Battin High School - Red and White Yearbook (Elizabeth, NJ)

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UA.. Rf 0 Sap When I reached my thirteenth birthday, I felt important. I tried to dress in a more sophisticated manner by wearing dresses only half an inch above my knees instead of two, by eliminating those dreadfully big child- ish hair ribbons, and by wearing a bit of make-up on special occasions. I also thought that learning to cook was a must Mother agreed to let me prepare an entire meal for our family and we set the big date for the next Friday evening. I chose the following menu: vegetable soup, weenies, sauerkraut, baked beans, salad, jello and cookies, milk for my sister and me, and coffee for Mother and Dad. On Thursday, I learned that Mother couldn't be home for my din- ner. At first I felt a little dejected, but soon a fine feeling of independence overwhelmed my fears. . , To make up for her absence, Mother had helped me with the prepa- rations, so when I came rushing into the house Friday aftemoon, I found practically everything I needed right in the middle of the kitchen table, including a long list of suggestions. It was 3: 35. I took the weenies out of the refrigerator, and started to set the table. In less than live minutes the once-crowded table was completely empty except for the suggestion list. Mother had written that she had put the soup into the pot in which it was to be heated, so I turned on a low Hame under the only pot I saw. Everything was going according to plan. In fact, I had twenty minutes to spare before serving time. Thus I elaborated with flowers for a centerpiece, and made place cards for my family guests. VVhen Dad walked through the front door, I started to dish out the simmering soup. There were crackers to go with it and also freshly made croutons. Dad, my sister, and I sat down to a meal which was to be long remembered in our home. Before I took my Erst mouthful, I was mentally double-checking everything for the next course. While I was meditating, my Dad ejacu- lated, What in heaven's name did you do to the soup?. It's the most vile-tasting stuff I've ever put into my mouth. While he was storming, my sister ran to the refrigerator, opened it, and fell into paroxyms of laughter. Between convulsions, she managed to bring out a pot of good-tasting soup from the refrigerator. I barely heard the conversation that ensued, but I comprehended that what I 'had served so elaborately was dish water from the pot that mother had put to soak! CAROL CHANENSON, ' go

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His visit was almost over!! Maybe I could persuade Iacky to let me send him the pictures we had taken, then he could answer me, and I'd answer him and --- Oh, you're leaving, Remi? Well, good-bye. If I wrote to you, not saying I will, but if I did, would you answer? You would? Well - good- bye. Sk 101 Ik if Ik A week later while I was playing But Beautiful for the hundredth consecutive time, I thought, Now it's ended. Yes, ended! I'm through with him. I'm through with all boys - I -.' VVhat, Ma? What do you want? A letter for me? Golly! After reading the letter, I dashed for the phone, slamming all doors behind me, mechanically dialed the familiar number, then bubbled into the phone: Kathy, Remi wrote to me! Yes, he did! He wrote to me and before I even wrote to him! CYCLE IN FALL I like to walk through the leaves And hear them crackle. I like the color of the sky, The little white clouds That move slowly across it, And the smell of smoke. IN WINTER I plow through the snow, And a thousand diamonds wink at me And dazzle my eyes. IN SPRING my feet barely touch the ground, The air is intoxicating, All the world seems newly washed. A bird calls, and I, overjoyed, Try to answer. ' IN SUMMER I walk slowly For it is a lazy time. All the world is in a golden haze. The bees hover slowly over the Howers, Enthralled by their fragrance. I revel in the blue sky, And the green world of summer. THERESA NETCEL, '51 18 RUTH TAUB, '51 HOKKU To the bright lamplight The Hies come to celebrate - This is their night-club. HELEN SCHILLER, 'go 7' 14 iw OH, FAN It reposes on its red plush bed- A delicate fan, Contrived from line lace web. Oh, lovely, lonely thing, Who were the coquettes Who Hicked and Huttered you? ANITA MAZZARELLA, ' 50 7

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f. I B l wgn b- 1 4-1.1 6 S 1151-susan! - 1 - , i . . x my Kanacla I have always been proud of my Canada. It is the country of my mother's people, and I have been going there every summer of my life, so I feel it is really a part of me. Each time I cross the border, I think I am in the Old World, because French is spoken there at all times. After I cross the Saint Lawrence River by ferry from Quebec, I am surrounded by the typical Canadian countryside: rolling hills, furrowed fields, and old dirt roads dotted by an occasional wooden farmhouse, or small villages with tall church spires reaching heavenwards from cozy green valleys. By the side of each dirt road worn by wagon wheels, stands the Crucifix, a symbol of the Quebec faith. For centuries, peasant women with baskets of blueberries picked from the fields, or farmers going to their work, have knelt beside the humble wooden Cross. The village of Sainte Claire has always been especially mine, for La Flammes have lived there for centuries. It is typical of all small Canadian villages, with its elaborate church, small brown schoolhouse, and little brook which passes right through the main street. Our house, like the others, is small. It is all one story, with large French windows, and a low-hanging roof. Its wooden walls have withstood the heavy snows for many years.