Strathcona Tweedsmuir School - Paidia Yearbook (Okotoks, Alberta Canada)

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NELSON NON'T YOU PLEASE MR. , Mr. Neison, won't you pTease P E U I End this course on bugs and bees. AIT those trips down to the pond Are journeys of which I'm not fond. I know I am taiking about A Tot of things which I know not. Mosquitoes, beetTes, and whiriigigs Are subjects on which I'm not big. SUMMER MORNING Mybmind TS bafT1Qd by H1059 RMQS Summer morning, bright and earTy, which I Coiiect in aii those JMQ5- Winds are waking, ciouds are curTy I carefuIIy IabeI aTT those things Everything is rosy, pear1y, Remembering how that Tittie bee stings. Summer morning, brignt and eariy. Mr. NeTson, I beg you piease, Let us return from the pond and the trees. I'm so coTd ,wet and dejected Instead of cooT, caTm and coITected. SUSAN ANDERSON GRADE 2 Mr. Neison, I've done my best To write the answers on that test. Your kindness I'd sure appreciate So I can pass into Grade Eight. CATHY MCKENNA GRADE 7B THE OBSERVER I sit aTong the seashore The breeze bTows in my face A wave is pounding harshiy The tide is soon to break. The crabs are crawiing sTowIy The sand is creamy white SeaguTTs dive for dinner Soon it wiTT be night. The tide is creeping sTowTy without a care I see The starfish being swept ashore The foam beneath my feet. I hear my mother caTIing My dreaming now is done I'IT come back tomorrow with the rising of the sun. ALISON BROOMAN GRADE 8A 25

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Q K' x EPITAPH Dry twigs tangled in a web of bitterness Try to conceal the neglected remains, Intricate patterns like splintered ice Spiracles of white Carried by gusts of biting wind Blanket the solitary remnant, Grey like dusk on a bleak day. Darkness obscures vision Of an escaped memory Inscribed on its desolate face: HPeople die only when forgotten.H PAMELA KNIGHT GRADE 12 Locke Poetry Contest Award SO MANY MONKEYS Monkeys, monkeys, moo I Shall we buy a few ? Yellow monkeys, purple monkeys, Monkeys red and blue. Be a monkey do I Who's a monkey ? who ? He's a monkey, she's a monkey, You're a monkey too. SUSAN ANDERSON GRADE 2 -,.,.,,, m ,ii . V . .3 24 PHYSICAL EDUCATION He could swing a heavy shot putt, And play golf, and ski and box. He could paddle down the rapids, Then he'd run and climb the rocks. Sometimes he'd take a 12 bore, And he'd shoot the targets true. He could ride from morn till evening, He could swim the mighty slough. His football was ferocious, His floor hockey - it was great. He always wore his gym clothes And he never came in late. He could race around the school yard He could wrestle all day long, But he never passed his Phys. Ed. 'Cos his log book was all wrong. 9 BART BORRETT GRADE 9A First Prize-Junior High Poetry Contest

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LUCKE SHURT ST DRY ALL THE WORLD'S A FLOORBOARD Before they signed the purchase papers the contractor assured my parents that he would personally see to it that every problem common to a new home would be set in order and, true to his word, he fixed everything my mother told him was wrong. He even repainted an entire wall that the moving men scraped when they carried in the stereo set. However, there was one problem that seemed more difficult than the others. when anyone walked down the hallway there was a loud squeak that could be heard throughout the house. Mr. Anderson, the contractor, believed that the squeak could be fixed by nailing the guilty floorboard from underneath, in the basement. He worked on it for several days but the squeak seemed louder than ever before. Mr. Anderson finally gave up trying and told my parents that the carpet would have to be raised in order to get at the board properly. He told them not to worry, that the carpet men would be coming the following week, and that then the floor would rest in peace. It all seems so long ago now that I really can't remember the circumstances, perhaps the carpet men were overbooked, or one of us had the measles, but the carpet men never came. The carpet was never raised and the squeak was never fixed. At first the noise bothered my mother very much. I can remember her telling my dad many times that they would never be able to sell the house, if they had to, with that loose floorboard screaming out for a few nails. But like so many things in life that bother us, we learned to live with the loose floorboard and soon the noise of it became part of the hum of existence. To be perfectly honest, the noisy squeak was sometimes a household helper. A little squeak meant that the baby was near the stairs and that the safety gate should be checked. A still lesser squeak meant that the cat was heading for a night on the town, so open the door and let her out. As we grew up that loose floorboard was to play an important part in our lives. We now laughingly call that board the Htruth tablen, but at the time it didn't always produce a smile. when we first started going out at night my parents set a curfew, but they never stayed up until we arrived home. They didn't have to. They had that damned floor- board. Over the years the melody remained the same, but the lyrics changed weekly. HYou're a half hour late, but thank God you're home safely. Goodnight.H Hwhat can you possibly be doing until two o'clock in the morning ?H nIt's about time you're home. You've missed breakfast. what are the neighbors going to think ?H The girls in my family had to listen to the same tune, but the lyrics were slightly different. HOnly tramps stay out after one o'clock in the morning.Your father will have plenty to say to you tomorrow.H 26