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Page 50 text:
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'? j -is fs f I f n 417 3 March I9 Dear Ann I have just received your letter. College sounds heavenly -- all you have to worry about are term papers, exams and more dates than you can handle. What a normal prosaic lifel Im going crazy' let s make no bones about it! I planned to go to college Cwe were to have a better world, you knowb but I'm always refused. Will I ever get to college! Remember when we planned the kind of colleges we'd go to. They'd have beautiful campuses handsome males and wonderful profs. Now 1'll settle for anything - but the colleges don't seem to want to settle for me. Every afternoon I sit down to record my favorite books, the exact color of my hair the pigment of my skin, the languages we don't speak at home other than English and any ambitions the colleges think I ought to have. They say, will I! Every night I go to bed and have nightmares. I am sitting at a great big desk on my right are millions and millions of college catalogs and on my left are the applications. I start reading and writing all at once as fast as I can. As I write refusals start coming back at me, faster and faster - I write more and more but refusals keep on coming. It seems hopeless. Morning comes -- it's seven oclock. School today! Every day I have school and every day I worry about college. I usually console myself, After all they must take somebody, maybe I ll be lucky. But can I count on it. I m becoming desperate. What happens if I don't go to college. I could get a job. Maybe I would become a politician. After all it ought to be quite simple to do all those childish things politicians do -- filibuster to avoid an issue, fight instead of discussing problems or anything else that young people are not supposed to do. But really what can I do? There isn't too much time now and I don't want to be left holding the bag. Should I keep on sending my biography and dentist's report to Secretaries of Admissions who never read them or should I just forget it all and trust to luck. It s so hard to know what's best. Love, Zi.. 1 If you apply to enough colleges, you're bound to get in somewhere. But
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Page 51 text:
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DOGS AT 7:30 . , -. y' , I 3 at ,vhi ,,, X st- xy 5 ' A Ninety-sixth and Fifth is a busy crosstown intersection - . f Y J' but at 7:30 in the morning when only a few busses rumble I ef Q ff XV I. Ti . U xt I f 'I . N avi. 5 IYN fr through the tunnels and a couple of trucks roll down di fn towards the East river, that's when this corner becomes H something special in New York City. Starting at 7:15 they begin to arrive - little old women with well-kept pekenese - sleepy girls with cockers and scotties who keep frisking N ahead, chasing the leaves - puffing business men with avr DW U Ll ' 5 ,., 9 c.f i :N their wives' poodles. By 7:30 the corner is awake with barks and helloes and entangled leashes. The more energetic masters get together to give their dogs a run around the reservoir. The rest of us drift into little groups to comment on the weather, and how late we stayed up last night, and how the Russian wolfhound is the dumbest dog and buzz, buzz, buzz - bark, bark, bark. A tall boy with an Irish setter comes down the path, he's one of the energetic ones - he's been out since 6:30. The group of slee y girls swear they're going to get up at 6:30 somehow and lug their dogs around the reservoir, even ilp they collapse in the attempt. Earnestine strides up in her riding outfit with her boxer I-lansaf' She waves to me and we climb up the hill. The dogs run loose up here and it seems like a fantastic world of pedigree dogs, and muts, and pedigree dogs who turned out runts. A cocker chases a colly across the paths and two young boys come chasing after them. Mike, Mike -here. An elevator man is being pulled along by two smug little dachshunds, one in a green knitted jacket, the other in red. Hey-You comes galloping up to us, and drops panting at my feet. The wind had died down and the sun was getting warmer. At 8:50, Ernestine and I shot down the hill with dreams of delightful sausages and scrambled eggs dancing through our minds. Ieeahe Einnersfein THE COUNTRY I rode the horse to the top of the hill, the wind blew through my hair. Never before had I felt such a. feeling of complete freedom. I had been born and raised in the City and had never lived in the country before. I was staying at my friend's farm. I got off the horse, after tying the horses reins to a tree, I stood on the hill and looked down at the green countryside and the farmhouses which dotted it. How free it was here, away from the noise and constant hurrying of the City. How friendly the people were. One day the cows had broken the fence around the pastures and gotten out. People from all the neighboring farms called up and told us about it. By the time we got to the pasture, a neighbor had already rounded up the cattle for us. When threshing time came, all the farmers helped one another out by working for each other. There was never time to loaf. We got up at 5:00 A.M. to milk the cows, and our work wasn't done till 9:00 at night. One of our jobs was cooking the meals for the farm hands. If we needed any food, all we had to do was go out and pick it - milk and eggs could be obtained by taking a short walk to the barn. After the meals and the dishes were done and the house cleaned, we went out and worked in .the fields. It was hard but satisfying work. Waking up from my deep reverie, I realized it was getting dark and I would have to get back by milking time. Untying the reins from the tree, I rode down the hill. UA.. IGM
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