Hamden Hall Country Day School - Perennial Pine Yearbook (New Haven, CT)

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, FATE One brisk September morning my friend, Ann, and I felt the urge to take a nice, long walk. Our destination was the top of East Rock Park. Eagerly we started our long trek to the top, huffing and puffing with each step. Finally, after what seemed endless hours of climbing, we had reached the last giant stair. Breathlessly we started our way across the narrow foot bridge, which offers a wonderful view for miles around. Usually, because of the sheer drop directly below, we hurried across, but that day we lingered a few moments to drink in the breath-taking beauty. I stepped forward in order to get a better look, when suddenly my foot slipped- and over I went. I experienced the most sickening sensation in my stomach as I plummeted downward, realizing that every second would bring me closer and closer to my inevitable death. What a horrible way to die, I thought, being smashed to bitsf Suddenly, as if by a miracle, I was no longer falling, but swinging back and forth in the cool breeze, my coat having been caught on a projecting limb. Cautiously I looked about me. There were milling crowds above and below, all eagerly anticipating my every move. My hands clutched the limb tightly, and I prayed as I had never prayed before. In the far distance I heard the sound of screaming sirens. My hopes rose by leaps and bounds. My aching arms felt as if they were being torn loose from their sockets. I can't hold out much longer, I thought. Tiny beads of perspiration covered my forehead. Looking up, I saw a rope being lowered to me. Eagerly I reached for it. I missed! Again I tried, the tears streaming down my cheeks. Oh God, please don't let me die! Once more the rope was within my reach. My burning fingers entwined themselves around it. I hung on for dear life, thanking God every minute. Slowly and carefully I was being raised upward. Just another second and it will be all over, I thought. Chills ran up and down my spine. Kind hands reached out, pulling me to safety. How wonderful the earth felt-how solid, safe, and o-o-o-o-0-h-h. Everything was to black. Beverly Tata Form IV MAN'S FANCY TURNS To me spring's not when flowers bloom Or house cleaning's in every room, It doesn't mean birds which trill and sing Or showers that May Howers bring. When April comes, things start to thaw, And there's nothing written in any law That says a feller can't change his fancy From maybe Alice-to joan or Nancy. Or maybe spring means sun-green grass And bugs comin' out en masse. It can mean a feller's not so free 'Cuz there's work to do-at least for me! It's only a thought and could be worse, I could've written it in prose--but it's verse. Frederic Earle Form VI Fifty-Jeven

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, HOW TO MAKE PEANUT BUTTER COOKIES Often in the afternoon I look greedy-eyed at the peanut butter jar just to see if there is enough to make some peanut butter cookies. However, on this particular day, with a friend I had just met in my new home in the country, I was not disappointed. I looked at the jar once again to make sure my eyes were not deceiving me because only twice before I had left enough from the morning breakfast for some afternoon appetizers. I almost thought that the good sight would disappear if I didn't take it pretty soon, so I took it and walked over to the counter. I took a bowl down from the cupboard. It was a nice big bowl, just right for my stomach-filling purposes. Now I got out a baby recipe book that some girl had given me for my birthday a long while backf Hmn. Cream sugar and peanut butter, or something that resembled those words. I went forth with project A. Project B was to take out some Crisco when my mother wasn't looking. That completed, I commenced Project C. My com- manding ofhcer, the recipe book, told me to get an egg or two and beat them up separately. Disregarding the latter part of my instructions, I beat up the eggs with the other contents. My punishment was-wondering whether the campaign, the cookies, would be successful. Next came two tablespoons of milk. Since I was going to wash the dishes, I didn't think I'd bother using a tablespoon, so I guessed as to the amount. Result-too much. Next and last on the orders for the day was to sift baking powder, salt, and flour. Disregarding the little four-letter word sift, I threw in the contents. Again I worried about the results. The next step, after my friend had waxed the cookie sheet, was to put it in the lighted oven. The oven would not light, so bold little .I decided to light it from underneath with a match. Result-burns and singed hair on my arms. However, in spite of all obstacles, the campaign was won, and the cookies came out well. ' Alan Dann Form II CLEANING A DESK DRAWER Early one morning you awake. The sun is shining in through the window, making the sun-beams dance on the desk. Yes, that desk, its drawer needs a complete cleaning. It's been a long time since that drawer has been neat. Therefore directly after straight- ening the room you decide to tackle the immense undertaking of cleaning the desk drawer. First you place a waste-basket and a card-board box in front of you. The former is to discard the absolutely unnecessary things, and the latter is to contain articles that you may some day want. The remaining objects, which shall be few, will be put neatly back. As you start rummaging through the drawer, you discover an old letter you forgot to mail due to the lack of a stamp. No wonder you never received that long awaited reply. Old purchasing slips, advertisements, and scraps of paper are immediately crumpled into the basket, while you toss used notebooks, old snapshots, and letters into the card-board box. Finally everything is removed. You can hardly believe all that could have been in one drawer. After much deliberation you start returning things that you think should survive this sudden burst of enthusiastic neatness. Slowly and very carefully you restore a few articles to their home. There, the drawer's all neat and looks like a model of cleanliness. At that moment the telephone rings. Your friend has arrived unexpectedly from New York and will be at your home shortly. You dash into the room, and your eyes meet the revolting mess on the top of the desk. Articles of all shapes are balanced pre- cariously. You follow your first impulse. Yes, you quickly stuff everything into the desk drawer, and you are right back where you started. Reyna Schwartz Fifty-tix Form V

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RETURN The driving rain and cold wind tossed odd remnants of torn, week-old newspapers and sometimes pasted one against a garbage pail or building with a sharp slap. Feeble street lights glimmered weakly and only served to add a ghostly pallor to the glistening streets. About Hve o'clock the storm had broken, catching the throngs of home-goers unaware. Folded newspapers and briefcases served as momentary protection. Crowds shifted and waited impatiently in doorways and under eaves for already overflowing busses. The throngs thinned more quickly than customary, and as a heavy darkness settled over the city, lights darted on one by one from windows everywhere. - Once or twice someone leaning heavily into the wind passed by, clinging des- perately to his hat, with head bent low and coat tails snapping in the wind. The dampness was working up through the soles of my shoes and my jacket clung to my back as the wind pushed me down our street. Strange that I should call it that yet-after seven years it was still our street. Familiar landmarks became more numerous. McPhierson's meat market stood exactly as it had always been. At seven-thirty sharp, old Mac would pull down the door shade and go to his quarters in the rear. As I passed, I noted the one naked light bulb hanging faithfully in the same old place. Stopping momentarily, I peered into the interior-there was the cleaver jabbed into the accustomed notch, and sure enough the old chair with the rung still broken rested near the shelf. The quick tattoo of foot- steps startled me to reality, and I moved quickly on my way. A woman passed me carrying heavy bundles which she shifted in her arms to relieve the weight. My heart leaped into my throat only to fall again in disappointment. I thought for a moment it might be she, but . . . Half carried by the wind she darted up the steps of a house down the street, and as I passed, I saw figures of small children scurrying by the window. My attention was quickly drawn to the other side of the street, where a sudden darkening of the barber shop gave evidence of its closing. With the slam of a door, rattle of keys, and quick steps of someone hurrying, I knew Frank had left. I could trace in my mind's eye every step he would take to his house with his dark-haired wife and two daughters-they must be big now-Mary with her dark eyes and little Louise, sad little Louise. A cardboard box drummed by me and took a sudden lurch, landing against a fence, only to stop for a moment and then with a jerk, be whisked away down the glis- tening street. A sudden blast of wind sent splashing rain against my face and neck, and I could feel small droplets gather momentum and come coursing down my scalp only to scurry past my collar and down my soaking back. Although I was thoroughly wet by now, I couldn't turn back until I reached my destination. I considered the absurdity of it all-battling all the way with the solitary purpose of turning back. At least once a year Cifl could make ith I would walk this same street. For seven years I had done it-seven times in seven years. Well, I had managed to keep it up so far. With a shift ofthe wind I had to press forward past the shoe repair shop with- yes, there old Dan sat, hunched and pale over some shoe or other. I wanted to tap on Fifty-eigb!