Inscription

All things in good time
and good things are timeless
as in 'for everything there is a season'.
For me, finally getting around to
that incomparable raconteur
the late Pierre Berton's tome
on The Quest for the North West Passage
and The North Pole, 1818 - 1909
"The Arctic Grail", that time was
long in coming. But it did arrive.

The fly page attests to the loving
gift this fascinating account represented
with its inscription: "Daddy, we hope you
enjoy reading this. I know how much you
enjoy history and I thought you might
like to take this along on your trip for
those quiet moments when you are up
and everyone else is asleep. Mimi, Sept. 1989."

Mimi might be offended that it has taken me
two decades to get around to her offering.
This touching family portrait, this brief sketch
of cherished parent, loving daughter might be
thought of as nostalgic familial memorabilia and indeed
it touches me, when I read and re-read it on
first paging through this fascinating volume.

We could not imagine divesting ourselves of books
once read, but of continuing value; mementos of
time, space, history, geography and the fertility
of authors' brain trusts, those whose literary muse
has been refined and lavished on those like us, for the
gratification of the vast public devoid of such talent.
Our bookshelves are pleasantly refulgent with
testimonies to past indulgence. Few books we have
read do not now reside there in a position of respect.

Vast are those books in number that we have acquired
over the decades, as yet unread, despite our diligent
determination to educate, entertain and lose ourselves
in accounts of the past, records of the present, hypothesis
of the future. Yet someone appears to have had little
enough personal book-indulgence as to place this gem
outside their realm of recovery, as a second-hand purchase
for us, and others appreciative of these opportunities
to acquire that which others so carelessly discard.

We are left to wonder: who is Mimi? Where did Daddy
venture on his trip ... a sea voyage to the Galapagos
perchance?

Farewell, For The Nonce

I will miss - who won't?
the early morning sun
streaming through our bedroom windows
warming our expectations for the day
as we lie there, listening to the birdsong
themselves blissfully lifting notes to the sky
heralding each new day.

I will miss the presence of
robins, hummingbirds, goldfinches, cardinals
though we'll still see woodpeckers,
chickadees, nuthatches and crows in
the frozen, snow-packed forests about us.
Gone will be the blackbirds, the herons,
but we anticipate great solemn roosting owls
in the crooks of great pines in our ravine.

Gone, the daisies, yarrow, cattails, trailing lotus,
black-eyed Susan, Vipers bugloss, Queen Anne's Lace
not to mention asters, goldenrod, henbane and
all those other woodland flowering plants
along with the proliferation of saucy ferns
and the varied-coloured mushrooms that
pop up so mysteriously, spring and fall.

No longer will we see for the space of long
winter months, fields of corn, rye, oats
and barley. Herds of cattle, horses, neat barns and silos
all closed up, cloistered as though in a nunnery.
We will no longer hasten to mow our summer lawns;
linger, our eyes enraptured by nature's gifts to us
in our summer gardens of hydrangea,
roses, astilbe, peonies and lilac.

Disappeared, all. Back into the soil from
whence they sprang, (with a little bit of nurturing
at the hands of all us summer-gleeful gardeners).

My Medium

At night I lie awake
eyes firmly shut
willing the peace of sleep
to embrace me.
Instead, my mind
conjures up fearful events
I am helpless to forestall,
soothed only by an assertive
muse insisting on
composing serene poetry.

Harbouring a firm intent
to post those peerless thoughts
come daylight hours,
I cannot recall their lines
or gently pleasing symmetry.
Morning arrives, sans rest
sans reward of the night
mind's toil, and I
wonder what the message is?

Yours, Humbly

If a professor of semiotics can casually
undertake to regale his faithful readers
with the tedious mental maunderings
of a brilliant mind captured by its own
inescapable self-adoration in a
Narcissus-like embrace of himself,
why not I, a humble scribbler,
no savant, but a lover of words and the
fabulous, myself? Enraptured by,
captured by a frenzy of fantastic thought,
I too will declaim and fill pages
reflecting that which delights my fancy,
tickles the funnybone of my humorous muse.
From the exquisite sublime, to the dregs
of the banal. He dredges his prodigious
mind of both in an exegesis of boastful
excess. I trudge through laboured mindset
to extract the elated stores it harbours
in its deepest recesses, confounding
extraction and elaboration with my dross.

ME, LAST YEAR; 72nd Installment

I had one more recorder class, and Bianca, for heaven’s sake, said she was sending out a registration form in the mail for Mom to fill out, so I could join the Saturday morning group in September. She said with a big grin, that she’s sure I’m ready for the challenge.

Then she spoiled it all by telling me to be strict with myself, and not to forget to practise regularly, like Larry.

A week after school was over, I got a telephone call from, would you believe it, Brent. While Mom and Dad were out shopping. (Larry wasn’t at home either, he was over with one of his friends.) But it was me Brent was calling for, to speak to moi! He invited me to go out to a concert of the Civic symphony, playing an all-Beethoven concert, next week. Me, he asked, not Larry.

When Mom and Dad got home, I went over to Mom and whispered to her what Brent said. Did she ever look surprised. Then she turned to look at Daddy, who said “what’s going on?”

“I don’t really want to go, Mom”, I said, in a hurry. “I just thought I’d better tell you. I told him I’d call him back, and let him know. But I don’t want to go.” Not much.

Mom told Dad what I told her, and his mouth fell open, then he closed it. And he sounded mad when he said that Brent was a sneak.

“Here that boy is, over all the time, playing music with Larry. And he had his eye on Jen all that time. How sneaky can you get!?”

“Well, what’s wrong with that, Dear?” Mom said. “We were quite young when we first met. Anyway, it’s all quite innocent. They’re only children, after all.”

“There’s no chance at all she can go!” Dad said. Really fuming mad, and stomping all over the place. Mom looked a little annoyed with him, and she turned to me.

“Now Jen”, she said quietly. “You know what we think about girls your age going on on dates, don’t you?”

“Sure, Mom. I said I don’t want to go, didn’t I?”

“Yes. I know you did. But under the circumstances, I think we might be able to make an exception. After all, we’ve known Brent for a few years. He’s a very nice boy. Very intelligent.” And she turned and kind of glared at Daddy. Daddy stopped pacing around and just stood there, and listened to us.

“Now, we can't, I’m afraid, consider Brent’s invitation to you as it stands. On the other hand, if he were to extend his invitation to you to include Larry too, we might think otherwise. I know Brent, and I’m certain he wouldn’t mind one bit if Larry accompanied you, to make it a threesome. And of course, I think you should both pay your own way.”

“Do you think so, Mom? Do you want me to suggest that to him?

“Yes, Dear. That’s exactly what I think you should do. After all, what could be more natural? Larry’s much keener about going to a Civic symphony performance than you are. In all likelihood Brent just didn’t think of inviting Larry, as an oversight. Bet he’d be more than glad to have him go too. After all, they are very good friends.”

So I did it. I called Brent, and told him what Mom said, and Dad said it was all right that way, and Brent said sure. He should have thought of it himself, he said.

Growing up isn’t such a big deal after all.

- 30 -

ME, LAST YEAR; 71st Installment

We had our graduation ceremonies a week later. It was kind of silly, really. Like I don’t know what for they had to have them. The recorder group, me included, played an air by Purcell, and 'The Entertainer' by Scott Joplin, and we weren’t bad. Just awful.

Some girl dressed in a kilt did an equally-awful folk dance to a scratchy record, and Mr. Drouin, the principal, made a speech that was much too long.

The school choir sang a couple of songs from 'The Sound of Music' with piano accompaniment by Miss Blount, and they were really good!

Finally, we were all assembled, us grade eight kids, and when our names were called, we were supposed to go up on the stage and get the certificates from our teacher, and shake Mr. Drouin’s hand. There were lots of goof-ups.

Like some kids got the wrong certificates, and Mr. Drouin had forgotten to sign half of them, and asked the kids to bring them back to school the next day to be signed. Like it meant anything much anyway, but I’m sure he means well.

Me and Jennifer wore the long dresses we had made at Home Ec. And they looked pretty good, if I do say so - even if Miss Blount could have given us a better mark, instead of being so picky about hems, and everything.

Mom said how beautiful I looked, ha-ha!! Dad said he was so proud of me, although I don’t know why. I didn’t do anything special. Just graduated from elementary school, like everyone else, (he-he).

We had one more week of school, and we thought we were going to be told what classes we would be in at Ridgemount High, but they said we’d find out next September. Crap!

Anyway, we found out that Sally is moving back out West again, where the rest of her family lives. So it’s for sure she won’t be in any of our classes next school year. One big sigh of relief. We went to say goodbye to her the last day, and she looked sad. She didn’t say too much to us, but goodbye, too.

Me and Jennifer intend to keep in touch all summer, just like at school. And Diane and Donna said they’ll keep calling on us, and Laura too.

ME, LAST YEAR; 70th Installment

Like, I know all about what goes on, and things. A long time ago, Mom and Dad told us about what we’re supposed to know about reproduction and we’ve taken up about it in health classes.

But what Mom was talking about was different. She said about love and making love and what it means, separate and apart from just sexual intercourse. I blushed at that. I think she did, too. She talked about like how much more it means to get that close when a man and a woman love each other, and intimacy is part of their love for one another.

She told me about orgasms and climaxes, like how it seems like, an indescribably muscular spasm that feels like nothing too much else. And how that intimacy between a man and a woman can strengthen other emotional ties.

It wasn’t at all embarrassing at that point, and I thought that was really interesting. I told Mom that that was a kind of sex education that wasn’t anything like what they teach at school. And I thought they should teach that kind, too.

Mom said it’s very difficult to speak like that. That it might be embarrassing to the teachers, or something. But she said it’s not enough just to teach the mechanics of biology, someone should also teach the human psychological element, like how close and loving a relationship between a man and a woman can be.

On the other hand, Mom said you can talk about that, but you can’t teach tenderness and caring, you have to experience it. It begins at home, in the family, when everyone feels love for one another, and expresses it. Everything matures, she said, from that point.

I’m glad I’ve got her to tell me, anyway. Mom says even more important than telling me, is that I can see how her and Daddy live with love. Between themselves, and expressing their parental love for us. I just never thought about it that way, before.

ME, LAST YEAR; 69th Installment

When I got up the next morning I found dirty marks on my underpants and I didn’t know if I should tell Mom, but I did. She had a look and said I was getting my period. How did I feel? I told her I felt fine.

The only reason I said anything to her was because I knew she’d see my panties in the wash and would be wondering, or something. So, I’m getting my period. Well, so what? I don’t feel any different at all.

Mom was so helpful; she said, that’s natural. But maybe I’d get some cramps later on. Wowee!

She got all sentimental and glassy-eyed, and hugged me, and said things like ‘my little girl’. But this time I didn’t get mad, because I think I maybe know how she feels, and even though it felt silly, I hugged her back, and told her not to be silly about it.

She said that when I grow up and have a daughter I’d know how she feels. Maybe, but she’s the one who’s always saying to me that I don’t have to have children, just because I’m a female. Just like she’s always saying I don’t have to be a housewife, just because I’m female. Anyway, I guess she’s right. She always is, in the end, somehow.

Anyway, I felt fine, and I went to school of course, just like always. And it was funny, like I had a secret that no one else knew about, and I wasn’t about to tell anyone either, not even Jennifer. Everything was back to normal at school. No more hassles. Just Sally muttering stupid things in the background, and no one paying too much attention.

The next day I did have cramps, although it wasn’t too bad, and Mom said why not stay home for a change? Like it wouldn’t hurt to cut one day of school. I wasn’t sick much all winter or anything. But I didn’t want to.

Maybe she was right though, because when I got home at lunch time I didn’t feel well at all, and decided to stay home for the afternoon. I watched Mom do some baking. She stayed home too, and we talked. About sex.

ME, LAST YEAR; 68th Installment

We went as far up the street as we could together, but we just didn’t feel like doing anything with one another then, so we went home, each of us, alone. When I got home I went right upstairs. I had to unlock the door myself, because Mom wasn’t home from the library yet.

I didn’t even get myself a glass of milk and a cookie, I felt so bad.

Later that evening, there was a telephone call, and Mom took it and she talked on the telephone for a while. Then she called me over and gave the receiver to me. I asked who is it, covering the receiver with my hand, and she said, you’ll see. Big help.

It was Mr. Henderson, and he told me he had asked the class what had happened while he was gone out of the classroom. Like, with us, me and Jennifer T. He said Donna said that some of the kids were picking on us, and he said, who? And she told him, and he had them stay after school.. That’s when they told him what was going on, and he said he was really angry with them.

“Jennifer”, he said, “I want you to believe that if I had known anything about what was happening, I would have put an end to it. I’m terribly sorry that you and Jennifer Thackeray have had such a difficult time. I must be stupid or something, but I honestly did not know what was happening. You do believe me?”

I said yes, and he said he was calling Jennifer T at home to speak to her, too. He said he felt responsible for what had happened. He should have been more perceptive, he said, and he felt terrible about it. He asked would we come to see him tomorrow after school?

Dad and Mom were very impressed that Mr. Henderson would feel so personally responsible about what had happened, although it really wasn’t his fault, or anything. It wasn’t the first time he had called me at home to straighten something out, a misunderstanding that we had had, but I could hear how upset he was about things, and it made me feel a whole lot better, somehow.

At school the next day, he spoke to the whole class, and told them what he thought of what had happened. He spoke about how what he said was coercion should never be used on people, and that people have a right to make up their own minds about things. He said he really appreciated the thought behind what Pearl and Michelline were doing, but that they had gone about it in a questionable way.

I knew they were mad, steaming mad, and they hated us worse than anything, if that was at all possible. Sally, of course, kept telling them later how we told Mr. Henderson everything and made things sound really bad. Mr. Henderson had made them apologize to me and Jennifer, but we really didn’t want them to.

We went up to them later at lunch time to tell them we didn’t really do anything to tell Mr. Henderson about all of what was happening between us. Like, we felt it was our own private business. And they didn’t respond as badly as we thought they might. We were so surprised; they said forget it, it didn’t matter, maybe they were wrong after all, about things. But Sally was there, and she snarled at them that we were trouble-makers, and planned everything so they would look bad. We just ignored her, and walked away.

ME, LAST YEAR; 67th Installment

Mr. Henderson said he’ll call Kentucky Fried Chicken on Cumberland Road tomorrow to get in chicken and chips for any of us who wanted to eat lunch at school, and we'd pay $1.50 apiece. Me and Jennifer couldn’t decide if we wanted to stay with the other kids, because they keep picking on us, or else ignoring us most of the time, and we’re kind of left out of things. But I told Mom about it and she said we should go, we’d probably enjoy it. So we did.

Mr. Henderson stayed and ate with us, and we had cokes and individual boxes with portions of chicken and chips, and everyone seemed nicer than usual. There was one box of chicken and chips left over, and Mr. Henderson thought we should have a quiz for the chicken, and a spelling bee for the chips. So he asked geography questions and Marc LaPointe - he’s really good in geography - he won the chicken. And Kerry was really mad, and threw his empty box in the aisle, and I’m sure he tried to hit Marc.

I won the spelling quiz, but I didn’t really feel like eating any more chips, so I gave mine to Kerry and he was very nice about accepting them. Mark didn’t eat all his chicken either, he divided a big piece up between his best friend and Kerry, so everything turned out okay, after all.

Funny about that. It’s not any of the guys really who’re giving me and Jennifer a hard time. Like, they don’t seem to care about any of that stuff. It’s just the girls. We don’t really have anything much to do with the guys. Like, we know they’re there, and they know we’re there, but neither of us seem to care too much.

Except for one bunch of guys and they’re stuck-up, like Pearl’s group of pasty-faces, and they get together all the time. We think that’s fine, as long as they leave us alone, but they kind of like to put us down all the time. Big thrill.

We had a home-room period last thing that day, and Mr. Henderson was out of the room for a minute, before the bell rang. Pearl and Michelline and Sally started talking about me and Jennifer, real loud. And they were saying really stupid things, like how cheap we are, and how we think we’re better than anyone else.

And it’s not true, and they know it. We don’t think we should have to do any more explaining, and we won’t. Most of the other kids just ignored them, and started to get their stuff together for the bell, and to go home. It was a really nice and warm day, and everyone wanted to get outside.

For the first time I can remember, Laura spoke up for us and said we’ve got a right to do what we want to, but they just ignored her. I guess they know she’s still Sally’s friend, and they don’t want to pick on her, or anything. But they sure went at us with a fury, and my face was red and so was Jennifer’s, but we didn’t say anything, except I said “stuff it!”. And me and Jennifer left before the bell rang, for our lockers. Even before the day’s announcements, and you’re not supposed to.

As soon as we left the room, both of us started to feel so bad, like we couldn’t show it in the classroom. But we were both crying a little, and we got our stuff all together, and were just about to go, when Mr. Henderson came back in in a big hurry and asked where we thought we were going.

“I just leave the room for a minute, and when I get back, two of you are gone. Do you call that being responsible, girls of your age?” I guess he finally noticed we weren’t saying anything much, just looking glum. Then he said, “what’s wrong?”

“Nothing, Sir”, Jennifer said. Then she burst out crying real loud, and he looked anxious.

“What’s the matter, Jennifer?” he said, turning to me. “What’s happened to Jennifer? Oh, you know what I mean.”

“Nothing, Sir” I said. And then I started bawling. “We’d like to go home, please”, I said, through my snotty tears. “Before any of the other kids come out. Please.”

He looked like he didn’t know what to do. But he said, “all right, girls. I’d like to have a talk with you both. But I can see now is not the time.”

ME, LAST YEAR; 66th Installment

It’s getting to be really awful at school. By the time Friday rolled around last week, we were both sick and tired of being hassled by everyone. Even Diane and Donna were after us, although Laura didn’t really say too much other than that she felt everyone should be able to make up their own minds. She’s a lot more tolerant, I guess, than the other kids.

We said it was perfectly all right with us if our names weren’t on the gift. In fact, we don’t want our names there. That’s why we’re not having anything to do with it, after all. But the other kids think that’s really horrible, not having your name on the card. Big deal.

At dinner time Friday I told Mom we baked chocolate cupcakes at Home Ec. that day, but I forgot mine in my locker. I said never mind, I’ll bring them home tomorrow. Mom said you can’t, tomorrow is Saturday. And by the time you bring them home on Monday, they’ll be hard as bricks. I felt so bad about that. Like, there’s so much hassle at school, it’s no wonder I don’t know sometimes what I’m doing.

Anyway, the exams are over, and I can relax about that. School’s almost over, too. Me and Jennifer hope we’ll be together in grade 9 next year, and we sure hope that if we aren’t, neither of us gets Sally in the same class. That would be absolutely awful!

My flute lessons are going well, and Bianca says I’m improving on the recorder. But I need to be more disciplined she said; she always says that. Huh! Looks like she’ll never let me join the Saturday morning group. I don’t see what’s so special about them anyway, actually. I bet I can play the same music they do! How’ll she ever know, if she doesn’t give me a chance, anyway?

We got an opportunity to go to Ridgemount High for the day, all our class. And we were assigned different classes to sit in on. Like we were in those classes all day. Geography, and history and math. And we listened in on everything. It was kind of to get us used to things in high school.

It didn’t seem all that different, actually, from middle school. Just the kids are older and they don’t make as much noise. The teachers seemed nice enough, and they asked us some questions. Me and Donna were together, along with some other kids in our class.

We asked, and they said we won’t necessarily be in those same classes next year. This was just so we would get an idea of how things work. At lunchtime we went into the combination auditorium/lunchroom, and most of the kids from our class kind of sat together. It was strange, being with all those big kids. But I guess we’ll get used to it.

After lunch the principal of the school spoke to us in a lecture room. They’ve got small rooms with stages, like, and he told us about the school and the numbers of periods and cycles, and like that. He seemed okay.

Then we were supposed to go off and find the rooms marked on our schedules for the afternoon. Me and Donna got lost, but some big guy helped us out, and told us where to go, upstairs.

No wonder we got lost. The school’s enormous. Almost two thousand kids go there. It’s supposed to be one of the biggest high schools in Ontario, and there’s corridors and halls and doors leading off all over the place. We kind of wonder whether we’ll ever get used to it all, and be able to find our way around, eventually.

Afterward, we were bused back to Cornelius Krieghoff, and we all went home. And I told Mom about the school. She asked, did I see Larry there? And I said, for heaven’s sake (that made her happy), there were kids all over the place, and I didn’t see him at all. I’m glad I didn’t, because he would have probably shouted out loud “Hi, Fatty Rascoon!” or something like that. Just what I need. I’ll slaughter him, I swear, if he does it next year!

ME, LAST YEAR; 65th Installment

We’re writing exams now, and everybody’s cramming. Well, almost everybody. And it seems like there’s just no time left over to fool around or anything. We had a break between our math and French exams, like there were a couple of days when we didn’t have an exam and I went over to Jennifer’s after school and we fooled around with her Guinea pig, and we talked.

I asked her, did she mind if I asked her a very personal question? She looked surprised. Like, we don’t much talk about stuff like that. Mostly, there’s all kinds of other things to talk about.

“Jennifer”, I asked her, and I felt really funny about it: “Have you got your period yet? I hope you don’t mind my asking, or anything.”

“Oh, that’s all right. Funny, we never talked about it, but I always think it’s not very interesting, really. Not like when Sally blabbed all over the place when she got hers. Like it’s some big deal. What it is, is a drag, kind of. You’ve got to keep changing, like a diaper, and you get cramps sometimes and don’t feel like doing things, and sometimes it’s even embarrassing.”

“Oh. I guess you’ve got it, then.”

“Yeah. About six months ago. You?”

“Nope. Not yet. That’s funny, huh? Here I am, a couple of months older than you, and I haven’t got it yet. I wonder if Laura and Diane have.”

“I don’t know about them. But I do know because my mother said, that it’s different for different people. Like, some girls get it earlier than others and some girls get cramps and some don’t, but it’s something you learn to live with. It doesn’t mean anything special to get it, or to get it late.”

“Yeah, I know. My mother keeps telling me that. But even though she says that, she keeps asking if I’ve got it yet. It drives me buggy.”

“Oh well, you’ve got to have patience with mothers sometimes. I know what you mean. Mine says everything’s natural and like that, but when it happens, you’d think it was a world event or something.

“Yeah, well….”

And neither of us really wanted to talk about it anymore. So we didn’t.

ME, LAST YEAR; 64th Installment

Jane and Brenda sent me an invitation for an evening barbeque at their home. Very fancy. I even had to send a card back, saying I would go. Anyway, it was lots of fun, and I met a lot of kids I’ve seen around school, but never knew, and they were all really nice. Some of them don’t even live that far from me. I think they’re nicer kids than most of the ones in our class. We had barbequed hamburgers and hot dogs in rolls, and chips and salad, and later we did marshmallows on sticks. Just like at camp.

There were eight of us all together, and we sat around, talking about some of the teachers at school. Especially about Mr. Farraday and how he keeps dating first Miss Blount and then Miss Hennesley, and how they wouldn’t mind going out with him themselves. Like they were old enough, or something. One of Jane’s best friends said she saw him and Miss Blount kissing and snuggling outside the teachers’ lounge recently, but I don’t believe her.

Then they started talking about getting their period and stuff and how it’s such a nuisance, and they hated Miss Hennesley for saying they had to get a note from home for missing gym if they had their period. I didn’t say too much about that.

We played badminton and tether-ball for a while, until it got too dark to see what was going on. And then we went inside and down to the recreation room and we played Hands Down and Monopoly and some of us even played chess. I know how, because sometimes I play with Larry or Brian but they’re always beating me. I did pretty good with the girls.

I got home at ten o’clock, and Mom was mad at me for coming home so late. She said she was just about to go and get me. Crap! Like I’m a baby or something. At my age I can’t even stay out until ten, and it’s just down the street! Mom keeps saying, Dear, don’t say crap, please. I asked her what would she like me to say, and she said well, how about oh dear, or crumb, or something, and I said how about? And she got mad again.

ME, LAST YEAR; 63rd Installment

We made coconut macaroons at cooking class. And they really came out great. Me and Jennifer ate most, but gave some away to our friends. There weren’t so many to begin with, actually. I took a couple home to show Mom, and she thought they were really good. Light and fluffy and flavourful, she said. She nibbled one, and left the other for Dad to eat. She said I could do baking at home, if I felt like it. Like on the week-end, when she doesn’t do any. I guess it’s fun all right. But we’ve got to do it at school, and I don’t know if I want to waste any time doing it at home, too. Like, there’s always so much other stuff to do.

Almost all the kids have given in their money at school, and Pearl and Sally have been bugging me and Jennifer to get ours in. We kind of didn’t say too much until then. But when they kept after us, we said right out we weren’t going to.

“What do you mean, you aren’t going to?” Pearl asked, like she couldn’t believe her ears. “It’s for Mr. Henderson. Supposed to be a present from the whole class. You’re in the class too, you know.”

“Look”, Jennifer said to her. “No one asked us about how we feel about it or anything, before the big decision was made, did they? Well, we just happen to think it’s a stupid idea, and we don’t want to have anything to do with it.”

“You can’t do that! Everyone’s chipping in. Don’t you care how it’s going to look with your names not on the card? Anyway, everyone’s going to know, and you’re not going to be very popular.”

“That’s okay”, I said. “I told you before how I felt, and that was in front of everyone. It’s the principle of the thing. You didn’t ask everybody’s opinion before you decided to go ahead with it, but then you went around asking for everyone’s money. That’s not very democratic, and I won’t be a part of it.”

“What makes you two think you’re so special, anyway?” Sally asked, just looking for trouble, like she does. “No one else has your cheap attitude.”

“Look Sally, old dear”, Jennifer said to her very slowly and patiently - but I bet she was dying to smack her, “We’re not cheap. It’s the principle of the thing. We happen to agree, both of us, that the gift you’ve decided on is damn stupid. Anyway, two dollars does happen to be a lot of money.”

“I’m sure you can afford it. No one else has complained about the amount. You two are the only ones who haven’t paid up.”

“Maybe we’re the only independent people in the class then, because I know for certain-sure that we weren’t the only ones who didn’t think it was such a hot idea. They’re just afraid to stand up against you, that’s all.”

Well, they got real disgusted with us and trounced off mad. And it seems as if they’ve been spending all their spare time and then some, on talking about us to the other kids. Now everyone’s hassling us, especially me, because I’m the one who started it all, they say. It’s so damn depressing. Sometimes I feel like crying, I feel so bad. As if life isn’t hard enough as it is, without having all those idiots down on me - on us.

Was I ever surprised when Jennifer said to me after about a couple of weeks of that pressure that she thought maybe we should relent, and cough up the two dollars, and get it over with. I was so mad at her! And I let her know it. We decided to keep our integrity anyway, and not have anything to do with the class about that. But we decided that we would make old grouch-pot Henderson cards ourselves. Boy, anyway, the way he’s been picking on me lately, I’m not too sure I want to even make him a card.

ME, LAST YEAR; 62nd Installment

Jennifer came home with me after school, and we closed my bedroom door so Larry’s bowing and scraping on his fiddle (boy, he hates it when I call it that) wouldn’t bother us. He hates it when I call his viola a fiddle, but I told him I’d call it that or even a converted sardine tin if he doesn’t stop calling me Fatty Rascoon. Especially when Brent is over. Like he did it again, yesterday.

We started drilling one another and correcting ourselves, and I guess Mr. Henderson is right. It maybe won’t be so bad, after all. But I’m still mad at him for calling me a complainer. I used to like that man, kind of. But I’m getting not to.

“Jennifer”, I asked her, because I wanted to know if it really seems like I was a complainer to her, too. Like maybe I’m not realizing it or something, and I am. “Does it seem to you as if I’m always complaining, like Mr. Henderson said?”

“Wellll”, she started, after taking her time answering. “It’s true that you seem to do that more than anyone. But most of us feel like you do, and don’t bother saying anything ourselves."

“I happen to think that if you feel like saying something, or if you’ve got a point of view, you should say something.”

“I suppose so, but because you do it so much of course, everyone notices it, and says something about it. Why let it bother you, anyway, if you think you’re right?”

“It’s just I’m getting tired of Mr. Henderson picking on me all the time! Like, it isn’t bad enough Sally’s clique is always ridiculing me. They never used to, until she started talking about me, to them. I bet she tells them all kinds of ridiculous lies about me. About all of us, really, I guess.”

“Well, since when do you care what that bunch think about you anyway?”

“I don’t, really. But they used to be nicer to us, to me. Like remember at the camp? They were all right, there.”

“Oh, forget it, Jen. Anyway, I think you said the right thing about that stupid thing they want to get for Mr. Henderson. What on earth would he ever do with it? It’s expensive and it’s not even nice or practical or anything.”

“That’s right. And I don’t care what anyone says to me about it, I’m not going to chip in. Are you?”

“I guess not. I guess we’ll have to be prepared to put up with a big hassle about it. They’ll try to pressure us into chipping in.”

“ I won’t. And I’m going to ask Donna and Diane and a few other kids if they won’t, too.”

So I did, the next day. Me and Jennifer, both. Asked the other kids about it, but they said they’re going to give their two dollars. Like they think it wouldn’t be right not to. Jennifer and me talked to them about how stupid it was, a so-called gift like that. It wasn’t even attractive or useful or imaginative, or anything. But they didn’t agree. So it looks like it’s just me and Jennifer. Against the whole class.

We had that English test and it didn’t seem so bad, after all. When we got the results back I did pretty good, and there was a lot of grumbling from some of the kids who didn’t do so well. I felt like telling them they better get going and pull up their socks, because they’ll have to do better in the exams. Just to kind of get back at them for being nasty to me about telling Mr. Henderson about all the work, and stuff.

ME, LAST YEAR; 61st Installment

At school one morning, before Mr. Henderson got in to home room, Pearl told everyone who was sitting around, to kindly shut up. She had something to say. Turned out her and her group of snotty, stuck-ups decided they’d like to get something for Mr. Henderson as a gift from us. So he wouldn’t forget us. Personally, I think he’d just as soon forget us all. Especially me. As soon as we graduate. If not sooner.

Anyway, what they thought was, they thought they’d collect two dollars - cripes! TWO DOLLARS! - from each of us eager-beavers. They think I’m made of money or something? They planned, they said, to get him a real nice present from all of us.

“What’re you thinking of getting him?” I asked, getting real brave. “A gold-plated spittoon?”

“Very funny, Miss Feldpoop” Pearl said nastily. And of course everyone laughed. They think it’s good fun to play around with my name. I’m quite above mangling someone’s name up like that, of course. And I just ignore them. “Actually, we’ve already come to a consensus conclusion about what we’ll get him.”

“Consensus? Hey, that means that everyone agrees. We never even heard about your plans before. You didn’t ask us. Here you are, just telling us! What if some of us don’t think it’s such a hot idea, eh?”

“How about just shutting up for a minute, Miss Blabbermouth. I’m trying to tell everyone something before Mr. Henderson gets in. When you hear it all maybe then we’ll let you have your say. Meanwhile, kindly shut up.” So I did. Like what else could I do? Everyone was telling me to shut my big mouth.

“As I was saying before I was so rudely interrupted”, Pearl went on, glaring at me in a very unfriendly way, “What we thought we’d do was collect two dollars from everyone. Then an appointed group - me and Nancy and Michelline actually - will go out and get a present from all of us. Actually, we kind of think we know what we’re going to get. It’s just a matter of going out and ordering it. Rosemary had the great idea of a silver-plated urn on a plaque, and we’d have it engraved ‘to Mr. Henderson, from all of us’.”

Half the kids were nodding their heads and saying ‘great’, and like that. Crap! Are they kidding? A bloody loving-cup? All of a sudden they’re in love with Mr. Henderson. Like, all year they never pay attention and he’s got one hassle after another (not that he doesn’t always deserve them), but now they’re so sad to leave they’ve got to get him a yucky cup with a message from his loving class. I’ll be darned if I’m going to have anything to do with it!

We couldn’t talk about it any more then, because Mr. Henderson came in and we started to do English, and he told us we were having another test tomorrow, better study tonight.

Oboy, already today we’ve got math and French homework, and probably he’ll give us geography homework too, before the day is out. Don’t they ever get together and talk about all the homework they’re loading us down with, and decide sometimes, to give us a break? Everyone groaned as usual, but I put my hand up.

“Mr. Henderson, we just had an English test last week. Do we really need to have another one so soon?”

“Jennifer, I do believe I’m the best judge of that, not you. Are you the self-appointed spokesman - excuse me, spokesperson - for this class? You’ve turned into the greatest complainer I can recall ever having in any of my classes!”

“Sir, I’m not complaining. I’m just trying to point out to you that we had a test last week. Like maybe you forgot or something. And anyway, we’re all loaded down with homework for tonight, and Mr. Levesque wants us to study French for a real big test on Thursday, and really, it’s just too much!”

I KNOW that most of the kids feel just like I do, but just because I’m the one who stood up to say something, no one will back me up. Well, Jennifer T and Donna and Diane maybe will, but that’s not enough, and some of the kids started pointing fingers at me and saying -whiney-Jenny’, and I’m sure I heard Sally talking to Pearl about me, saying I’m a poor sport and a whining bitch.

“At any rate Jennifer, this test is more than just a simple test. It’s to be a review of everything we’ve taken the past several months. And I fully expect all of you to be prepared.”

Oboy, things seem to be going from bad to worse, or something. This time everyone groaned, and he turned to the class and said “We’ve gone over the salient points time and again, and I’m quite confident most of you know your subject. It won’t take much time for you to review the work we’ve done. You’ll find that the anticipation of a test is invariably more difficult and intimidating than the actual test.

"None of you should have any trouble at all if you just skim over the work we’ve done, and tell yourself to relax. After all, final exams are just a few weeks away, and you might as well be prepared. Call it, if you will, a dress rehearsal.” And he chuckled at his sparkling wit. But no one else thought it was funny.

ME, LAST YEAR; 60th Installment

Daddy had to go away on a business trip to Winnipeg and Calgary for a week, and Mom’s all gloomy around the house. He telephoned from Winnipeg last night, and Mom talked downstairs, and me and Brian fought over the telephone upstairs. I won.

A couple of days later, Mom finally got a letter from a magazine that they would publish one of her short stories. She was so excited, she didn’t even know what she was doing. So she made bread dough and forgot to put in any salt and the rolls tasted icky. And she cooked liver for supper that day, and she knows we hate liver (well I do, anyway). Like, if she’s celebrating or something, why torture me?

When Dad came home he was excited about his wife, the author. Big deal, one lousy story (It wasn’t even a good one. I didn’t think so anyway, although I didn’t tell her that). What about all the other ones that’ve come back with reject slips?

But I’m glad for her anyway, because it’s awful when we come home for lunch and see one of those things sitting on the table, those awful reject slips. She never hides them, she thinks we should know about how she suffers or something, I guess. And usually she’s in a kind of miserable mood, afterward, for at least a day. Not very pleasant at all.

The next day, Dad brought home a box of chocolates for Mom, as a congratulatory present. We thought that was pretty neat. Mom doesn’t really eat chocolates all that much, but we do.


Bob says I’m doing fine with my flute lessons. He says I’ve got to practise the pieces he gives me, more than I do. I told him I practise lots, every day. But he knows by now that I practise the pieces I like, and not the ones he gives me to do. We play duets a lot, and that’s really fun, too.

He’s pretty good technically, but even I can recognize that his tone’s not so terrific. He told me that a lot of the music students don’t play too well, but they’re more interested in music history and theory and in a future of teaching music. I really like it when he talks to me like that. I mean, tells me about university and things. Mom thinks I have a crush on him. She even asked me. But I told her no. And it’s true. Just because I dress up a little more than usual when I go to my lessons, she thinks that. After all, she’s always telling me to be neat.

Some of the kids at school are starting to talk about next year at high school. We took home option sheets for next year, and had to fill them out. The parents were invited to a meeting about grade eight students where the guidance counsellors of Ridgemount High talked to them about the subjects we could take. I’m taking music of course, double option, and geography (ugh), and history and math (ugh-ugh), and science and English and no French (yay!). And Phys. Ed.


We’ve started our last session of Home Ec. And me and Jennifer are in cooking. We made peanut butter cookies last week, and they weren’t bad at all. I took most of mine home in a little plastic bag, but somehow by the time I got home they were all in crumbs and you couldn’t tell they were ever cookies.

I showed them to Mom and I thought she’d laugh or something, because here I showed her this bag of big crumbs and I was saying “see the cookies we baked today?”. She didn’t laugh. She seemed interested and tried some, and was I ever surprised. She said they were good, could I give her the recipe? Well sure, I have the recipe in my notes, but it’s only for a small amount. Mom said she’d increase the ingredients and make up a batch of them next week.

ME, LAST YEAR; 59th Installment

“Hey, that’s really neat! Do you think she’d follow me, too?”

“I think so. Why don’t you take her over there and put her down, then walk away from her?”

“So I did. I picked up the fat little pig even though she tried to get away, and I put her down beside the big maple tree. I started to walk away, but Lumpy didn’t even move. Then I walked back and started to walk away again, and she followed me! Was I ever surprised. She followed me all the way back to where Jennifer was standing. But then she left me and went over to Jennifer. We sat down on the grass, and Lumpy munched around us.

“Why don’t you try it with Munchkin and Grumpkin? Here, we can put Lumpy back inside the wire and we can each take one of yours and try it, okay?”

So we did. I took Grumpkin because she’s harder to handle, and Jennifer took Munchkin because she likes her better anyway. We tried to make them follow us. It was sooo frustrating. First they wouldn’t follow us at all, then they’d follow for about two steps, then veer off to the right or the left, and it was just hopeless!

“I guess my pigs are just hopelessly untrainable. Maybe they’re perceptually handicapped, or something.”

“Don’t be silly. They’re just as smart as Lumpy!”

“Which isn’t saying too much, since Guinea pigs are notoriously stupid.”

“Oh, come on now, who says that, anyway?”

“Everybody does. They aren’t very smart, really.”

“Okay, they’re not. But they are lovable, aren’t they? And your pigs don’t do it because, remember, I taught Lumpy when she was just a baby piglet. Yours are full-grown now, and that makes a difference.”

“Yeah, I guess so. Like you can’t teach an old dog new tricks. But Jennifer, about their being lovable. I know they feel like that when you hold them, but sometimes I get so mad, like they don’t respond or anything, you know? Sometimes, I’d like them to come when they’re called, or show me in some way that they like me, but they don’t. My mom says they’re not really capable of anything like that, like they’re too low on the scale of animal evolution or something. Don’t you ever wish they were different? Like they could love you back?”

“Sure. I know what you mean. But what’s the use? My mother hates dogs and cats and I could only get a Guinea pg. So I figure I might as well make the best of what I’ve got. After all, neither of us especially needs something to love, like my mom says. We get plenty from our families. My mom says that animals that respond are a conscience-sop from parents who don’t love their children enough.”

“Maybe, maybe you’re right.”


The days started getting warmer and warmer, and it got so it was really awful being cooped up in school all day long. Worse if it was a rainy day, and spring is rainy-season, so there were a lot of rainy days. Sometimes the rain was so heavy that we weren’t allowed to go out for recess. And then all we could do was hang around the hallways and main open areas, and it was like, a real drag. Sure, we talked a lot and did have some fun, but it got kind of stale, after awhile. Know what I mean?

The crocuses came up in the front garden at home and the Johnny-jump-ups were all nodding their heads in the flower triangle, before we knew it. The trees in the park and in our backyard were getting little green leaf-bits on them.

Soon enough we were outside more often in the afternoons. We began to spend all our spare time, other than doing homework, outside. The squirrels started coming around more often for handouts, and before long, they were as sassy as they were the summer before. A month ago they looked really raggedy when they came to the side door for peanuts. Like with patchy fur and runny eyes and stuff, but now their pelts are thick and shiny.

We go out bicycle riding after school almost every day now, me and Jennifer, and sometimes Donna and Diane, too. Sometimes we meet Laura and Sally out riding too, and sometimes they join us, and we go over to someone’s house for a while to talk, or throw a ball around in the back, or something like that.

ME, LAST YEAR; 58th Installment

“Look, Mom”, I said and I was hardly able to talk, me and Jennifer were laughing so much, even though she was worried about Lumpy. “Look how stupid they look. They think they’re scaring the daylights out of Jennifer’s pig! I guess they just don’t realize how silly they look, waggling their bottoms like that, clicking their teeth. They’re a pair of clowns!”

“Ah, they’re exercising territorial imperative”, Mom said. Like she had just had a conversation with them, and knew all about it.

“What’s that, Mrs. Feldman?” Jennifer asked. I wouldn’t have. I wouldn’t give Mom the satisfaction of wanting to know. She doesn’t have to talk like that, so no one can understand.

“Well Jennifer, an animal feels very possessive of what he considers to be his personal territory. When a strange animals comes on the scene, most particularly onto the first animal’s territory, the first animal instinctively wants to protect his property rights.”

“Boy, how stupid can you get? It’s our property, not theirs. We just let them live here.”

“Don’t be silly, dear. You know perfectly well what I mean.”

“Do you think it’s all right for them to be together like this then, Mrs Feldman? Will they get friendly after a little while longer?:

“Probably, Jennifer. What I think would be a much better idea is to put them all on neutral territory. It’s very nice out now, all you need is your sweater. Why not take them into the backyard on the grass, so they can forget territorial hostilities? Then perhaps they’ll be more friendly to one another.”

“Okay, that’s a good idea, eh Jennifer?” I said. And she thought so too. So we did. I mean, we took the three of them outside and I made a little pen for them to stay in out of the old croquet hoops, and the short garden fencing.

But wouldn’t you know it, they just started to ignore each other! All the stupid - oh, pardon me, they’re not really stupid (not much!) - well, all they wanted to do was eat and eat and nibble on the grass, nothing else. Just like pigs. Not very sociable, actually. Very appropriately named, you might say.

“Hey, how would you like to see how I trained Lumpy?” Jennifer asked.

“Trained? You trained her to do something? My dad says Guinea pigs are too stupid to be trained to do anything but eat … and poop. But they do that naturally.”

“No, honestly. I’ve trained her to run after me. It didn’t take all that long, either. Whenever I take her out of her cage and put her down outside or something, like it’s somewhere that she doesn’t recognize, she’ll run after me. I taught her when she was small. Actually, I didn’t exactly teach her so much, it was just that the first few times she just kind of followed me. Now it gets so that if I move away and call her, she’ll come over. Or, if she doesn’t notice that I’ve gone away and then she doesn’t know where I am, I’ll call her and she follows my voice to get to me.”

“Hey, cool! Let’s see her do it, Jennifer.”

So she took Lumpy out of the wire enclosure and took her over to the middle of the backyard,and put her down. At first Lumpy just sat there, not even moving or anything. Then she put her head down and just started eating like she was starved, or something. Jennifer walked away and nothing happened, her pig just kept eating.

“Oh, darn. Sometimes she doesn’t notice. Like when she’s busy, eating.”

“That’s like always. They’re always busy eating.”

“No, really Jen, she does run after me. Wait a minute, you’ll see.”

“C’mon Lumpy, Lumpy, c’mon!”

Just when it looked like Jennifer was going to get mad at poor little Lumpy and I was ready to laugh it off, wouldn’t you know it, the little pig started waddling off in her direction with her head down, sniffing the grass. She was running in little spurts and twice stopped and did a little hop and a skip.

I just love it when they frolic like that. Munchkin and Grumpkin used to do that a lot when they were babies. Now they don’t do it so much. They’re getting to be old grumps. Just like kids playing, and then growing up to be serious people.

ME, LAST YEAR; 57th Installment

When we got to the school, it was still early, so we slopped around the area for a while, not really doing much of anything. More just sitting around and talking, waiting for the bell.

Mom was working in the library, and she came around to see me, and said I looked like I need a good scraping. Actually, I think I need a good meal. I felt starved, and just drained of energy.

Mom helped me take my stuff back home. She carried the backpack and I carried the sleeping bag. I think it was as much as I could manage, and I was thankful Mom felt that way too.

It was a real nice, sunny day, and pretty warm, and the birds were singing in the park, and the park looked so funny. As though I hadn’t seen it for years. And our house, over at the other end of the park looked kind of unfamiliar.

Mom said everyone missed me, and she hated going into my room, when I was gone. It made her feel sad, she said. I told her I missed her too, although not the guys so much, and then said what’s for supper?

I ate so much at suppertime that Mom was worried we hadn’t gotten enough to eat at the camp, so she had to know what we had for every single meal.

“Oh, there was lots, a real lot. We could eat as much as we wanted. We had hamburgers, and hot dogs and chips, and oatmeal, and stew, and French toast. Hey! We made the French toast, and it was fun. And I hope you realize, we didn’t have all that stuff, like the hot dogs and oatmeal and French toast all together. It was for different meals.”

“Of course, I realize that”, Mom said, and she looked at me thoughtfully. “You don’t like stew. You never want to eat it at home. Did you eat any of it there, or just go hungry?”

“Why would I do that, go hungry? Sure, I ate it. It was really good!”

I never eat oatmeal at home either, or French toast. Just Daddy and Larry have it on Sunday mornings. Mom makes pancakes for me and Brian. I knew she was thinking what a spoiled brat I was, eating all that stuff there at the camp, and liking it too, and never wanting to eat it at home. Well, what’m I supposed to do? It was really good there, and I don’t like it at home!


Boy, it sure didn’t take long for us to get all bogged down with schoolwork again on Monday morning. I’m pretty sure teachers have a conspiracy pact, like if they think we’ve had a good time or something, we’ve got to pay for it later, or something. They didn’t even give us a chance to catch our breath, or anything. We had tests all over the place, and everybody was going around with a real sour look on their faces.

Wouldn’t you know it; now our usefulness was over, and all that, silly-Sally’s gone back to her friends. Well, they can have her, and welcome! Mr. Henderson never did say anything to us about the sweater-thing, so we don’t even know if she did tell him. Probably she did, but we think he kind of knows what goes on between us, and didn’t bother saying anything.

After school, Jennifer brought her guinea pig over to my house for the first time, and we thought we’d introduce the three piglets to one another. It was real cute how she brought Lumpy over, because Jennifer rode her bike over and she put her pig in the wire basket, all wrapped up in her own towel, and she seemed to really like the trip. Jennifer says she’s done it a couple of times before, and Lumpy doesn’t move, or anything. Just her sharp little face peeking out of a corner of the towel, with her beady-black eyes looking at everything.

Actually, I guess that’s not too accurate, because the guinea pigs have such poor eyesight, they only look like they’re looking at everything, but they’re not. If you get what I mean?

First, we brought Lumpy in, and put her down on the little rug in the kitchen beside the side door. That’s where Grumpkin and Munchkin play around in the house, when I take them out of their cage. They’re kind of trained in a sloppy, piggish way, to use a newspaper that I put down for them. Still, they do tend to get kind of careless, and I have to watch them.

Anyway, like I was saying, Jennifer brought her little pig in and held her for a while near mine before she put her down, but Munchkin and Grumpkin didn’t seem too interested. They didn’t even care about sniffing her, much. It was different when Jennifer put Lumpy down, though.

“Hey! What’s that sound?”

“You mean that clicking sound?”, and I told her that when one of the pigs gets mad they do that. “And have a look at her rear end”, I said, because Grumpkin started moving her rump slowly from side to side. It really looks funny, and she does it when she’s in a bad mood, which isn’t all that often really, but that’s why she’s got that name.

“Is she mad at my little Lumpy? I better move her away.”

“No, leave her. They never really fight. They just kind of threaten each other. Let’s see what they do. They’ll get used to each other. They’re not goin’ to do anything harmful.” That’s what I said, but it wasn’t exactly how I felt, just a little nervous, but I was also really curious and didn’t want to stop this little experiment in getting-to-know-you.

Just then, Mom walked into the kitchen and she said, just like she always does when I drop my ings like I usually do: “going Dear, GOING”. I felt like acting stupid and saying, where to, Mom? But I didn’t.

“What’s going on?” Mom asked, and she came over to look at the three pigs, mine circling Jennifer’s, and Jennifer’s just standing there, like wondering what all the fuss was about. They looked so silly, they really did; my two, that is.

ME, LAST YEAR; 56th Installment

We were all busy, after that, stuffing our things into our backpacks and rolling up the sleeping bags. Laura finished before any of us, and she started to sweep the cabin. Raising a real cloud of dust. Sweeping pine needles and gummy bits of leaves, and all kinds of mysterious looking things that didn’t look all too appealing. We hardly realized we were living in such a mess. On the other hand, I guess we didn’t really care.

“Hey!”, Diane yelled at her. “Can’t you wait until we get out?”

And as Laura was sweeping under Sally’s bunk, the broom pulled a bright yellow cardigan out from under the bed. There was Sally’s missing sweater. Didn’t look like she’d be too anxious to claim ownership of it, from the gunky condition it was in, either. We all looked at one another, and laughed.

Diane ran over to it and picked it up in a little pinch between two fingers, like she didn’t want to touch it in case she’d catch something truly dreadful from full contact. It was all dripping with dust-balls and spiders’ webs, and there was even a spider hanging from a thread.

“Well, well”, she said. And carefully draped it over the edge of the mattress, so it lay full out, and you could see the dirt all over it.

“I better take it outside and shake the dirt out of it”, Laura said, the good little housekeeper.

“You dare, and I’ll bean you”, Diane warned her. “Just leave it where it is, thank you very much.”

So, when Sally came huffing and puffing back into the cabin a little while later, it was there, laying on the bed. But she didn’t notice it, at first.

“Okay, now you’re in for it”, she said, looking straight at me.

“Who, me?”

“That’s right, Jenny-bean. I told Mr. Henderson - and Mr. Farraday was there, and I told them just about how you’ve all been behaving to me, and especially you, stealing my sweater and all. I wouldn’t be at all surprised if they called your mother into the office and let her know you’ll be expelled…?

She looked like a stupid frog out of water, with her mouth hanging open, like she was trying to catch mosquitoes or something, when she turned and saw the sweater on the mattress. If I’d had some mosquitoes or even mud-balls, I’d have let her have it.

“My sweater!”, she screeched, just like the witch she is. “What did you do to it? Why, you must’ve buried it outside, or something! That’s it, isn’t it? You threw it away somewhere in the bush, and went to get it now, because you were ‘scared. Well, it won’t help you any. It’s even worse, if anything. First you steal my property, then you try to destroy it!”

“Sure, like I’ve got nothing better to do?” I told her.

“Look, Sally”, Laura cut in. And she started to explain, a little nervously, that she had found the sweater herself, sweeping under Sally’s bed.

“Well!” Sally snarled, looking at Laura like she was a bug or something. “So your true colours finally show. You’ve joined your true friends, have you?”

She asked a question, but she didn’t wait for the answer. She turned her back on us and got busy stuffing the remainder of her things into her pack, and just turned for long enough to shake the dirt out of her sweater, right in our direction. And then she grabbed her bedroll, and the backpack, and stomped out. Made off up the hill with her stuff, her sleeping bag bumping on the ground behind her.

“Thumpety-thump, Sally, bye-bye”, Donna called after her.

We were kind of mad at first, but then we decided that having her with us for the past couple of days kind of enlivened the atmosphere a little. We talked about her a bit, and came to the conclusion that she had to be mad at someone all the time, to be happy. Like, maybe she likes the excitement?

Anyway, we all stuffed ourselves onto the bus after our gear got crammed aboard, and this time the drive back wasn’t as long because the driver remembered the way back. We sang again, but not as enthusiastically, as before. Maybe it was because we'd had so much fun and didn’t want to leave, and maybe it was because we were kind of tired, like some of us maybe didn’t sleep too good there.

I sure felt tired, and kind of dirty, come to think of it. I wanted to go home, and I wanted a bath, and to just lay around the house and read. I wasn’t even going to look at my music, or anything.

ME, LAST YEAR; 55th Installment

The morning went by so fast, I just don’t know where the time went. And then we had lunch. We ate chicken noodle soup with no chicken it it, but lots of noodles, and salmon-salad sandwiches; not bad. We had jello for dessert, and milk.

Kerry had the bright idea of trying to bang his jello out of the dessert dish upside down on the table with a rock. Well, the jello didn’t want to come out, and Kerry bashed a little too hard, and there was one dish written off.

When Mr. Farraday told him he was stupid to have done it, and wrecked a dish, Kerry only said the dish was cheap or else it wouldn’t have broken. No one can win an argument with Kerry; he’s got all the final answers.

We just had time for one more round of games up on the courts, then we had to go down to our cabins and pack our stuff. Boy, we had stuff thrown around just everywhere, like we didn’t put our clothes away like we were supposed to, and we didn’t sweep out the cabin every day like we were told to, or anything.

Some of the other kids in a few of the other cabins did, though. Some kids even went to the trouble of sweeping the dirt pathways leading up to their cabins, every morning. Guess they’ll make good housewives, or something.

We had some trouble sorting things out. Like what belonged to whom, and stuff. But we finally did manage to get it all figured out. Then Sally discovered that one of her favourite sweaters was missing, and she said one of us must have taken it.

“Boy, are you kidding?” Diane told her. “What for would one of us take your lousy sweater?”

“The reason is obvious”, Sally said, glaring at us. “You all of you, wear cheap rags, and you’re jealous-mad of my good clothes. Now, I’d like to have my sweater returned, thank you.”

“I’m glad to hear you so polite for a change, like 'thank you' and all, but I repeat, none of us would care to wear something that you’ve worn.”

“Look, who took it?” Sally said, turning to each of in succession.

We all shrugged. It was true, why would one of us take one of her rags, anyway? Anyway, what right did she have, accusing us of being thieves?

“Hey”, I said to her. “You didn’t hear me accusing you of stealing my money that went missing, did you? Where do you get off, calling any of us thieves?”

“I’m very glad”, she said icily, “that you can call a spade a spade. Thieves, that’s just what you are.”

“It takes one to know one, as I always say”" I told her, and looked back at her just as mean as she was looking at me. “Soon’s you give me back my money, I’ll give you back your sweater.”

“There, see!” she practically screeched, and stood there, real stupid, pointing a long witch-finger at me. “I knew it, I knew it! She’s a thief! That’s the kind of person she is!”

“Don’t be so damn stupid”, Jennifer T said to her, laughing. “I know Jen, and she’s just putting you on. And you deserve it, too.”

“Oh, is that so! Well, let me tell you something, Miss Smart-Ass, I’m going to march right over to Mr. Henderson and let him know there’s been a conspiracy here between you-all, and you’ve stolen my sweater. I’ll just bet Jen-ass didn’t lose any money at all! It was just a ploy to throw the finger of suspicion off her for any future thefts. I wouldn’t be at all surprised if that missing camera is in with her stuff, and I’m going to tell Mr. Henderson that, too!”

And she meant it, I guess, because she stomped off out of the cabin, and went straight on up the pathway in the direction of Mr. Henderson’s cabin. Laura stood there, looking awfully embarrassed, and we looked at her like it was all her fault. She shrugged her shoulders.

“It is your fault, you know. You brought her here”, Diane said to her.

“Look, she had nowhere else to go. Anyway, if I hadn’t brought her, Mr. Henderson would’ve probably come over with her.”

“I take it”, I said to Laura, “that you don’t believe I stole anything of dear Sally’s?”

“Oh, come on Jen”, she said. And she started fidgeting: “What do you think I am, anyway?”

“A friend of your friend’s”, I said, really mean. But then I felt sorry, and I kind of smiled to let her know I didn’t really blame her.

“Gee”, Donna said, giggling. “I hope she’s careful going up that path. We sure wouldn’t want her to trip over anything and break her neck.”

ME, LAST YEAR; 54th Installment

Next time I woke up I heard another funny noise, like shushing on the roof, and I wondered what it was, then I realized it was raining, and that was okay.

When we finally woke up, I was the second-last to get out of my bunk. Jennifer and Donna had already gotten dressed, and Mr. Henderson was going down the pathway yelling for everyone to get up. I didn’t feel too chirpy, and checked with my tongue, to make sure I still had all my teeth. Then I ducked down a little into my sleeping bag to give myself a good sniff. Hmmm, may be Sally was right, after all. Even though it was so cold, I really washed up good, before going over to breakfast.

Everything was wet outside, and birds were singing like they were getting paid overtime for each sparkling note. There were funny little mushrooms popped up all over the place, and we had a game of kicking them out of the ground. It’s okay if you kick them clean, but they can sure make a mess of your shoes if they mush all over the toe. Ukk!

We went on up to breakfast before the gong went, so we were early, and Mr.
Farraday said how would you early birds like to help make breakfast? We thought it would be kind of fun, so we said okay.

“Any of you ever make French toast before?” he asked us.

“Me. I have.” Jennifer T. said.

“Me too. I know how”, Donna said, and started licking her chops.

“Hey, that’s really great! Okay, remember, we’ve got to make enough for everyone. Everyone will want to have at least two, maybe more. That’s at least eighty pieces, okay?”

So we went in back, behind the counter, to the galley or whatever it’s called, and the cook was there, and he smiled at us and told us where all the stuff was that we had to use. Jennifer took charge, and told us what to do. Me and Diane got a big deep dish apiece and started breaking eggs into them.

We were kind of messy at first, like there’s a certain way of breaking an egg properly. Jennifer showed us to tap the side of the egg on an edge of the counter, so there gets to be a crack, and then you pry the halves apart with your thumbs. I’ve seen Mom do it lots of times, but I haven’t done it too often. Like never.

Anyway, here we were, cracking these eggs. then Diane would give too much pressure on the egg and it’d all mush up in her hands, yuck! Or, I would crack the egg and then start to open it, and it’d fall too fast and drip all over the edge of the counter, and the floor. Did you ever try to clean up drippy eggs? It’s got to be the mushiest, gooiest, number-one yuckiest mess ever!

Well, finally, we got the hang of it, and we got the first round all cracked and opened, and got platters of milk, and Jennifer and Donna showed us how to dip bread slices first in the egg, then in the milk, then in the eggs again. You’ve got to be careful the bread doesn’t fall all into pieces, and you have to be careful you don’t drip all over the place.

And, of course, you try not to get the guck all over you. Naturally, I dripped all over the place, the bread kept breaking at the edges, and my hands got all full of goo. Like it’s not the kind of goo you don’t mind licking off your fingers, like cake batter, or icing. Still, me and Diane were good sports, and kept doing our thing.

Actually, we’d have preferred to do what Donna and Jennifer were doing. They heated up margarine on a big griddle apiece, and then fried the dunked bread on either side. Like, they had all the fun, and never got as gunky as us, but that’s okay. After all, they knew how to cook, and we didn’t.

The mess hall filled up really fast and everyone had orange juice, and we got a relay team going, sort of, to get the hot French toast out to our waiting fans. It didn’t take all that long to do the toast, and we did more than eighty, I’m sure, because some kids had three and four apiece, the gluttons.

Finally, we sat down ourselves, to have ours, and everyone said it was really great, we did a good job. I’m sure glad we didn’t have to clean up after ourselves, because like, we really, really truly left a mess. But we weren’t the clean-up team this time, yay!

It was windy this morning, and the water was choppy, and Mr. Farraday said that’s too bad, it looks like we can’t take the boats out this morning. He didn’t look like he really thought it was too bad at all. He looked relieved. Can’t say I blame him, really.

He said, since there were so many mushrooms growing roundabout, he’d teach us some mushroom identification. So he did, like he tried to show us different kinds, and said which were good to eat, and which you shouldn’t.

Boy, some of the most innocent-looking mushrooms are poisonous. And other ones, he said, were hallucinogens. We said, like huh? And he said, they were like drugs, and they were dangerous. Like you could get high on them.

Kerry said great, he wanted to get high. He was going to look for some of those mushrooms. Mr. Farraday told him there were none of that type around here, he was just telling us about them, and for heaven’s sake, he said, don’t try to eat any of them.

Like who’d want to, anyway? I mean, when Mom makes them at home I know they’re supposed to have a delicate flavour, be gourmet-type food and all that, but I’ll pass them up anytime, thank. We took up in science about how they’re fungi, and about the mushroom spores and like that, and they don’t look too appetizing to me, anyway.

Kerry said since he couldn’t eat them, it was a pity to waste them so he began to bombard us with mushrooms. Crap! It was bad enough to have marshmallows in my hair, how would you like to have a head full of pukey mushrooms? Mr. Farraday said, please Kerry, let that be enough. He suggested that Kerry have a run around the courts to cool off.

“Yeah, Kerry”, one of the guys said. “Take a long walk on a short pier.”