Write Your OWN Story

Vanity

"How vain it is to sit down to write when you have not stood up to live." - Henry David Thoreau

Witch's Garbage

One of the many roommates in my life (I stopped counting at 26) was a young woman named Teri. Teri was one of my college roommates and she was a terrific role model. She, too, was majoring in English and was a creative writer, so we had much in common. I owe Teri for introducing me to author Richard Brautigan and his witch's garbage. The year was 1980.

The book Teri handed to me was a slim, lime green paperback with a black and white photo on the front. It was called Revenge of the Lawn. I remember exactly where we were standing in our room when I first took the book into my hands as she then turned the pages to number 19: a short-short story called "1692 Cotton Mather Newsreel."

I gave Teri a questioning look, and she said, "Just read." So I did. After the first two sentences, I sank down onto my bed. And I kept reading.

This is how the story begins. "O 1939 Tacoma Washington witch, where are you now that I am growing toward you? Once my body occupied a child's space and doors had a large meaning to them and were almost human. Opening a door meant something in 1939 and the children used to make fun of you because you were crazy and lived by yourself in an attic across the street from where we sat in the gutter like two slum sparrows. We were four years old."

The premise of the story is a familiar one. One child dares another child to go up to the witch's attic apartment and wave down at him from the window.

"'You've got guts,' my friend said. I can't remember his name now. The decades have filed it off my memory, leaving a small empty place where his name should be.

"There were some garbage cans at the bottom of the stairs. I wondered what garbage can was the witch's. I lifted up one garbage can lid and looked inside to see if there was any witch's garbage in the can. There wasn't."

He then went on to look in the other two cans; all the garbage looked alike.

When he opens the door to the witch's house and looks around, his heart beats faster. "Her garbage had lied to me."

You'll have to read the story. But here are a few random sentences from other stories in the book:

"I spent the rest of the day not making coffee. It was a comfort."

"The bathroom sink, even though the water was off, broke out into tears."

"I let the old woman get on first and trailed behind in classic medieval tradition with castle floors following me onto the bus."

"Do ghosts burn wood? I guess it's up to them, but the wood was the color of years."

Teri and Richard changed the way I thought about writing, they changed my reading tastes, and they changed my writing style. The bar had been raised.

Brautigan had a tragic life. He was raised in abject poverty, and he was a paranoid schizophrenic with clinical depression. He had electroconvulsive therapy a dozen times. He shot himself to death in September of 1984 and was found about a month later. He's remembered for inventive metaphors and a remarkable imagination.

Soon after I dropped out of college in 1980, I lost track of Teri. I know she married a man named Randy and moved to Chico, California, but I can't remember Randy's last name. I'd love to find Teri again. I was in awe of her and her creative talent. And she was a genuine friend.

Teri, I remember you.

And Richard Brautigan, sir, I remember you.

And the Compass Broke

Today I was reviewing my academic transcript from the first college I attended, a private Christian liberal arts university. I took undergraduate classes there for five semesters, with a double major first in English and Business, quickly changing to a double major in English and Home Economics. (My mother was ecstatic about the Home Economics...I did it for her). Writing was my first love, so I always knew I would major in English or a more specific writing field.

The beginning of the transcript mentions four required college courses in particular: English I, Social Studies, United States History, and Biological Science. I had already CLEP'd-out of English and Social Studies during the fall of my senior year in high school. I remember agonizing over the decision I had to make: should I test to waive the History and Biology courses, which was free and resulted in no credit, or was I knowledgeable enough to CLEP-out of the courses, paying the fee and receiving credit hours if I passed the examinations? I waived. I should have CLEP'd.

College was expensive, especially a private university. So I got a job in a newspaper office downtown, and I joined the school's work-for-tuition program, performing tasks such as working at the front desk of the main girls' dormitory and being a resident hall assistant. I also typed papers for other students. I remember one night before a young man's paper was due, he would run from his dorm to mine (after both dorms were supposedly locked down) and pass written pages to me through my bedroom window and I would pass typed pages back to him. Luckily I was on the first floor that semester, or I wouldn't have made nearly as much money!

My first semester I took Art, Old Testament Survey, Business Intro, General Chemistry, Home Economics Orientation, and Health & Hygiene. Including my two CLEP'd courses, I had 22 credit hours at the end of that semester. It was a respectable start.

In my second semester, I began to be interested. Now I could get into my chosen field. I completed English II, Practicum in Journalism, and Drama & Poetry, as well as New Testament Survey, Clothing I, and General Psychology. In the short May term I added Christian Life and Beginning Tennis. Nineteen more credits for a total of 41. Not bad for my first year of college.

My third semester taught me that I was on the right heading. I took Shakespearian Drama, English Literature I, and Advanced Composition. I also completed Bible Doctrines I, Textiles, Introductory Foods, and Nutrition. Now I was finally taking English courses that I could "sink my teeth into." And I learned that, of the many facets of Home Economics, I was most interested in nutrition.

Then over Christmas break, I had the delightful opportunity to accompany a small group of English majors and our English professor to New York City, to attend many Broadway plays and even to be in Times Square on New Year's Eve. (The trip was fabulous, although I was very ill and although New Year's Eve turned into a terrifying experience). But I received college credit for this wonderful adventure, and I was now up to 61 hours.

College began to be really tough. I was trying to take 20 credit hours a semester. I had two majors and no minor. I had three jobs. I had very few friends. My social life was a disaster. And my tuition bills weren't being paid.

My fourth semester contained only one class that I really enjoyed: English Literature II. I was also interested in Meal Management. But Introduction to Philosophy, Organic Physiological Chemistry, Clothing II, and Growth & Development of the Young Child just didn't do it for me. In the short May term I took Public Speaking. Now I had 82 hours.

My last semester was horrible. I had a terrible, on-going conflict with one of the staff, who was very hateful. I kept receiving past-due notices from the Bursar's Office. I couldn't hold down my jobs. I took American Literature I, Household Equipment, Health & Safety in the Home, Techniques in Selected Areas of Home Economics (nutrition), and Principles of Sociology. But I had to withdraw from Grammarian, Design & Color, Physical Fitness Concepts, and Interpersonal Skills & Peer Relationships. I only completed 12 semester hours, taking my total to only 94. And I was expelled from school for non-payment of tuition.

By then, I had been convinced that the only way I could make a living with a major in English was to teach. And I did NOT want to teach...which is incredibly ironic considering how my life turned out.

So when I left the university that December, heading for another state, my plan was to establish residency while working for a year, then attend state college. The state university had a well-known program that was specific to food, nutrition, and institution administration.

The snow was softly falling as I drove down the highway. I was leaving the only college life I'd known. My windshield wipers slapped back and forth, and Dan Fogelberg was singing on the radio. And then, right on cue, the snow turned into rain.

"Same Auld Lang Syne" by Dan Fogelberg