2006-04-02
age ten again
Every summer I bought a composition book. The covers reminded me of microscopic bugs. I wrote it in every day.
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Sometimes I made up stories about my stuffed animals. This page (complete with college ruled lines) tells about a rabbit named Funny Bunny who ran away (he wears sunglasses on his vacation).
At my Vermont school, Mrs. Gallagher had taught art for so long, she marked our papers in hieroglyphics. She made us do stupid projects, like molding replicas of Skittles bags from paper mache. We didn't have easels. We had tables wrapped in brown bags that she called "butcher paper." If you messed up, she counted off for each crumpled sheet she plucked from the trash.
I couldn't blame Mrs. Gallagher. The school wouldn't shell out cash for paintbrushes or charcoal pencils. Instead, they remodeled the bleachers on the baseball field so we could have a nice view when they struck out.
f-i-n at 11:34 a.m.