Anna Head School - Nods and Becks Yearbook (Berkeley, CA)

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Ami the story he tells is true. ImmiImIInIInIInIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIImnnuIInIIInIInIInIInInunuIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIII During vacation a few summers ago, I saw beside a fire hydrant a card with painted flowers industriously climbing over its brilliant orange back- ground. Snatching it quickly, I bore it triumphantly home. You see, I am not at all particular where I get my cards, although I usually wash the cards with- out pedigrees in antiseptic soap. The collecting of cards is a great occupation, and one's friends are very thoughtful in sending cards from foreign lands and strange places. When one has a collection of anything there is the fascinating task of sorting and keeping it properly housed, and habits of neatness and routine are established. One can- not collect without gaining much entertainment and incidental information. Therefore, say I, collect something! ELIZABETH RICHARDSON, '31, Birch -l-ree A sparkling silver outline Against a golden sky, A slim and quivering sentry To watch while night goes by, A dark, tall, ghost-like shadow In black and deepest grey, A lithe, flame-tinted dancer As comes the dawn and day. CHARLOTTE FRIEND, '3 1. 15

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S 0 'tif for you that our Author has written E Pluribus num Ag N OLLECTING things . . . any things . . . seems to be a great t sport lately. The magazines publish long accounts of the perils and hardships endured by an intrepid collector of variously sized and shaped safety pins, or of the extreme measures adopted by a heroic collector of old flasks, vvhen he saw in a bank vault a magnificent green bottle, which he knew must be his. fThe poor man went to prison for bank robbing, after discovering that his prize had at one time held ginger ale.j Boys, at one time or another, collect milk bottle tops. I tried that once, but my collection never flourished. -'wt-c, gag. ,f- Wai Y. , .. 4 ffm ig Z it .. L l ' 'ri 9.9: I ff A few years later I noticed the great variety of designs on the backs of playing cards. One day, Mother brought home cards having a large, sleepy, black cat on the backs. I liked the cat, whose name was Topsy, and annexed the joker. In the course of time I collected about ten cards having different pictures and designs on them. I remember that one was a tall camel standing in a very yellow desert, with an even yellower sky above him. Also, there were red-and-white, and blue-and-white designs, with cupids riding bicycles on them . . . the then ever present Bicycle Playing Cards. - However, I had no place to keep my cards, so imagine my horror when one day, I discovered that Topsy, my beloved cat, my charter member, had become restless, and had changed her address without notifying me! The errant one's place in the diminutive collection Qbut not in my hearty was filled by a smiling, tousled airedale, but I never ceased searching for my darling. Not until about two years ago, when I had quite a respectable number of cards, did I see another Topsy. A grown-up friend had been an ardent collector when she was a girl. Wlien she found some of her old cards, she sent them to me, and among them was the lost Topsy's counterpart, accom- panied by an aristocratic white friend called Tabby. These two seem perfectly satisfied to remain with me, and I hope that the airedale doesn't chase them away. Witli the cats came a sweet, simple country girl of the gay nineties who simpers in an horrible fashion, and leans on a rustic, although somewhat artificial gate, with a large boquet of huge daisies clasped firmly in her hands. There is a companion to this dear girl, a bathing girl, conspicuously labeled 'iNeptuna, who is as beauteous as her friend, but of a somewhat later period. She is attired in a very pretty, though somewhat cumbersome, bathing costume, a bandana covering most of her Howing locks, and a pair of long black stockings. 1-f

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A Jong of memory deep in fait heart Cn Going to Bed OW jane, don't be the next half hour getting to bed! The mere sentence, old and often repeated, several times in one evening in fact, sends an apprehensive chill up and down my back. just a minute! is a vague but excellent reply, because it shows that I am busy, wastes a little time, and does not sound unmannerly. After several more remonstrances you really must get up from your chair. This is merely to avoid causing irritationj Then, several more minutes can easily be wasted between standing in front of the heater to warm your feet, Qwhich are not really coldj getting a glass of water, and arranging your books for the next day. Things begin to get a little tense after that, you can't fool around much longer. After long experience you can arrange the intervals quite successfully. So now it is necessary to walk laggingly over to the door and open it a little. Mother, did I tell you about that dress at the last formal? It was longer in the back than mine is. Mother perks up her ears and remarks knowingly, but Chanel's latest model is very much like yoursf' There is no stumping mother! A short, fthey are always shortj rather strained argument follows. Mother is rather on edge, torn between desire to get me to bed and to satisfy her interest in the latest fashions. A subject like this one can't last forever, it is bound to go to an endf' Mother grits her teeth. !'Will you go to bed. I'm going! is the reply, . . . another safe one. After applying the much hated tooth-brush, and trimming of fingernails to suit father's particular idea of lovely nails, Qyou can easily imagine what that isj you return to the warm sitting room. You certainly were in there long enough. I wasn't at all, I certainly wouldn't stay any longer than I had to, I guess! After a little more foot-warming and another glass of water, and several prolonged good-nights, you mosey over to the other door, and lay your hand on the knob. Sometimes you can get away with another short argument, again you can t. It seems as though the steepest steps to climb are those on the way to bed. I usually take them at a running leap because I am very imaginative and often fool myself into believing that there is something behind me. Once safely in my room, my one desire is to get to bed and read before Mother arrives Qas she inevitably does just as I begin to be interested in a storyj to snap off my light. 16