyed smile,
Resting in the filigree
Of branches;

She weaves in the sky a sheen
Of gossamer, embroidered
With the dark leaves.
The moist stars

Glimmer around her in the darkness, as

She swells the night with

Her silent symphony.

She etches the black shadow of branches

Into the glittering snow;

She pales the blades of grass,

And turns the dewdrops at their tips

To trembling gems.

The splayed mountain peaks,

Cloaked in her cold splendor,

Float in the black sea of night;

The quiet stream

Is a mirror of obsidian

Under her gaze.

She kneads the ocean gently,

Causing it to flow and ebb,

Rise and fall,

Like a breathing animal,

Deep in a dreamful sleep.

And she caresses with her hands

The mist that sighs

Over the silver 'd sands.

She touches the horse's dark hide

With sliding, taper 'd light,

And makes his mane a living wave

That billows in the night breeze.

The shuddering aspen leaves

She vains with silver,

And silvers the upturned pinions
Of the nighthawk
As, swift and silent,

He pursues the translucence of a white moth.
She whispers her sweet madness to the wolf,
Her urgency

To the glass slippered deer.

She pours rippled diamond panes

On the floor

Of the clear-eyed poet,

And from these panes

He fashions the windows of his soul:

Endymion, with the slender hands of a child.

Sweetly sleeping in her love.

swarming black night
swat those buzzing flies
away ; far away .

chase them into dark deep corners,
then,

open wide the gentle winds
to flights of butterflies
to drift

through flowers of my head,
the moment of honey pleasure,
then

leave me to sleep
alone

but not untouched.

31

p

V

A Pantomine

Stage: table and chair, very plain, candle on table,
dim light.

Man enters. Goes to table and sits down in
chair. He reflects, then lights candle.

He sits, intently watching patterns that the
candle is forming on the wall.

Smile slowly forms on his face. A picture
forms. Tall grass is seen being blown by wind.
A grasshopper is on a blade of grass, his body
in motion with the grass. A line comes out of
the grass's depth and sucks in the grasshopper.
A toad, brown and warty, with big shiny bug
eyes, is pictured.

Man laughs almost madly to himself. Picture
becomes wavy and disappears. Man reflects.
Another picture starts to form. A lions face
is made out. His eyes are wide and saliva is
dripping from his large jowls where a few
teeth are visible. He seems to be on a hunt and
suddenly charges toward empty space.

From nowhere a gun appears in man's hand.
He fires it. A faint moan is heard, then a thud.
The picture has disappeared.

The man sits there with sweat dripping from his
forehead. He rubs his eyes, then stares at the
wall. A lion starts to form again. He fires
immediately. An echoing moan is heard. The
picture has disappeared.

Man stares wild-eyed at wall, gun cocked in his
hand.

Footsteps, having a distinct pause between each
step, are heard. A man from a grey background
becomes visible. His whole body is like a shadow
except for his eyes. They stand out, red, with
the glare of the devil in them. The figure walks
closer. The man, his eyes glazed, slowly raises
the gun with both hands and fires.

Candle goes out and falls to floor. A dim light
still shines on the wall where three bullet holes
are pictured. One hole drips blood.

Black Out

Character Studies

I

the ripples break the silence of the surface as an oriole

beckons his mate
precious blue, deep soul conscious blue of mountain strength

rustles slightly as a breeze might disturb a silent poplar

tree; Setting it to singing

II

majestic robes of purple trimmed white
upheld in the joyful outburst of autumn in its final
statement before death

III

hillsides

closely resembling a young girl
struggling to reach womanly form
growing and changing ever so slightly

as the ages pass

A message wrought of continuous trials, tribulations, tragedies, trickles,
pickles, hitches and stitches of wanderings, as is readily apparent from this most
picturesque stationery-the illustrious "Harbor Light", "Trailer Park" - (do not
ask how whence we came to this place, my mind is complicated, all things are
muddled). I am presently recouping from a delightful hangover, another temp-
tuous episodeal delight. Feeling semi-lousy, so not the best time to write, but
I suppose any time is as good as any time. Have no idea what the date is. We dis-
covered that it's Sunday because all the super-markets, if you can call them that,
were quite closed. Now that I have succeeded in telling you nothing about what
is/has happening/happened, I had best begin. From where? Je ne sais pas. Be-
lieve it or not, I have been speaking french to a lot of people here. It's really
fun(ny). Find myself mixing languages in my head, speaking french to english
people, getting generally confused. We hit Canada after a few days here and there
— in puddles of mosquitoes on a sea-cliff; trespassing, rain, rain, insane — we were
rescued in Ellworth by a savior who gave us his house, land, shower (HOT!!),
peace and quiet and stereo while he went out to night-school, we split before he
and his girlfriend came back, returning to our quiet haven amid fields of mos-
quitos (in East Sullivan as I recall). Onward to Acadia, embarking on a cosmic
orgasm with James MacMalster Whedon - an organic creature - into geodesic
domes, organic farming, Kundulini Yoga, I Ching, macrobiotics, LSD, an "alone
trip", also madly in love with Judith. He's really a nice boy after you get through
all that outside shit. He's been through a lot, still lost at 21. His own furm, dome,
garden, land, yet no one to share it with. Very lonely. J. and I helped him a lot.
He shared our twobody for a night, a squish, and I was somewhat relieved to get
rid of him in the morning. Things were just getting too heavy for everybody.

Abigail my dearest so begins the beginning of letter no. 1!?!

this page i started somewhere (time) ago but apparently only got as far as
the beginning. Thusly, i begin upon a new place and a new page. Tonite we are
mooching off the Canadian Government. Got picked up by these two guys see,
Wayne and Jeff, who work in a government forestry, and were on their way to an
unknown apartment for a weeks' stay pre-paid as is their gas, food, lodging, etc.
Nothing fishy here. Jude's dead tired, we weren't up to another hours' hitch in

36

the dark to an unknown hostel -- she wouldn't have made it. So here we are, a
barrel of laughs - ha ha ha - more like beer beer beer. These guys are perpetual
beeries, all they do is»drink, smoke and read comics ("Wyatt Earp (his guns are
law)", "The Mighty Marvel Western, Rawhide Kid, Kid Colt, Two Gun Kid",
and "All New Fightin' Marines" (published in Derby, Conn.) Ya see, they're
both on liquid diets to get rid of their beer bellies, Quite Harmless, i assure you
(and myself for that matter). Anyway, we're enjoying ourselves here, took a
delicious bath in a tub with four little footsies. The guys just joined me at the
kitchen table to play cards-crib, it's called. Well, back to more illustrious ad-
ventures. The reason page no. 1. was in a lousy mood cause i was marooned two
days in a Pictou trailer park, on accounta J. was hot an' heavy into another ro-
mance, only this one i could take seriously 'cause i like and respect him tremen-
dously. His name is Raymond, he's 22, rides a motorcycle, looks extremely
British, dresses stylishly (green leather jacket, white scarf and goggles). Also
quite good-looking. Anyway, they met on the ferry from P.E.I. (Prince Edward
Island), split, and then he drove about 50 miles from hostel to trailer park to
seek his love. Ah, but it worked out well. An interesting story indeed. This all
leads up to the hangover -- we all went to "the hangout", a greasery 50 's Pictou
spot for FOOD. Great fun. Then decided to hit a late-nite lounge, ended up at
the Pictou Lodge, a rustic affair way out in the boondoggies, built of logs, moose
head, potted palms and old, old, old bluesy jazz records (which i adore) and my
first drink (Tom Collins) in a bar ($1.50)! !! That was fine. Then J. and Ray
disappeared to dig the sand (beach) leaving me to fend off drunken slobs and feel
sorry for myself. It's happened before, but this time i was marooned - stuck --
couldn't risk a ride out with a drunken idiot, or a 2 mile walk down a dark dirt
road to hitch the lonesome hiway at 11:35. So i twiddled my thumbs, surveyed
the geraniums (not fake) and made friends with a drunken Pictouian named Judy.
When Ray 'n J. finally came out of their hole (in the sand), three shooting stars
later, my Pal Judy dragged us all in for drinks with rex, sister and brother in law,
and other assorted oddities. A little beer and i was far out. Forgot to say that
John the bartender, a fat little guy with a long nose, speaks seven languages. He's
a sweetie. Anyway we all had quite a few chuckles with Judy, who addressed J.
as "my name", and wanted to come with us to Connecticut. She danced with
Rex to the Monkees' first album. Finally, at 1:45, we hit that long dirt road
back to the long dark hiway. How i made that 2H miles (at one point collasped

MULIE DEEGAW WA TED UNTl,. Th£ KtOd AE^E
ASSEMBLED IN THE CHAPEl FOR 'FISH h\<* H'.E.

on the yellow line) should remain a mystery to us an. Whenever a car came, we
hid. Sure was fun and the moon made the whole thing worth it. Ray finally
left a day later, 5 p.m. today, after a whole day of good-byes, i was ready for them
to ride off happily ever after -- they were both upset in leaving -- ( by the way, he
was recouping from a 3 yr. love affair which came a week within holy matrimony )
— 1 write so much of Ray because he's been what's happening lately while I've been
stuck in Pictou with French poodles and color T.V.'s. Such a relief to be back on
the open road. Love those travelin' cliches, that oV hiway in the wind. One more
story for this one, o.k.? Canadians finish every sentence with A ("Where ya goin',
A,") or "Is that right?" or "0 yeah.". That's not the story, it's a real spine killer,
the kind that gets yer gut and spits yer sweat. Well it's a real heavy, and i can't seem
to get into writing about it 'cause it seems so silly now, yet at the time

... all right, get on witn it. We were trapesing merrily off to Canada via Houlton,
Me. The idea traversed our little heads of "customs" and "dope". After several
stupid hiding places in J.'s pack, i transferred the cache to the bottom of my
brown rice bag, we figured on no hassles from the Canadians (they're so much
better about these things, eh?) Well, things started off bad three miles from the
border when we got stopped by a friendly police officer for, yes, hitch-hiking.
He gave us a warning and offered us a free ride to the border "where we would un-
dergo thorough investigation" A WIZE CHOICE "if you don't have any "stuff". 1 1
We chickened out, made up some lousy excuses and wandered sadly back to town
to further contemplate the issue. The first car i asked (filthy rich old folks) offered
us a ride across the border, we figgered no hassles, so hopped in. Not so easy; our
friendly hostess complicated the issue by explaining we were hitch-hikers picked
up by a policeman. His face dropped, we were rushed out of the car from office to
office, pink slip to pink slip, both sweating madly and attempting vague cracks at
jokes. J.'s pack was scrutionously dissected down to underpants, shaking out emp-
ty pack, analysing vitamin pills, pawing our whole wheat flour, shaking out maps.
Me standing in a puddle of paranoia. A sweet young thing was doing my pack and
when she got to the mess kit i almost threw up and split to the bathroom and to
tell our friendly chauffeurs to forget us permanently. When i came back my pack
was finished but J.'s dilligent young man found a few grains in her side pocket, he
ushered in the supervisor who confirmed the stuff and marched us back for more,

38

1 - all quotes from F.P.O. (Friendly Police Officer)

or less, pink slips. We were brutally questioned "Where's the stuff?", "Didja flush
it down the toilet, huh, didja, huh???!" J. made up a story which got us off. At
first we were denied entry and officially deported, not allowed entry etc. etc. I
was paranoid cause i figgered for sure our packs were being dilligently researched
and ramsacked. We ran out of customs, clutching our pink slips, and praising the
Lord, or whoever. ($300 fine for PIPE ALONE!!!!!! YE GADS!!!) How can this
horrible gripping fear be communicated ?? And we had to sit and smile through
the whole f— ing thing! How did i do it??? Anyway to end this closing vignette,
J. said that when she (custom's lady) came to the mess kit she said "What's in
there?" J. said "FOOD!:" She sniffed, said "Oh." and put the thing down. Didn't
even open the damn thing. Jesus. Summer would have ended right there. Believe
me, i was sure we were permanently cooked. Guys we met at Hostel busted at
border were jailed six weeks. Trying to raise bail and fine. Ray was jailed six weeks
(solitary confinement for refusing to cut hair) for stealing 22 cents worth of but-
ter. Moral of Story : smuggling butter's better (or worse) than dope. Don't try to
be sneaky in icky places. Watch those tricky fingers (butter fingers) and keep
Cool, all is groovy LOVE DEBSER

P.S. An extra added dividend -

So to them a crumbly po-eme i send

They make me glad

3 cheers for Mom and Dad!

Hip Hip Horay-Woppee Ding Dong

Sing a song, ring a ding the pho-en

for Ma 'n Pa Ow-en
They make me glad
So to them a crumbly po-eme i send
(get it, po-eme?)
To Ho-Ho-Ho-eme

yes, yes-it's too late for this sort of nonsense, the point is, i called the par-
entskiis today, quite spontaneously, yes sir ec (after WIERD Dreams) to
discover their paren(t) (an) oia and iron things out a bit (No scorches).
Good, good talk with Mom, o so glad i called-shc told me they called Ma-
tin, nearly sent out the mounted police even before J. wrote home a thumb-
tale, and called all over the country-side. Jeepers Creepers!!! A Shock-
eroozie but everything's fine now, We had a real good talk. Now time for
a snoozie. (An' a bed 'II be coozie) To the crux of the Matter -- a big fat
thank you to Ma and Pa for saying such nice things about us nice things,

39

i mean girls. Set my parentanoiaskis at case for a sneeze. Now it's a breeze.
They're neither queezed nor bumming on the thumbing. The hitches are un-
hatched. The eggshells (placentas?) arc split as we breathe the clean (not
foul) air of freedom and responsibiliti-hc-he- Share this letter if it will make
anyone feel any better. Mighty noodle, lost my poodle.

40

MAfcDI JANE HUDSON
Ab&lE OUJEN

gPlTORlAL &OARD
MAft.y CLEMENTS

^LLY cooper
USA H6NP&RS6N
PORINPA DAVIS

DE& SEUpEM
)<AREN Tu LI 5-

FACULTY APVJSOR
RENMI& McQui LKW

j 3^vi.^iw v Ion si *iha : amo

43

blend, oh my days, into weeks, months, time to endure
push me, like the strong wind moves the tumbleweed, roll me
past the moment - it drops back into the brown dust storm
f past, while I go forward, unstopping, unable
to the future

Oh. that I could plant my roots in the soft soil of moment
and feel warm sun, and see the sky