Maumee Valley Country Day High School - Weather Vane Yearbook (Toledo, OH)

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BUREAU DRAWERS If bureau drawers could only talk, what stories they would tell! Hidden away in their dark corners are the cherished fragments of yesterday ..... It was proverbially raining cats and dogs. The sky was gray and the wind howled angrily. I had certainly picked a fine day for a tennis game! A long Saturday afternoon lay ahead of me. What to do? My eyes met my school books and guiltily turned away. The magazines on the table were all old, and there was nothing on the radio but serials. What a bore! I suddenly remembered that for the past few weeks Mother had been urging me to clean out my bureau drawers. To each request I had politely responded, Yes, right away, Mother, but after a few seconds the matter conveniently had slipped my mind. Today, however, offered a perfect opportunity. I went to my room and started the long put-off task. The notions drawer came first. What an eyesore all those odds and endS. were! It seemed impossible that so many different kinds of articles could all be together in the same drawer. I found everything from a broken musical powder box to an exquisite lace handkerchief that I had taken to my cousin's wedding seven years before. It was a beautiful June wedding-the sun was shining-a perfect day. My young mind was unable to fathom why several ladies were weeping. One would think that people would laugh and be happy on such an occasion. I was soon to learn that there were tears of happiness as well as of sadness. I am sure that if a poll were taken to determine what occupies the most space in young girls' bureau drawers, hairbows would head the list. I found all sizes and varieties of them in mine. The one I handled most fondly, however. was the pink velvet one I had worn to my first dance. That was a magic night! I had my first corsage-fragrant roses tied with silver ribbon. Is there anything as thrilling as the first of everything? A long dress, a first corsage, the ring of a doorbell to announce his arrival! All the excitement of a coronation was mine the night of my first dance. But, on with the job. I shall never finish it if I stop to reminisce. What is this? My tenth grade report card. just a piece of paper-but in my sophomore year it was the barometer of my intellectual activity. How many hours of diligent study that A in French represented! But what happened to me that year in history? And that science grade! If only I could relive that year-I could get A's in everything. But would I? I wonder whether if we could live again, we should make the same mistakes as before, or should we profit by them? But I suppose that if people did not make mistakes, the world would stand still. In my next drawer, wrapped around a vase I had won at a carnival, was a newspaper, dated September, 1939. I saw an editorial pleading for peace. W'hat vain h-opes inspired that plea! Only a month later that debacle of death- war! just a three letter word, yet it symbolizes more destruction and human suffering than we who are safe can imagine. Safe now, perhaps, but what about our future? Can one country stay peaceful and neutral when the rest of the world is in a state of chaos? When one reads about the thousands of young boys who are daily leaving their homes for training camps and the billions that the government is spending for national defense, one wonders whether the next ten years will still see us as a modern utopia. Or shall we be sending our men, not to training camps, but across the ocean to kill and to be killed? But these are questions that only Fate and Time can answer. And so, hidden away in the dark recesses of my bureau drawers I found only a hairbow, a lace handkerchief, a report card, an old newspaper-but they are fragments of a yesterday and lead to much thinking. ANN KUMLER, Twelfth Grade 28

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CAT TALES Po-0-tee! Nice Fishiel' Paddy-thump, paddy-thump, and Inky appears at the foot of the stairs. Upon spying me and the fish, he sidles forward, tail erect, and affectionately rubs his dusty black ears against my legs. In and out he prowls around my ankles, tumbling over my feet and looking pleadingly into my merciless face. His first expectant purrs increase in volume to indignant me-e-e-ows. Meanwhile, Putty, in her dignified fashion, has appeared on the scene. She knows it was she that was called. There is no rush. Has she not seniority rights in this household Qlnky is a recent arrivalj, and should not she by this time realize that Po-o-tee in a high falsetto means salmon or raw liver, and that Put-tee, in a soft, secretive whisper means chicken tidbits at dinner? This call she recognizes as fish and she hopes it is tuna. Her eyes glitter at the thought as she quickens her pace without deranging her lady-like demeanor. Inky sees her coming and emits a last desperate wail, but his is a lost cause, and Putty is shut in the little-room to be free from interruption. Inky is then fed in the kitchen near the stove. He always eats his meat first, and very rapidly, taking large chunks and tilting his head to chew, first on one side and then on the other. Like a stubborn infant he sniffs disdainfully at any matter foreign to his usual diet, nor can you deceive him by cleverly concealing bits of spinach or carrots in his meat. Having noisily consumed his viands, Inky dutifully enough, four-four time, laps his milk, hardly ever disturbing the rhythm for a breathing rest. Now he has finished and must wash thoroughly his face and ruff. This thorough, but quick process flnky does everything in hastej is no sooner terminated than Inky commences to think again of food, and ambles down to the little-room. The door has been opened and Putty, her plate partially emptied, has retired upstairs for a snooze. She never gobbles her meals down all at once, preferring to nibble from time to time and between naps. But her schedule and fish plate are frequently upset by Inky's greediness. Now he eagerly gluttonizes over the remains of her food and, feeling suddenly very full and weary, pads sleepily up the stairs. Near four o'clock in the afternoon, I see my bed be-kittened at the top and bottom. Putty, the tip of her paws curled under as if keeping her palms warm, snuggles into the pillow at the head of the bed. Even when she sleeps, her eyes are-or at least one is-partially opened, and her ears twitch nervously as if fiies were buzzing about. The motions of her contented purring are only barely perceptible, while her fur gently parts ways, revealing patches of white, lighter grey, and even streaks of yellow. But there is no particle of yellow in Putty's character: she braves unflinchingly numerous household terrors. When several humans tramp heavily down the stairs at once and Putty, caught midway, is in danger of becoming snuffled, she either calmly makes herself as inconspicuous as possible against the wall, or attempts a mad clash to safety. Such recklessness is only surpassed by her ventures out upon the roof via the third floor window. It is most surprising to be marching up the front walk and, casually looking upwards, to perceive a slight grey animal running as assuredly over the eaves- troughs as if the roof were her usual habitat. And her valor is as outstanding in enclosures, for on several occasions Putty has been unfortunately shut in drawers and closets: namely, the linen closet and fruit cellar. Cf course she does not mind such an adventure, for the cellar holds all kinds of interesting things to investigate, such as screens, shelves, dusty chairs and intriguing passages formed by stacked boxes or trunks, and the linen closet is almost as delightful a place in which to indulge in peaceful solitude or forty winks as is the pillow of a bed. 29