Kentucky Home School for Girls - Pandaisia Yearbook (Louisville, KY)

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ifllpzrffie 332211 Sums Cglyangea gillahe What's happened to the Navy blue Our men wore yesterday? We're opposed to the change of clothesg Our Navy's wearing grey. That dark, dark blue with the gold, gold braid Has been replaced these days By the drab O.D.s which the C. O. says Must be those black trimmed greys. ' Oh, listen, men in Washington! l'd like a word with you. Why dress the mates in suits of slate When they could be wearing blue? Nancy Armstrong, ,45. Elpatterna 00lxllXC out of my window in a New York hotel the dramatic skyline makes a never to be forgotten pattern. One similar to the pattern formed the world over by buildings where man congregates in masses. Essentially the same yesterday, today, and tomorrow, yet it changes with the uncertainties of nature. Yesterday the still gray tone of the skyline harmonized' and seemed to blend into theover- cast sky. There seemed to be no termination, as though af gauze drop had been lowered over the scene by a master producer. There was no feeling of depth found when colossal buildings cast shadows over those dwarfed by their height, only the strangely irregular skyline, as though a child had cut the pattern out of gray craft paper. The scene was cold and monotonous, unfriendly and impersonal. I was oppressed by the stifling confines of these misty buildings. All this was yesterday. Today the scene has changed. The skyline remains practically the same, but today the orange chimney pots show against a blue sky. The shining concrete skyscrapers are recessed, floor after floor, into towering pyramids. The bronze dome of one building glittered in the sunshine. The open eminarets of a church spire make lacy designs against the background. What Twelve seemed plain and irregular in the drab sky of yesterday revealed fantastically ornamental out- lines in the brilliant light of the day. At night the scene becomes a carbon copy of the pattern. The feeling of gloom-is gone, the multi-colored neon signs form a kaleido- scope of color, spreading a warm, ruddy glow along the streets. The lights in the hotels create designs that play with one's imagination and the gaily lighted penthouses seem to form halos for the buildings. In the distance where the lumbering buses have faded into the black- ness of night the office lights appear to be stars bordering on the horizon whose points have been chipped off. A line of sparkling lights outline the curve of the river bridge like a strap of rhinestones curving over the shoulder of a beautiful woman. W'hen this same scene is in the grip of winter, blanketed in snow, the buildings form a design similar to the crenelated patterns on the ancient fortress-palaces of Assyrian noble- men. The atmosphere which has been cleaned by the falling snow creates a blue sky as radiant as a priceless sapphire., Thus, while the pattern remains the same, the effect is constantly varied by nature. Anne Bush, '45.

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W ' Cgarhen-stile Cbussipz K R. lVIacGREGOR struggled for the nine- tieth afternoon to get some results from his victory garden, but as he pushed his hat back from his brow he sighed wearily and surveyed the products of his labor without en- thusiasm. The carrots had all gone to feathery tops, tht long dry spell had severely dwarfed his tomatoes, the beetles had eaten the leaves of the beans into fantastic patterns, and the row of weather-beaten corn was only about two feet high when it should have been four or five by now. The sun was mercilessly hot and the ground was baked into a hard crust that defied his efforts to break it up into the fine loamy soil pictured in the fascinating seed catalogues. Mr. MacGregor gazed speculatively for a time at the fine scarecrow he had erected with so much trouble at the far corner of the garden plot. It seemed for a moment that the painted face that gazed back at him under his dis-- carded felt hat grinned. But no, thought Mr. MacGregor, that isn't possible. His gaze wan- dered down the figure which stood so erect on the stout pole he had provided for i-t. Mr. MacGregor saw his own last summer's suit, the coat bulging rather importantly about the fat middle and the trousers dangling down into the high grass and trembling a bit in a vagrant zephry, as if their present wearer was on the verge of executing a fancy shuffle. MI declare, said Mr. MacGregor aloud, uyou look just like that pompous fellow, the banker, who is chairman of the victory garden committee, and I expect you know as much about gardening as he does. Whereupon Mr. MacGregor gathered up his tools and disap- peared into the house. - After. he had gone, the scarecrow looked about cautiously and with a sigh and relaxed his rigid position. A brown rabbit emerged from the hedge, followed by a little chipmunk, who began to nibble on the yellowing lettuce leaves. c'What do you suppose he meant by saying I look like the fellow in charge of the garden committee? asked the scarecrow musingly. uIt's something people never seem to figure out, said the rabbit, twitching his ear reflec- tively. 4'They expect a fat banker to be an ex- pert gardenerf, a'Do you think I look like a fat banker then? asked the scarecrow hopefully. c'No more so than Mr. MacGregor looks like a farmer, replied the rabbit. At this point the chipmunk joins in the conversation squeakingly. HBut you're only a scarecrow, not a banker said he, wrinkling up his nose. Just then, Mr. MacGregor came out from the house. A hedgehog, who had joined the group, twined hnmself into a ball, and rolled away behind a cornstalk. The brown .rabbit scurried to safety under the hedge, while the scarecrow resumed his stiff position. Mr. MacGregor came .down the path and stopped at the edge of the garden. He eyed the scarecrow suspiciously, buttthe painted face was unmoving. , alt all goes to show, said he, as if con- tinuing his conversation with the scarecrow. 'CA man shouldnit usually try to be what he isn't. That banker is no gardener, I am no gardener, but this is a national emergency and we all must attempt to do a good many things we never did before. . , Harriet Field, ,-45. C9212 in at glfiatinn Qpuint I ..- , nr , I C-ikfter igntfre Celine This day and age welre living in Is full of mystery. My weary brain is giving in, What can the answer be? Four ration books so far we've had For meat and shoes and gas, And all our hearts are dreary and sad When an 'cEthyl,' tank they pass. Two red points for meat per day, That is whatis allowed, For a bit of steak for which you'll pay If you can beat the crowd. Our modern natives have discovered They joy of barefoot play, For who would keep his feet covered And throw a stamp away? X ' Q Yet with all the complaints we've made, A - We really are grateful toog For beside the prices other have paid, Ours are-truely too few. N ancie Mall, ,45. Thirteen