Through these Eyes Part 19

March 24, 1976... wrote another poem about spring... really nice out today!

I remember the day and was inspired to write about that which I saw around me. I carried a note pad and pen to the wood pile behind my house, and taking a seat, allowed my pen to drift along with my mood.

As the sun pelted its warm rays on my back, the world seemed so beautiful and my heart so full of the world, that I had to capture the feeling forever. I possessed no poet's eloquence at age 14, though I did seek to express honesty and beauty in the written word; I wished that everyone could see and feel the life which permeated every puff of breeze through the tight-budded trees.

I felt rather guilty that I fostered such ill fervor toward going to church and, as a gesture of good will, sent a copy of my poem to the minister. Perhaps I wished to ease my own mind against the suspicion that I was on a collision course with atheism; for although I did not feel like a heathen, I was terribly aware of a rift between my ideas and those preached in church; some of the statements actually filled me with wrath; I searched my mind for the cause of my annoying fury and, years later, I was finally able to define my religious belief and be at peace with myself.

To return to my story, I mailed my poem and settled back to pursue the daily routine. One and a half weeks pa.s.sed, finding me at church and longing for an alternative. It seemed miraculous, for my wish came true.

Apr. 4, 1976... I didn't go to church because I got hungry, so I went with Les and Mrs. K. to the Modernistic Restaurant. I had 2 1/2 pieces of French toast, 1 sausage, hot tea. I wish I'd gone to church tho'

'cause Rev. Jones read my poem "Spring"! A lady told Mom that I should try to publish it! Seven others commented on it! WOW!

Ironic, life. Besides the honor of having my poem read in church, it was published in the weekly church bulletin since a number of individuals had asked for a copy of it; in the following weeks I was sent two thank you notes in the mail for sharing my writing with the church. It felt good to know that my efforts were appreciated; more importantly, it prompted people to take a second look at nature's splendor.

Spring

It's the beginning of Spring, And G.o.d's in the air, Not just in my woods, But everywhere.

I can feel him like the breeze As it blows on me, And so can the robin, the eagle, the bee.

And as the sun's rays Beat down on the earth The world suddenly awakes And is filled with new birth.

Under the leaves so dead and brown, Sprouts a Spring Beauty, and life is found.

Spring is life...

Of this I've no doubt, I feel I'm alive, and I want to shout!

Lauren Isaacson 8th Grade

I used to sit on my front steps and watch the storms approach. The sky would turn gray, then dark, inky blue as thunderheads bearing rain scouted a path above the tall oaks surrounding our house. Lightning seared the murky, restless skies as I peered into the dark abyss above me, and when the storm drew hauntingly near, I would relinquish my seat for one inside the house.

My love of storms was not blind love; I respected the power of nature and maintained my distance, continuing my vigilance protected by four walls. I once witnessed the mauling destruction of a seemingly healthy oak as the wind cracked its trunk at 20 feet above the ground and sent its entire upper portion sprawling to the woodland floor. I gawked in astonishment and breathed a sigh of relief that the tree had not fallen in the direction of my aunt's home. Wide-eyed, I realized that my hands were shaking; I left the doorway and took a seat in the living room.

A Storm In The Offing Storm clouds are coming, The wind is in wrath; Soon raindrops will penetrate Everything in their path.

The sun is still s.h.i.+ning, The birds, still in chorus...

But this will not last, For a storm is before us.

The wind is now las.h.i.+ng The trees without care, And their sap is now flowing With each breath of air.

The sun's face is veiled With a blanket of gray; The heavens break open, And rain fills the day.

Lauren Isaacson 8th Grade

Apr. 7, 1976... I kinda' got sick after I ate the cream of rice so I just read more of my Science. Then G.E. came over and we did crafts. I made a wis.h.i.+ng well with clothespin halves glued on to a Gerber food jar. It's neat. She even brought an African violet from Mrs. O. I also made Easter egg decorations from real blown out eggs covered with napkins. At 2:00 Tracy and her sister picked me up. We went to (the mall) for a beauty show... wasn't much fun... didn't even get made up!... I got to sign up for free samples though. I'll get some!

I had few actual contacts with my cla.s.smates of 7th grade, for I shared little in common with their faster-paced lifestyles and the saying, "out of sight, out of mind" carried a thick slice of truthfulness. To pa.s.s the time I often wrote nonsensical poems. The old west was the brunt of one of my endeavors...

Revenge Doesn't Alus Pay!

(AS told by an old Mountain Man)

This is the story 'bout a woman named Sue; Her man wuz kilt by Injuns... her fam-Iy, too!

Now Sue bore a grudge worse than most could tell, She'd get revenge on them redskins if she had ta go through h.e.l.l !

'Ol Sue used a lang-gwadge that stung just like a bee, And she could draw a pistol faster'n you could knock your knee!

One day while she wuz lookin' fer somethin' good ta eat, She spied a group of footprints, made by moccasined feet!

Sue tracked 'em 'til she found 'em near the river bank, And roped the neck of one, then gave it a yank.

The minute that the others heard the terble cry, They gathered up their weapons and saw her by and by.

Well Sue was pretty crafty, but not as much as they, For soon she turned and fled... her being the prey.

In an instant they were on her... that poor, devilish Sue, She did not win the battle, for she herself was slew!

This is the way Sue ended, it may seem sort of cold, But she still lives in stories that many folks have told.

Lauren Isaacson 8th Grade

Apr. 30, 1976... Dr. Murrell's office called and said I had to get another blood test because my white cells are down. I've gotta' have one Sat., too. For awhile I was saying some unwriteable things.

I was so upset.

I could never quite understand why they wanted to take more blood when my count was down. To me, that made little sense; I would have thought I should keep all of the blood cells I could.

I saw enough of hospitals to please a hypochondriac; further contact, after leaving Rochester, seemed beyond reason. I wanted only to be left alone; sometimes life seemed so unfair. I was quite familiar with needles by April, after having received countless jabs and nearly as my bruises without complaint, yet orders for additional blood tests effectively hindered my level of tolerance. Telling myself that, "blood test were no big deal after all I'd been through," would sometimes suffice to relieve my gripping tension; other instances, I could say, "By now you should be used to them," and then go merrily on my way. There were other days when no rationalization would console me.

May 4, 1976... Looked through my catalogs and dreamed...

I loved to dream over catalogs and fill out order blanks, as it took my mind from nausea and helped pa.s.s the time. Often, I would actually fill out an order blank yet never send it; catalogs were far more entertaining than magazines, for they were composed almost solely of pictures.

I was amazed that I should be the subject of jealous resentment; while I was home vomiting, or sitting hairless in front of the TV, they could run about, full of energy, eat a double-scoop ice cream cone without heaving the rest of the night away, and let their hair dry in front of the TV. I was not resentful of their life; why would they resent "how much I had"? I continued to send for things, loving to receive mail.

Clippings and advertis.e.m.e.nts for free samples were h.o.a.rded and quickly posted. I sent my name to a beauty club, thinking that the make-up would be of benefit to my sallow complexion and also something to which I could look forward each month; to my dismay, I received a letter rejecting my application and refunding my money, with an explanation that I was too young to belong. My mom promptly returned the check, accompanied by a letter explaining why I wished to belong to the club.

I hoped they would understand, yet their response was beyond my greatest expectations, for they made me a V.I.P. member wherein I would receive all cosmetics free of charge. I was ecstatic that I was allowed to join; their additional favor was a true gift indeed, and I quickly mailed a letter of grat.i.tude for their uncommon generosity.

Aside from my family, I told no one of my monthly benefactor, for I feared the partially concealed jealousy which I had already seen too often. I disliked having to be secretive, yet my paranoia ran deep and I did not wish to stir further coals of bitterness within others.