Seven Hills High School - Yearbook (Cincinnati, OH)

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Milestone , -2 -4. H igol v f I 4 - A I . N J THE LAKE xc The first day I saw the lake, I looked out from the window of my room. lt was not as I had expected, but smooth and oily, like dark polished glass: dull and sombre. There was no motion: there were no sails on the surface, just a vast, empty, dark expanse. The sky was lcaden, and barren of clouds, reaching far out to where the horizon should be. but merging into the gloom of the water, a continuation of the gloomy colors, varying from slate gray to muddy purple. This scene instilled the mood of fear, of foreboding, and no one ventured forth. NVhen night came, the small moon weakly struggled through the heavy sky and glimmered faintly on the still water. As I awoke, next morning, I heard the continual swishing of water rushing in and out. The sky was bright, clear blue with soft white clouds. The waves were lusty. vigorous, full of life, relentlessly rolling in: white-capped, inviting and challenging, like a gay antagonist. Sails floated out on the gleaming, bright horizon. All day the noisy, gay waters washed the shore, At night the moon shimmered and glittered on the restless waves. Another day, the sky was packed with rolling dark clouds, the sun breaking through to make a great contrast. The lake was loud and angry: the waves were powerful and rough, throwing spray into my window. The wind swirled the sand about in fury. There was no gay invitation to even the most adventurous: no sails appeared. The horizon seemed closer, with a bright sharp light between the water and the sky. The moon hardly shone that night. Then came a balmy day, not cool, not warm. The lazy clouds drifted in a peaceful sky. The waves lesiurely lapped the shore, the sails drifted gracefully out to the far distant horizon. The full moon spread a brilliant pathway from the sky to the beach beneath my window. JANE MCINTYRE. '47 High School Essay - Second Prize INTERNATIGNAL GASTRONOMICS As you know, there was a ban on traveling in this country, and, of course, only those in the armed forces or connected with the war were traveling in foreign countries. Nevertheless, we decided to get page 82

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Milestone I think that everyone will agree that street lights are indispensable as far as guiding someone in the dark goes. Closely connected with the street light's use as a beacon, is the sense of security that it gives to the lone wanderer, After all, adults are just grown children, and the same fear of unknown, unpredictable perils is prevalent in both. Why does a child cry at bedtime? Why does a late caller hesitate to go home? Because the imagination creates images present only in the dark. When in the protective rays of a street light, the traveller assumes his self-confidence once more. No matter what you say, dear reader, even you feel ill at ease alone on a dark street, and you must admit that the frequency of street lights prevents one from arriving at his or her destination with a remarkable supply of ideas for a pip of a nightmare. l shall let you make your own deduction from that, for, unless he is of a definitely morbid character, no one cherishes the memory of a nightmare, and to most people any sort of prevention is welcomed. Therefore, l say that the use of the street light as a haven equals its use as a guide. Quite often street lights have been used as landmarks. Surely, when making inquiry about your way, someone has said to you, Three blocks west and turn left at the second lamp post, or We're the white house with the green street light in front, ' After school when city children gather for a game of hide and seek, they often use a lamp post as home free. And what would the romantic novelist do without a street light for the hero and heroine to meet under? fPerhaps l should say: What would the hero and heroine do? j Think of the usefulness in the lamp post, itself. Mailboxes often are hung on it, as are traflic signs and posters. During conventions and elections one might find flags, streamers, and all sorts of pictures pasted over every free inch of post. The previous items are not the only things that one finds on lamp posts. l-lave you ever noticed the odd collections that gather there on October 3 l P Also, just think of the reckless drivers who would have ended up goodness-knows-where had not a friendly lamp post kindly stopped them. Disregarding the useful side of the street light, for a moment, let us take up its scenic qualities. Have you ever glanced out of the window in midwinter to see the gleam of a near-by street light reflected in the tranquil snow like a million diamonds? Beautiful, isn't it? ln any season one can find beauty in the city through street lights. There is an old-fashioned gas light outside my window, behind which a maple tree has spread its branches throughout the years, so that now they almost envelop the whole lamp. ln the fall there is nothing lovelier than to see the amber glow filtering up through the whole tree. Another fascinating sight is that of the lights of the Parkway, weaving, turning, just as if a huge, luminous serpent were devouring Cincinnati, And on hot, stuffy summer evenings when the front porch feels like the inside of an oven, the cool, clear light of a near-by street light seems to pierce the thickness of the humidity and float gently down on you with each stirring breeze. Although a street light is not something a poet would write sonnets to, it is one of those unrecognized figures which makes a city beautiful. Motu' MAISH, '48 page 81

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Milestone around the OPA and enjoy rubbing elbows with people of other countries. We did it all in Chicago. We indulged in prandial research. Russia was our first objective: therefore we Went to The Yar, a most authentic Russian restaurant. We were greeted in the lobby by a blue-smocked head waiter. The waiters wore less elaborate smocks. The Russian Orchestra gave off robust tunes and dances by Russian com- posers. XVe were presented with a menu of foods with long Russian names. As we waited for our food, which we ordered out of curiosity, not knowing what it would be, we gazed at the decorated walls. There were paintings of Russian characters. Russian wolf hounds, legendary figures of Russian history, all in the brilliant colors used in such paintings. The dish we chose turned out to be hamburger with a Russian sauce. The meal was topped off with a typical desert of rum cake fi la Russe. We felt transported for a time to a foreign place. As we left The Yar, we noticed there were other interesting places near by. Another night we chose Jacques, which is a fine French Restaurant. This place was tucked away in our minds as a very special excursion in gastronomics. The French head waiter in tuxedo and monocle led us to a quaint open-air patio much like the gardens in New Orleans. The diners sat beneath multicolored umbrellas, and the tables were arranged around a central fountain which was surrounded by flower boxes. Screaming gay birds in cages added to the scene. This time the menu was not so confusing: but, even so, one of the party chose a dish which turned out to be hamburger with a French sauce. French wine and French pastry topped this meal. The next gourmandic trip was to Alt Heidelberg Restaurant, a typical Cierman establishment with a Bavarian orchestra that played tunes by German composers and was loudly applauded, The waiters wore red silk jackets with bright brass buttons. Along the walls were trumpets from which hung red-bordered flags. German beer flowed without end, Again we chose from the menu and again the choice of one of the party turned out be hamburger, this time with just good brown gravy. Then on Sunday night we sought out The Blue Danube. which was a typical Hungarian eating place. The room was cool and dark, but the walls were illuminated, and little Hungarian scenes with typical costumes on the people attracted our attention. In the front, but behind the orchestra stand, was a scene of Budapest. It was interesting because there are really two cities, one on each bank of the Danube River. The orchestra was a truly Hungarian group, many were Hungarian gypsies, and there was a cymbalon, a strange musical instru- ment that looks somewhat like a piano but with a top like a dulcimer, with wires that are struck by little felt-covered hammers. The enter- tainers were dressed in the bright peasant dress of Hungary. The menu had typical Hungarian dishes on it. Some chose goulash: others, chicken paprika: but one chose a dish, hoping for something unusual, with hamburger as the result. Thus far we had had hamburger in four different languages. The evening was gay and noisy with sweet music and singing and whistling. Our interest was engaged by the name Shangri-Ia, land of dreams, peace, and rest. This turned out to be a Cantonese place with Chinese page 83