Kingswood School Cranbrook - Woodwinds Yearbook (Bloomfield Hills, MI)

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ZIP or IN DEFENSE OF WASTING TIME Wasting time is a favorite occupation of many people, and while it may be considered immature to escape reality and to procrastinate, there arc definite advantages. Of course, the hobby of wasting time is, in itself, very enjoyable as you would gather from its vast popularity. There arc many ways of wasting time, but the object is always either to make time go by faster, or to put off the inevitable. Methods vary gready since what one person might do to make tempui fugit might be another’s inevitable thing-to-be-avoided. In any case, the actual wasting of time, while pleasant, is not the most valuable asset of the hobby. There is zip. Imagine how dull it would be if, when dressing for a party, your clothes were all decided upon, pressed and laid out- everything all organized. Foresight—that is what you would have, and die ability to plan—a place for everything and everything in its place. You would undoubtedly be ready at least ten minutes eariy, and could stroll leisurely out the door bouffanted, perfumed, and corsaged. But, were it I, the story would be quite different, and infinitely more dashing. I invariably have zip in my life. I have become so adept at waiting time that it has been several years since I was on time for anything. But, let me hasten to add, the advantages of this type of life arc tremendous, at least from my point of view. There arc a few dissenters, such as the other people I make late along with me, and my mother, who fails to comprehend my dubious system of doing things and therefore is in a constant state of shock and nerves. But I manage to get along all right; my mind is exercised by the necessity of making speedy decisions, zip is undeniably present, and my diplomacy at making humble, heartfelt apologies for lateness increases every day. When I dress for a party, I am never primped and perfumed ten minutes early, and I never leave the house with a relaxed air. After successfully wasting the entire afternoon, perhaps starting with required reading for school but soon drifting to a delightful round of daydreams, telephone chats, and advice-for-tonight-from Mother conversations, I find myself with some ridiculously short amount of time in which to take bath, don party dress, and change from a slightly gray, barefoot, blue-jean clad hillbilly into a graceful, ivory-complexioned creature with stars in her eyes. I always find this a challenging and exhilarating ex- perience. All those split-second decisions: which dress, which shoes, gloves or no gloves, which earrings. And the problems: how to get things pressed at such short notice (Mother), how to find a pair of good nylons (nail polish), how to get a stubborn curl in place (chig- non). The whole process is very hectic. Dress is tossed on at the time the party is supposed to begin, lipstick is waved in the general direction of my mouth on the way out the door, and my final exit is anything but calm and collected. But, oh, how dull and boring life would be if it were not for the challenges and scrambles for which I give all credit to the art of wasting time. . . Barbara Morgan

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Who? Ui worry? The head girl Yahweh, help the Woodwindi.r‘ The Sooth ihall rite again! Watch owl! Here comet . . . But Mill Denning . . . You're da one. Help! Tigltth Pilwer Wording late

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A SENIOR RING Not a piece of jewelry made of gold or silver, But made of memories of Kingswood life: The strong and everlasting friendships between students. The mixed emotion at Junior-Senior Banquet Eager and proud to be Seniors but sad because the big sisters” are leaving, The flowing enthusiasm over the success of a class project, A victory in hockey on a crisp, colorful autumn day, The anxiety and tension until a college acceptance, The happiness but also disappointment at elections, Problems becoming trivial under the patient guidance of the faculty, The satisfaction of achievement after persisting in studies, And an exultant feeling while walking from the church with a diploma in hand. These elements combine to make a Senior ring, Not of gold or silver, but of memories of Kingswood life. . . . Gale Hummel CALENDAR The seventh of July it said. The paper hanging on die wall, The calendar that marked the days With curves and lines in little squares. It rained the seventh of July. I lost my temper. I read a book. I broke a dish. I cried. Then evening came. I saw a rainbow arch. I heard a wren. And when I went to bed, I lay and thought. Were all those things the seventh of July? Or was it the curves in the little square? . . . Kristine Gilmartin A RIDDLE Although I am not well liked, I am popular at Kingswood School, for every girl has at least two of me. I accompany each girl through her daily school schedule, but when the weekend comes, I am gleefully tossed aside. In fact it is not a rare occasion to have me misplaced to the despair of a forgetful student, who must find me before eight- thirty on Monday morning. I am not treated with the best of care, and, therefore, my life span is short. However, while it lasts, it is exciting ind eventful. I hear and observe a great deal and learn more than you can imagine about females. With the closing of the year, comes the end of my life or a trip to the bargain box. I have been a part of Kings- wood's life for many years, and am destined to remain a part of school routine for many years in the future. I will never go out of style. I AM A TIED SHOE . . . Chip Wilson