Walking Sometime Joan Allred I give you the places of my memory To live in forever; Send your mind walking sometime By the remembered river: Be restless, sometime, in the warm dream, The sure love, When the gaunt sun dies like a wolf In the dark grove, When the wind is a tall ghost walking And the moon shakes A thin petal of snow on the peak, And the heart wakes For no reason, but lies like a child In a familiar place, Feeling strange evening looking down Like a sad face. A Little Indian girl whose name was Caca. BRIEFS FROM LIFE The most unwelcome I have felt in my life was on one occasion when I was accompanying my mother and we were trying to locate living quarters. I listened to nearly every landlady in Oakland say that she would be glad to rent to Mother if she did not have me. After many such rebuffs my mother lost her temper and began asking for suggestions as to my disposal. It was only then that we were given an apartment on probation. Pat Dunkley Along about Christmas time every year, our grade school presented a Christmas play. One year I was given the part of a Brownie, one of Santa's little helpers. Finally, after days of practice, the long-awaited night came, and I was painted and costumed in traditional style along with the rest of the Brownies. All the mothers and fathers were seated in the audience as the curtain went up. Santa was busy in his workshop making toys with the aid of his little Brownies. He called to Brownie number two that was me to bring him his list of all the good little boys and girls. When I got back I was supposed to say, "I can't find it, Santa. It must have been stolen by the bad little Brownie," but I couldn't remember my lines, so I improvised: "I can't find the damn thing anywhere. I guess it's lost." I had heard my dad say that at one time and it had sounded pretty good to me. They never put me in another Christmas play. Philip E. Brophy One day my brother brought home a magpie he had filched from a nest. My mother, who has always had great sympathy for such helpless creatures, took it into her care and nurtured it along. As it grew stronger we became attached to it and named it Maggie. As time went by she picked up phrases and words until she was soon able to talk as well as a parrot. Soon she commanded such phrases as "Hello, Mag," "Here, Mag," and "Come on out." In addition, she had a healthy laugh patterned after that of one of my uncles. Many times my mother rushed to the door expecting to see her brother, only to find old Mag giving forth with my uncle's characteristic laugh. Winn Richards My friends and I thought we were fairly grown up and wanted to try smoking. We picked up cigarette butts from the gutter, took the paper off, and used the tobacco to roll our own. A shady trail north of the city cemetery was our secret smoking place. After smoking up all of our tobacco we would return home and eat fresh onions from the garden to take the tobacco smell from our breath. We never got caught, and strangely enough we never got sick. Lamarr Burton I remember a little Indian girl whose name was Caca and who used to be of great help to my two best friends and me in securing little items which caught our fancy. Punch powder was undoubtedly our favorite between-meal snack and was the easiest to acquire. We would tie the bottom of Caca's bloomers, and then as one of us appropriated punch from the store counter and the other two covered him, Caca would fill her bloomers to capacity usually thirty to forty packages. Off we would go to the old caved-in cellar or across the canal, where we divided the loot. -P. L. Boyce Since Bryce Canyon was quite close to our home, we visited it often. I think we were always more interested in looking at the tourists than at the natural beauty of the canyon. One day we met a boy from New York; because of his eastern drawl he became the center of attraction. I distinctly remember his saying, "Petair, where is Mothair?" We considered him a sissy, and if no other tourists had been around we would have let our youngest brother rub the New Yorker's nose in the dirt. Wayne Davis Our family lived near a canal and during the summer all of the kids in the neighborhood would spend most of their time in the water. The canal was useful for other things besides swimming, however. Many is the time, when I felt brave, that I would gather a gang together and we would go up the canal and raid a watermelon patch. We would throw the melons into the water and then run downstream and wait for them underneath some shady tree. As the melons came floating by we would dive in and retrieve them. This way we wouldn't take such a chance on being caught as if we had carried them all the way. Maurice W. Mead Page Three