Alysse Aallyn

Category: Joy of Writing

  • Wild With Possibility: the teen diaries of Alysse Aallyn

    Thurs Oct 8, 64


    Got a “social warning” for “lights out” with a boy! It was only six o’clock for heaven’s sake! I have much to learn about the Art of Shiking. Things are rough for the Prisoners of the Tower. We were talking about hobbies. His is photography. I said mine is philosophy. Social philosophy. Like why people are so very, very strange.

    Also got a warning for not wearing a “covering” on my curlers in the upstairs Girls’ End Hall!  What is this, Moulay Idris? What a place!

Favorite song this week – “I like it” by Gerry & the Pacemakers.

    “I like it! I like it!
    I like the way you run your fingers through my hair…”
    Exactly.

    Doggerel for English:

    “To laugh and love and run and sing
    Are gifts beyond all price.
    And when I die for die I will
    I’ll feel no pain or strife.
    It is enough for me to know I’ve sipped the wine of life!
    In a way I’ll always live
    In all I’ve loved and seen
    The whirling whiteness of the snow
    The emerald spring of green.
    A rock that’s round and hard and smooth
    The restless roaring sea
    The pale blank beauty of the moon
    All have a piece of me.
    So I can die without a qualm
    ‘Cause death is never mean.
    Dying too is part of life –
    Remember – dirt is clean!

    Eng teacher gave me a B MINUS and asked me to write it again without rhyme!  But since it’s in the past, why would I?  Life rushes on, Master Gwill! Better get moving!
I recited it at the dinner table (maybe it is more of a recitation piece) and – Miss Womrath liked it so much she gave me her notebook from a Trip to France in 18 BC.  It is full of sketches of fishermen and birds – the poems are unbelievably bad. There are a surprising number of breasts – even men had breasts in those days!  Maybe she is a nympho-lesbo.

    TUESDAY, MARCH 30, 1965 – Brockton, Ohio

    Tonight Mom and Genevieve and Avril and I went to a concert at Avril’s school – my old school. It was like walking smack into the past—a nightmare come to life. Old Miss Quinn came lurching toward us like Boris Karloff in the Mummy – she was even trailing some sort of torn drapery. I stared disbelieving at the puniness of the drinking fountain –more like an animal watering device than any kind of implement to be used by human beings – was I EVER that small? The halls were narrow and grimy but I remember them in my dreams as vast and spacious with the edges seeming to drop away like unmapped territory. The children’s faces even seemed familiar – as if I grew up and they didn’t – maybe children’s faces are indistinguishable.

     The Auditorium was pathetic.  It had a tiny stage – made of wretched splintered boards. I felt my rear end itch in memory.  I imagined myself, old and famous, donating  decent drapes to replace those ratty dust catchers. But probably it would be better to deny any association with this place. Of course Avril performed horribly. Years of relentless babying have softened that poor child’s brain.  

Genevieve and I walked home so as to avoid the reception afterwards.  I don’t recall my mother going to a single one of my concerts – and Genevieve doesn’t remember it either. This mothering thing is something she’s only recently discovered – twenty years into the job.  Oh well.  

As  Genevieve says, what doesn’t kill you makes you stronger. When we got home we watched The Man from Uncle, (naturally Avril gets a TV!) then  I worked on my novel about teenage stardom while Genevieve set her hair with beer cans. That’s because we were going to the movies - the second showing of 36 Hours and she might see someone. Genevieve had already seen it and couldn’t help giving me a running commentary. I need all the help I can get in war movies. My favorite part was when Pike and Anna were in the hole and  the German soldier, looking in sees a nest of baby birds instead  of them and whistles to the birds. I thought it was very mature of the scriptwriter to resist the urge to have him murder the baby birds.

    When I got home Daddy called me into the study where he had an application for summer theatre camp! I can go! Off to sleep in a haze of bliss.

    Wednesday, March 31, 1965
    Sure is hellish trying to write in a car. It’s 4:12 pm and we’re in the Shenandoah Valley. So far we’ve traveled through five states. I have a feeling this is going to be a short entry because I’m feeling carsick. Avril has been carsick twice already.

    We got up at nine and left at nine thirty. Call last night to Phil - saying goodbye was rather a greasy experience. I wish he had a sort of brake control. I promised him I would write.  He will probably be back at school by the time I return. 

The countryside is all the same, dark woods, yellow grass and ridiculous road signs. We had lunch in a bone-chilling wind at 12:30 and now I’m starving again. We ate at Howard Johnson’s and Dad embarrassed us about the food. He always complains but I like the clams. Mom’s scarf blew out of the window so we are turning back to get it.

    FRIDAY APRIL 2, 1965
    At last a moment! We have really been having fun. We ended up in Front Royal Virginia the last time I wrote you at The Colonial Motor Court. Dad said it was about as colonial as a TV dinner. We went to see Goldfinger after dinner and Dad pretended to be Oddjob in the parking lot. Mom was rigid and disapproving but whether of murderous Oddjob or boisterous Pussy Galore I couldn’t say.

    Next day we went to Monticello. I could spend a lifetime there! We made it to Williamsburg by late afternoon and went straight to the Candlelight Concert at the Governor’s Palace. Concert mediocre.  Then we went to the Sheraton, which was a pretty cool place except the pool is shut.  

We ate at Chowney’s and I had Brunswick stew and apple pie.  Dad rousted us out at an ungodly hour so we could see all of Williamsburg.  First place we saw was Bruton Parish where I liked the graveyard.  I found a small stone with just the initials B.S. on it. That’s the way to go – keep everyone guessing.  Then we saw the George Wythe House. Rough way to live.  I preferred the Palace, where we got lost in the maze. I said I was sure I had been an aristocrat I in an earlier life and Dad said everyone thinks that.  I found the middle of the maze all by myself, but it began to rain and so we ducked into the Brush-Everard house.  We had lunch at Christiana Campbell’s.  I had potpie and stoked myself quite full. After lunch we hit the shops: I bought a blank book, a thistle seal (Mary Queen of Scots) and a gingerbread man.  I was so sleepy I slept in the car on the way to Washington, but I woke up when we got to our hotel, the Fairfax.

    The Fairfax is a rather doubtful looking place – Dad has a tendency to choose hotels that look like the owner just died. Our rooms are on the eighth floor. We went to dinner at an Italian place called Nino’s. The food was good, but you can get better pizza at Benet’s. We drove around after dinner and Dad said this is the second most beautiful American city (after San Francisco.) Mom said its No. 1. All I could see was huge monuments looming at me through the gloaming.

    SATURDAY, APRIL 3, 1965
    I was rudely awakened by someone trying to strangle me – it was Daddy. And yet nobody’s allowed to make noise while he’s trying to sleep – just one of the many inequities between parents and kids. Genevieve called me a sloth and I reminded her that it takes a sloth three hours to drown because of their generally superior construction. They probably experience things more deeply too. I know I was having a wonderful dream, I just can’t remember what it was. It was six a.m. – earlier than I get up at school. We drove around looking for somewhere to eat, finally stopping at the Ambassador where I had strawberries and coffee. (You’ve gotta start sometime.)
    We decided to climb the Washington monument but a surprise awaited us: to be exact, a line that stretched as far as the eye could see, comprising:
    Girl scouts
    Brownies
    Old ladies
    Fat ladies
    Dead ladies
    Dead girl scouts
    Hoboes hired to stand in line for somebody smarter.

    What to do? Fortunately Dad decided to pretend to be a tour guide and just walked in front, talking and waving his arms, something about how the building was built of pennies collected by Brownies and some statue, covered with pigeon poo, was a memorial to a man who invented a way of cleaning pigeon poo off statues.  At one point we had at least thirty people in our group – everyone was riveted. Of course all that climbing was pointless and not worthwhile.  Genevieve said the monument looked like a giant planeria, which is a repulsive image.

Other deathless thoughts from the day’s experience: The White House does not look like it would be fun to live in. I failed to catch a glimpse of Luci Baines who has probably gratefully gone somewhere else. Dad made us stand in front of the Treasury Building for what seemed like an eternity (“because we owe them so much money”) and then we went to see our Congressman.  Although he is a Republican he seemed like a good fellow. Daddy called him Chuck and he talked to us for quite awhile as if he wasn’t really busy.  He gave us passes to the next session of the 89th Congress which I thought was nice until Dad pointed out that we’re paying for everything. So we trudged over to the Capitol. I liked the classy pillars and noticed the meander design everywhere (matching my sweater – which my mother knit while I studied the Greeks.)  I also liked the chandeliers.  They have a lot of them.  There was one hall where each state had put two statues of famous men – one of ours was Garfield (who I’ve heard of) and the other one was Allen (who nobody’s heard of.)   The tour guy said Garfield’s assassin is one of the Capitol ghosts and the guards see him occasionally.  The best statue was Will Rogers.

    Then we went to see the Supreme Court. I wish they had been in session but they weren’t so I actually saw more of the ladies’ john. There were a lot more steps. I was beginning to get a rubbery sensation in the knees.

        We went out to lunch at Hogate’s where I had crab imperial and Dad lost his air travel card. Then we drove to the Pentagon because Daddy wanted to see it.  Not interesting. We went to Arlington, which was very depressing. You wouldn’t want to live your whole life just so you could be seventh from the end in the thirty-ninth row of Section A.  

    The Tomb of the Unknown Soldier was not as impressive as the one in France. Daddy was angry at us for giggling but I don’t think it was the kind of place to make you want to be quiet.  The French know how to do these things right. I was taken out of my mood by the Jefferson Memorial. It’s adorable. I would like one in my yard. I think it’s my favorite thing I’ve seen. “I have sworn on the Altar of God Eternal Hostility Against Every Form of Tyranny over the Mind of Man.” Wonder what he would have said if they added “woman”  to that. 

    Back at the hotel Avril and I hung out in her room, Genevieve went shopping and Mom and Dad went to an art museum nobody else wanted to see. I washed and dried my hair and at six-thirty we all walked to a Japanese restaurant called Tokyo Sukiyaki, which Dad said, would be like opening a restaurant in Tokyo and calling it New York Steak and Potatoes.  I must say we are eating well. Dad said it was the most authentic Japanese restaurant he’d ever been to in the States.  They painted the walls to look like paper and we had to take off our shoes. The tables were low and there was nowhere to put your feet. We all ate with chopsticks. Dad said you’re a pro when you can pick up three peas I in a line.  He can do it – I can’t – and Genevieve pretends she can.  

    After that we tried to see Zorba the Greek but it was all sold out. So we went to Lord Jim instead. And guess what? Sold out too.  Lots of parents would have been stymied at this point but Dad said he had just begun to fight.  We went to a discotheque called Le Bistro where everyone was dressed to the teeth but there wasn’t any dancing. Dad bought us all beers (except a coke for Avril.  I hate beer, as it turns out) and we waited around but we didn’t want to be the only ones dancing so we went back to the hotel and played Hearts.  I got the Queen of Spades twice, which is definitely a sign of something.

  • Wild With Possibility:the teen diaries of Alysse Aallyn

    Mon. Sept 21 – 64


    A protective life regulated by bells. We come up the stairs at days’ end singing, hockey sticks over our shoulders like the dwarves in Snow White. Friends, bathrobes, curlers, bathing suits hang everywhere. You are Not Alone.

    You go into your room and kick off your hockey shoes so forcefully the spikes damage the wall and throw yourself full-length on the bed even though you have only 15 mins to get pretty for dinner. Your roommate is laughing and throwing socks about. Life is good.  Yet somehow I am wary of this idyll.

Tues Sept 22 – 64
I wish I was beautiful.  It would make my life so much easier.  But no, I have the  Nose of the Aallyns, and the Jaw of the MauMau.

Writing under the sheets ONCE AGAIN by flashlight.  This would mean a deten if caught which involves cleaning flowerpots down at the greenhouse. It could be worse.  Boys have to shovel manure, which explains their smell.  Many are the benefits of the female sex.

The smell of laundry soap is strong under here.  Not that the sheets are clean – heavens no – they are stained with apple juice and blood. A brain-damaged girl got me in the ankle with her hockey stick.

Got my first KOB tonight so of course I have to memorialize it. A boy in my art class named Bob.  I don’t know about Bob.  I’m not sure he’s got what it takes. He’s too nice.  Oh where will I find the boy f my dreams?  My eyes wander over the Senior Class.

Left my razor kit at home and my legs are a hairy mess.  Plus I wear kneesocks constantly and the rubber bands are cutting off my circulation.  And my skin shows signs of becoming volcanic ground on a rich diet of creamed chicken and scalloped potatoes. Run for the boats, men, the Angry Goddess is about to explode! 

At dinner I sit next to a very cute boy named Phil although he’s at least an inch shorter than me.
Got an interesting book out of the library about Anne Boleyn.  Those Tudors certainly knew how to live. Well, enough of burning the midnight battery.  See you in the AM.

Thurs. Sept 24. 1964
Rewriting Agnes Strickland, Lives of the Queens of England. She has her ideas, I have mine.

    ISABELLA OF VALOIS – Unprepossessing, ye thinks? Look closer: this little chickadee is padded like a football player. Life was very rough and tumble in those days. Her face is all greased up and her ears seem to be missing. She married Richard II when she was eight and had no idea what was in store. Later he either was murdered or committed suicide so he wouldn’t be murdered.
    JOANNA OF NAVARRE – Things are getting worse. Two fungus growths on either side of this head. She is wearing one of the new French bras but she still has to hold up her chest. When the French captured her, they gave her right back. Can you blame them?
    KATHERINE OF VALOIS – Isabella’s sister but you’d never know it. She’s a dead ringer for Ringo Starr. No chest, a potbelly, and when they called her “Katherine the Fair” they were being sarcastic. Still, Henry V was madly in love with her. Maybe he was kidding.
    MARGARET OF ANJOU – Maggie also well padded for the games, but content to take life as a bystander. From the expression on her face you can tell her team is not winning. She was a goalie in the Wars of the Roses.
    ELIZABETH WOODVILLE – Her head is wrapped in mosquito netting and she is sucking on a lemon. Your guess is as good as mine what she was up to.
    ANNE OF WARWICK – More sport, Old English Style. In one hand she holds a hockey stick, in the other, the ball.
    ELIZABETH OF YOURK – An amateur magician. Saying, “Nothing up my sleeves, nothing up my socks.” I’d watch those sleeves, though.
    KATHERINE OF ARAGON – Pictured holding a dead bouquet of flowers to symbolize her husbands whom she beat at wrestling. First one died, second one divorced her.
    More anon!

    Sun. Sept 27 – 64
Madness reigns!  I’ve been behaving strangely for the past three days.  Ah me. It is just too much that I  have not been invited to the fall dance, and girls can’t invite boys here.  Still there’s six days left.  I will be disappointed if I don’t get KOBS from six boys all madly in love with me and threatening to throw themselves into the lake with one mighty splash.   I can dream, can’t I?
Saturday was Night Problems – a strange affair where they blindfold girls & boys, put them in trucks and dump them in the woods couple by couple and make them find their way home.  I was dumped off with Art the Wolf who made no moves on me but very practically suggested we follow the railroad tracks to the school!  There was plenty of moon. We were the first ones back and won the box of cookies (which I gave him because I hate ginger snaps.)
Thurs Oct 1 - 64
Guess what, I’m in the infirmary. Lovesick or Night Problems? When first I entered Nostrils the nurse thought I was faking. But I had a real temperature all right!  The doctor says I have SPOTS on my tonsils! (Lovespots.) Dr. Jax is one of those smooth mass-production doctors who advertise things on TV.  Probably an incipient sex maniac.

Nostrils went snoopily through my bag asking what my Noxzema is for and confiscating my chocolate covered cherries (they were getting old.) Her nostrils really are amazing.  You could pick her out of a crowd.  She asked if Felix Krull, Confessions of a Confidence Man is a novel of sex and violence! I’m reading it but I don’t like it.  Sometimes I read Vanity Fair (vey good! – Nostrils had heard of that one) and sometimes Nero Wolfe.

There are two boys in the Boys’ Section and I can talk to them over the swing door but I can’t see them!  I’m going to write them both KOBS.  Nostrils says I’ll be here till Sun which means I’m down for the count at the dance.  These male sickos will have to be my dates.

Wed Oct 7 - 64
Life is so full. My whole being is just one big question mark. While waiting here to be fulfilled I am actually living.  Reading Violet Brooke’s The Prisoners of the Tower.  That’s what we are – prisoners of the tower.  But at least it’s a co-ed tower.

I am introduced to the Art of Shiking – which is Being where you are Not supposed to Be. “Off bounds”.  It has many sophisticated ramifications such as jumping from window to window, even running between the chimneys on the roof playing Viet Cong Vs French Resistance. Or it could just mean meeting boys in Central after dark!

  • Wild With Possibility: the teen diaries of Alysse Aallyn

    Tues. Sept 8 – 64


    Well it’s happened. That thing I fought so long: I am crying. Next to pain, disbelief is my strongest emotion.

    There is no getting around it.  I looked in the mirror and I am ugly. Mom offered to trim my hair – I was losing my flip – and I thought she actually would but she cut it so short its not even short length. It just looks stupid.  You can still see the scars of the summer’s impetigo all around my mouth. (Mom calls it a “deficiency” disease! Great!)

Can you imagine arriving the first day of school with a deficiency disease and stupid hair? And now my eyelids are swollen and my nose is purple!

Can I rise above this?  At least in my dreams I am beautiful.

I’m exhausted from a day of shopping, sitting at my desk in my rabbit slippers in my own little room. Tired of wrestling with Mom over clothes, as usual. Finally got her to buy me a decent pair of heels and some black underpants (for my exotic moods.) I lost on the black party dress even though I promised to take the rose off the shoulder. All she will buy me are horrible Villager, John Meyer and Walter Lanz desecrations that make teenagers look like members of the golf club. 

At least she let me buy makeup to cover my impetigo and a powder blue cardigan I really like which will look good once I shrink it. Genevieve caught me in the bathroom trying it on backwards and she said nobody wears cardigans backwards and if you wear your circle pin anywhere but at the collar of your cardigan it means you’re not a virgin. (Also if you wear your kilt pin upside down.)  I said everyone in France wears their cardigans backwards and nobody in France is a virgin.

Mom and Dad say I need a “progressive” school because I am creative and Genevieve needs a “snob” school because she is smart.  Unfortunately for us both it’s the same school.
Next-door creep Bobby Bloy raked my diaries out of the leaf pile but they were too burned to read hahaha.  He will never know whether I wrote about him or not, the little grossness. (He chests his pants.) How he would love to be preserved for posterity.

Fri Sept 11, 64
So many days since I wrote!  It shows how exciting my life has been.  My only problem is my roommate who seems to come from another planet. But I want to write about everything.

Wed AM I woke up early, washed my hair in beer, put Dep on the ends and set it on orange juice cans. This really seems to work – it held the flip till almost noon.  I had to drag the hairdryer out of my trunk where it was mixed up with all the unspeakable hockey things they make you buy. Had my breakfast under the hairdryer in my room because I didn’t want to hear Daddy’s remarks idiot women whose hairdryers melted on their heads, burned their hair off leaving only a scarred patch, welded orange juice cans to their skulls, etc. etc.

Then my sister’s boyfriend Granger showed up.  My parents really like Granger but the joke’s on them. They are allowing Granger to drive me and Genevieve to school for reasons I’ll never understand. He drives like a hellion and makes “vroom vroom” noises with his mouth like a little boy. I hope none of the other boys at school are this disgusting. He and Genevieve are perfectly suited for each other however.  Neither know the meaning of true maturity. 
Plumly is NOT a pretty school but I’d seen it before so it was not a shock. It looks like a prison out of Dickens.  Why don’t they just call it “The Workhouse.” (Oh no! Don’t send me there!) However the trees are pretty and at least it has a lake. 

My roommate Thekla is an albino.  When she is speaking I am just staring at her wondering what its like to have pink eyelashes and not do anything about it. She is very religious and says if I say “Jesus Christ!” one more she will report me; that it’s wrong to use the Lord’s name in vain.  How does she know its vain?   Aren’t you supposed to call on your savior in times of trouble?  I’m in trouble a lot.  Also, this is supposed to be a progressive school – my father says “Jesus Christ” all the time and he is very progressive. 
I think I am going to lose this one because Thekla is from Nebraska. She is like one of those frontier women who stand in the middle of fire, water and Indians and never get budged or scraped. 

I am writing with a flashlight under the covers and Thekla would be threatening to report me if she was awake. Fortunately she snores – it’s very handy for knowing if she is asleep or awake.

My Big Sister came to visit me. These are assigned to you to show you the ropes. Her name is Lauren and she is so cool it hurts.  She came in wearing one of our awful gym suits and on her it looked good. She has cut the sleeves off and ripped the bottom into fringe. She says I will get a big brother named Larry Murchenwold and he is a WOLF so I’d better be careful! 

Great to go to a little school where everyone knows everyone and you don’t need to waste time on trial and error. She showed me how to write a KOB (these are the notes sent from Girls’ End & Boys End at night.) You have to fold them a certain way or people think you’re queer. Also never use the Senior Stairs. (Boys who do this at boys’ end get their heads SHAVED.  At Girls’ End things are more ladylike.  They just cut up your underwear when you are out of the room. (Obviously I’m going to need some better underwear.)

My first sight of the freshmen boys was a big disappointment. They are such babies I assumed they must be visiting. Some have feet, which do not touch the floor when they are seated, others were crying for their mommies. The really tall one chests his pants! Lauren says sometimes the senior boys ask younger girls out.  Let’s hope so. That never happened at my old school.  The very nicest seniors are all taken. There is even one who looks like Jeff Hunter, my favorite movie star. (Genevieve dropped Granger like a hot potato because he has a girlfriend!) So far no sign of my personal Big Bad Wolf.  I don’t think he is taking his Big Brother job seriously!

Friday, Sept 18 – 64 
I can’t believe another week has gone by!  This is amazing – I am actually too busy living to write! This has got to be a first.  Friday seems like the only time because we don’t have sports in the afternoon. Lots of people are taking weekends but I’m saving mine up till I have somewhere special to go.

I’ll tell you about my classes.

    ENG 1 – Strictly for losers. Miss Wienand is so old we can’t believe she’s still alive and not something that struggled its way out of the Tomb of Ligeia. When we speak to her we have to shout and then her head wobbles and her eyes fill with tears. At first I was shocked but you gradually get hardened. She quotes the Lady of Shalott by the hour. Genevieve says it’s the anesthesia they gave her in the war – now she is crazy. There’s a funny boy in class named Ted – he is not sexy at all but he is hilarious. When he said he preferred Coney Island of the Mind to Keats she got so upset she forgot to give us homework. Reading A Separate Peace.
    FR II- Not bad – taught by a real Frenchwoman named Ann-Marie Bustas. She wears very high heels and very tight skirts so she can barely walk and she teases her hair high in back with a rattail comb. I am smug because I aced the first test! She says I can read Françoise Sagan if I want to.

    ENG Hist – is my favorite class taught by a sexpot named Nichols. His teeth are stained with nicotine and his hands shake but he is very funny about Ethelred the Unready and the Venerable Bede. (Unfortunately he is married.) He never fails to crack us up.

    BIBLE – a romp through hell. Zealots 5, Sadducees 0! The teacher is the janitor – he probably works for free so they don’t put him in a home. He wears a hearing aid as big as a toaster and if you want to disrupt class all you have to do is hum. He takes it off his head and tinkers with it for minutes at a time. Gerry Woo is trying to program him by remote control but so far it hasn’t worked. Gerry is another writer (he carries his sci fi novel with him everywhere) unfortunately he spits when he talks and jumps in his seat as if he has bugs in his pants. (He probably does. I hear the hygiene at Boys End is nothing to write home about. Dr Freud to the contrary I am glad I’m not a boy. Sounds hazardous to the health.) So Gerry & I won’t be forming a writing coven anytime soon.

    MATH – Over my head from Day 1. I have a Math Deficiency Disease. Need I say more?

    SCIENCE – I have always admired Science from afar but here’s my chance to see it up close. I’ve promised myself to work really hard this term and plumb its mysteries. What else?

    Oh yes, HOME EC = putrid and ART is for babies.  I’m talking finger-painting and cutting things out of magazines.  If we are really good Mrs. Kurtz will let us make a potholder to take home to our mommies.  Me, who made a pajama coat over and over again from scratch! (Teacher rejected it the first 4 times.) 

We are imprisoned in hockey four afternoons a week while a man-woman makes me run so much I’ve developed a heart condition. We are required to take at least one hobby and I’ve signed up for Workshop Theatre but the teacher hasn’t shown yet because he’s busy getting a divorce. 

I’m sure my impetigo is no longer contagious but no boys have come close enough to find out.   A few drips circle warily and have to be dropped in their tracks before they

    spew.

    Sat. Sept 19 - 64 
The most amazing thing has happened! I am the leader of the freshman girls!  There are only nine of us living at Girls End! (The others are day students.) I know I am an unlikely leader type – I am not bragging or being aggressive. I think I am simply les panic stricken than anybody else. They are in hysterics about grades, boys, hair, parents, I say Why worry about it? And they sob gratefully. 
They put me in charge of the Freshman Skit for Camp Suppers. Nobody wants to look stupid because there may be Boys paying attention.  Har to tell which pair of beady eyes around a campfire belong to a handsome face or an agile brain so we can take no chances.  We are putting on GOLDFIGURE –a girl whose incredible physique turns men into statues.  What do you think?
Sun. Sept 20 – 64
Life is such a great adventure!  I am planning to be so happy my whole life I wake up laughing. Got a letter from Andrea yesterday that made me momentarily nostalgic about The Past.  Oh the times we snuck out of the house in the deep of the night wearing our father’s shirts.  But one can’t look back one must move forward.

  • Wild with Possibility: teen diaries of Alysse Aallyn

    Wed Aug 26 – 64 – Camp Tarantula – Somewhere in Darkest Canada


    Shot the rapids yesterday. It was my day for paddling and I sat in the bow. Stu told us “They’re easy. Paddle like mad.” We were in sixth position. It was exhilarating. We took on water and then there was this grinding noise. Look out for that rock! I called too late and then our canoe was sideways. “Get out!” yelled Stu. Suddenly I was in the water, fighting for a hold on the sharp, slippery rocks. Half dragging the canoe and half being dragged by it we managed to get it ashore but our stuff was all gone. Watched Barb & Paul paddle insanely to the V point then lifted out of sight by the furious water. We tried again, again the yelling and confusion, me trying to obey. I think I’m just terrible at this. Horrible grinding crash as we hit another rock. The crash rang in my whole head and assed right through my body. I staggered dazedly out of the sideways canoe, pushed off the rock with all my strength and we were carried to the shore where the others were waiting. We screamed “Keep left!” to every arriving canoe but none of them could hear us. It was a massive disaster. Judy and Wendy were clinging to a rock in the middle of the stream and their canoe was gone. Pam lost her glasses and had blood in her hair. Marilyn was laughing hysterically. I could tell what Jeff was thinking by his face: “That could have been us!” Finally Stu & Paul figured out how to rescue the sobbing girls. (Paul’s sweatshirt doesn’t say “Defiance” for nothing!) “Form a chain!” Stu screamed and stripped off his outer clothing. Steve & Anne rigged a rope to a tree and threw it to Cindy on the other side. Those of us in the chain began a long hard pull trying to pull the girls over. My arms were almost torn out of their sockets. For a cold wet hour we pulled against the force of the current, saved the girls and all but one canoe. Frank tried to rescue our stuff but most of it was gone. Stu gave the girls jackets but everything was wet so it didn’t help.

    No one was griping but no one was looking forward to sleeping on the cold wet frozen ground. Nothing will help but build a fire and climb right in it. I thought about my parents and sisters warm and dry wondering what a fine time I’m having at camp. I was glad Julie couldn’t come – I wouldn’t put a mosquito through this torture. Hard to believe there’s actually a world out here. Promised myself never to be so cold again. We tried to entertain ourselves by talking about what we would do to the person who suggested this trip when we got home. I started up a chorus of The Sloop John B – “This is the worst trip I’ve ever been on.” 
We launched out once more against the surging water – me trying to see through the mist and follow Jeff’s command. We hit another rock! Leaped out mechanically and dragged the canoe to safety. I couldn’t believe it – this is the sort of thing you wake up from. Jeff was patting my back. More screams and crashes. I plugged my ears. “Camp Story Trip 5 – sleep on  bed of scented pine needles at night, glide gently on sunny mirrored lakes by day” should be “the perfect trip for children you never want to see again.”

The last rapids I felt increasingly hysterical and I was doing well compared to everybody else. I persuaded Marilyn to take bowman’s position – I’m not cut out for seeing rocks rushing at me. “I’ll tip us” she said honestly. I said, “I don’t care” I just want to lie down in the boat, close my eyes and let death overwhelm me. Every now and then I would shout encouragement in the direction of Marilyn’s lumberjack coat.

It seemed the longest stretch we had yet – and then we hit. Water around my face. I jumped into the water - my  bare toes showing through the holes in my tennis shoes. “You did better than me” I told a dazed and sobbing Marilyn. Jeff and I hauled the canoe over the rocks, trying to keep it from being swept away. 

Barb and Wendy were right behind us and hit the same rock – Barb was thrown out and carried away by the water.  Canoe completely overturned. Shavonne saved Barb and we tackled the canoe. You just have to keep jumping while everyone’s shouting contradictory orders; no time to stand and argue. I was in waist high water when I felt a shock of pain. “My leg!”  It was twisted and I was afraid I had broken it.  Jeff hauled me out bruised but OK. Good that I have rubber bones. (Shavonne’s a nurse.) All I have to show for it is a small purple cut.

Lunch was the only meal we ate that day – we skipped breakfast to get an early start. If they were honest about these trips fewer would go but more would survive. It was midnight when we reached our campsite and we just wanted to lose consciousness. Eleven of our twenty had lost their sleeping bags so we were all doubled up. Once again I slept with redheaded Paul who at least is safe. (And warm.) I’m not sure this is what the Young Men’s Christian Association had in mind but such is life on a wilderness trek. Probably Sacajawea shared Lewis (or Clark’s) sleeping bag from time to time.

Up at six next morning – skipped breakfast again. Just wanted to get somewhere safe with FOOD. My day for riding thank God. I had to borrow Steve’s extra pants – (I peed in mine but I didn’t tell him that.  Wet is wet.) I even had a blanket so I am comfortable writing this. Alsace (a city of 28 people) is only an hour away. Yahoo!

    Charlaix, Ontario – Sat Sept 5 – 64
    Question of the week: What Can You Do When You’re As Sensitive as Sunburn?
    How slowly the days pass before school! Each day 24 hrs of experience, a million tiny memories. Someday most likely, I will be an old woman with grandchildren. Probably great-grandchildren – the Aallyns are notes for longevity. Will my face be wrinkled my dresses baggy, my shoes ugly and my mind thick with old-fashioned thoughts? Will I think my life is happy or sad? Will I laugh at the foolishness of youth?

    Somehow I think I have the capacity to make myself happy. My future may be great or insignificant. I must say I keep hoping for the former. 

I write aboard the Gryphon, docked at Carmine Bay. So far we have not been able to get out of the bay, every time we try we are hit with ten-foot waves, the boat heels over with its portholes in the water and my mother screams to go back. My cousin Jarvis, who seems a good sort, keeps being sick fortunately so far into the sea. Strange considering his mother is a homeopathic doctor who plies him constantly with “nux vomica”.  Not working in his case. Glad we came in when we did; otherwise I might have seen my insides float by also. 

Unfortunately Genevieve is also aboard; meaning the days are rife with injustices. I want to go swimming but I am on dish detail.  Maybe I can swim later. Water  balms all wounds.
Soon I will be beyond this, at Plumly School the last word in Preppy Co-Education.  Next Wednesday! In the meantime I get to practice shopping and self-control.

Brockton, Ohio – Mon Sept 7 - 64
Diary you are the most recent diary in a long line.  Today I took all my diaries out of the linen closet (up high where Mrs. Broadnax never dusts) and put them on the leaf pile!  Did away with them.  It was with considerable relief that I put away childish things. It seems right to burn diaries in the autumn when there are so many other burnings. 
When people on the street sniff the burning pile and say, “What a good smell”  I can say “That’s Jeff and Harvey and that English kid who pretended he was the Lost Beatle and all those other small-town idiots I can’t wait to leave behind.”
Tra la for autumn madness, new notebooks and new adventures!

  • Wild With Possibility: teen diary of Alysse Aallyn

    Sat July 11 – 64


    Everything changed. Bookie & I broke up. He likes to make me mad by fooling around with other girls and I won’t take it. He knows how insanely jealous I get. He wants me to forgive him but I won’t. “You don’t need him” says Julie. She keeps telling me how beautiful I am! Haha. But she’s right that I don’t need him.


    I am also giving up the pretense that I love my parents. I hear you recoiling in horror, diary but love cannot be forced. I admire them as clever, free-thinking human beings and I am grateful to them but love – no. God I have tried. No more. I take life as it is. I am sorry. They do not love me and I do not love them. They admire me for my talent but that’s all it is. All love died in the hard winter of 60-61. Their favoritism for Avril is insulting and humiliating. I have to bear long lectures about how fragile and sensitive she is. That kid! Please! She is a dreadfully spoiled, crabby, selfish child. Not to mention Mom & Dad fawning all over the French exchange student Jean Michele who pretends he is not interested in girls when he IS.


    Sun July 11 – 64
    I hate Trish so much. She has always wanted Bookie and now she has him. I can’t believe I was ever with someone who could hurt me so deeply. I’ve sworn off boys. Maybe not Tom. He writes regularly and I love him for it.


    Tues. July 14, 64
    Well, well, well, times have changed since my agonizing confession of Sun night. Trish’s old boyfriend Rudy came over to see me with Phil and made it plain that he liked me very much so it’s Trish’ turn to cry. I love it! I’m not conceited but I think I could wrap them around my fingers! I asked them if they wanted to join my fan club and they wrestled over who would be president! Did my heart good. Phil agreed to be Social Director if Rudy is president. They say they are my Bodyguards! Neither likes Bookie and say he is a poor idiot. Turns out people need praise to exist just like plants need water! I was feeling worthless before. After they left Phil called, said Rudy is “the wrong guy” for me and invited me to the movies! I accepted! Then Rudy called for Fri and I told him he was too late. He called Phil “a dirty dog.”


    Bookie came over with Dan Bliss and set off a cherry bomb on my front steps. I couldn’t conceal my anger!


    Waited till Mom and Dad went to bed and gave them twenty minutes. Jean Michele is staying in Genevieve’s room and had his lights on (she is helping Indians in a remote Western outpost which I could never do) so I had to sneak out down the front steps. God! Then I discovered I forgot to wear a bra so I had to go back and get it! God! When I finally stepped outside I expected to see Mom and Dad tapping their feet but I didn’t. I could see Rudy’ white jacket at the end of the driveway. The fuzz caught Phil hiding in the bushes in front of his house so he can’t come!


    We walked all over town without stopping for two and a half hours. Just talking! He asked me to go out with him but didn’t give a definite date. He was cool. At five o’clock I said goodnight.


    Phil woke me up on the phone wanting to know what we did! Mom listened in on the phone and discovered I sneaked out which was a pretty lowdown trick so now I’m grounded. It only gives the game more flavor! Everyone I know has been caught out at least once! In American teenagers these days the feeling of independence runs high. We have been raised to think highly of justice and freedom. But all the advantages lie with parents. Daddy called Phil and Rudy “nincompoops”. Now I can’t go to the movies with Phil so there is no longer any communication between us. I can’t agree to their idiotic demands. I will learn to wear a disguise. (Avril’s birthday cake was good, though. )
    Parents allow me to go to Drama class. My parts are Maggie in Overtones and Mrs. Johns in Thurs Evening. Shipped off a letter to Tom Morris. Nothing on TV but Republican Convention.


    Thurs. July 16 – 64
    This bit with the parents getting steadily worse. I’ll tell you honestly whose fault it is – theirs. I was over at Julie’s today. Thought my parents were the only ones who were so bestial but Julie has the same difficulties. We formed a club to grouse about it called The Orange Toenail Club. Pooling our knowledge. United we stand divided we fall. This morning I was typing A Game of Chess which I had to turn in soon for Drama Club. Got a phone call so I opened the door to answer it. They thought my radio was too loud so CONFISCATED IT. They didn’t ask or complain, just TOOK. NO common courtesy. I said “the hell with you” raced up the stairs but I couldn’t hold the door against him. He threw me on the bed uttering a few choice phrases. So now all I want is my own phone and a lock on my door.
    That was two hours ago. Skipped dinner – nothing to eat. Might as well clean my room since I’m stuck in here. No Drama for me.


    Fri July 17 – 64
    It is the greatest fear of my life that I’m mentally unbalanced. In my dreams I laugh and scream and kill people. Mom and Dad just make fun of me. I can’t make my mind work any more. It’s me outside me, looking at myself. I’m asleep with my eyes open but my brain is dead. My horoscope says I’m a person of unusual mental activity and I’m afraid this is true. Can’t take much more of this. Maybe I’ll go on a hunger strike.
    LATER
    I hate them! Not only can’t I see my friends or talk to them, I can’t have a clock in my room! If these are the kinds of parents they are then I can’t go to Plumly too soon. Indian reservation here I come. I’m refusing to leave my room. If they hurt me any more I’ll run away and I don’t even care how childish that sounds.
    Took a bottle of aspirin from Mom’s room. 15 pills. Won’t kill me and it might put me to sleep. Can’t be up all night like last night. Thinking about suicide makes me feel better. 15 pills and enough water to sink a battleship.


    Sat. Aug 15 – 64
    I’m in the doghouse again. Caught making out with Joe Kingston. At least tomorrow it’s back to camp for me.


    Sun. Aug 16 – 64
    Right now we’re in Michigan. Stu and Shavonne are as cool as ever. This bus is pretty jiggly but I’ve managed to make friends. There’s one cool guy. I started my period while I was asleep so I had to change my white shorts. Borrowed a tampon from Shavonne. Cramps and everything. We’re stopping and everyone has gotten out but me. Stu has to change a tire on the canoe trailer and everyone is buying snacks but I’m determined to lose weight and I don’t want to break my ten dollar bill. I’m trying to save up to buy the second Beatle album from my sister.


    Just had a root beer and now I feel better. Spending the night at St. Ignace in Clare, Michigan. 10 girls and 8 boys – no one is as outgoing as last time but there is only one fink.


    Mon Aug 17, 64
    Breakfast in Seault Ste Marie. I have Canadian money and Canadian stamps. I bought postcards and stationery so I can send letters and a plastic bag for my sleeping bag.


    Bus broke down! We are somewhere in a godforsaken marsh. We will be eating dinner here in the middle of nowhere and sleeping by the side of the road! Getting to know a really nice boy named Jeff Spiegel. Trying not to compete for him with an ugly scab named Mimi.


    Fri. Aug 21 – 64
    We have been canoeing for days. I’m sharing a canoe with Jeff and Steve. This idyll could kill those who drink too much of its wine. Jeff told Mimi he likes me more because she wouldn’t stop mauling him. But he told me he’d going steady with someone else and he has no intention of breaking up with her. I said “Fine let’s just be friends. Don’t worry Jeff I’m not madly in love with you.” And so I ended before it began.


    Sat Aug 22 – 64
    I never ask about her but he tells me everything. She is three years older than him! He says she is very different from me. He is a very complex person. At least he never makes fun of me which is good because my self hatred is especially strong now. He calls me “Spider Lady” because I’m not afraid of spiders (I quite like them actually. Wolf spiders especially. They’re interesting.)


    Sun Aug 23 64
    Cold and wet. We are all miserable with our canned spam and peaches. Everything I own is soaked – I had to share a sleeping bag with Paul Cook. (Plastic bag didn’t work. The one for my diary is better.) Fortunately he is very nice.


    I get terribly depressed sometimes. I fantasize about hot food and mattresses. Above all I miss reading and privacy. If we ever reach Alsace I’m going to
    1) buy chocolate
    2) call my parents
    I’m going to ask them to take me out to dinner at the Brockton Inn where I can have snowflake rolls with lots of butter.


    It will be nice to hear their voices again. I guess they made their point that life in their prison house beats life in the wilderness. Too bad they don’t understand me.
    Stu keeps his movie camera dry and he is still taking his famous movies of us singing “The Cruel War is Raging and Johnny has to Fight”.

    MON Aug 24 -64
    Sun! I fished from the canoe and caught 3 nineteen inch pike! We’re eating them for breakfast (the others caught only one.) Strange to be at a campsite when it is still light. Jeff puts his arms around me a lot for a friend but he is an enjoyable person to be with. Chili for dinner! Yum!

  • Wild With Possibility: teen diary of Alysse Aallyn

    Quebec – Thurs – July 2 – 64


    So much to write don’t know where I should start! Quebec is a beautiful city built by dreamers. From the grassy fortress of the citadel to the boardwalks of the wharf I have fallen in love wit it. I loved London, Florence, Paris and Rome and now I have to add Quebec! You could be fooled into thinking that it was a prosperous French seaport.


    Not just the money and signs are different, the people are different as well. We drove all night to get here and when I awoke from my uncomfortable position on the floor we were parked on the Green Plains of Abraham!


    A troop was sent to buy breakfast while the rest of us walked around. I stood on a bluff overlooking the harbor and then sat meditatively on a bench. How beautiful life is, what a precious thing to have! How can people look forward to eternal life when this is so good? Seems greedy to ask for more!


    After breakfast, put on my blue gingham sundress and off to the Chateau Frontenac to use the john. “You can’t miss it!’ said Stu, putting me in the lead because my garbled French has him fooled.
    He underestimated me. I clung to the belief that since Chateau Frontenac is old, big and made of stone, any old big stone building would do. I led my faithful few to a storehouse, a club and the Quebec Institute of Dramatic Art before we wound up at the Quebec Parliament where we wandered up and down the halls.


    After all that fun, Andrea and I were on our own, working on more creative ways of getting lost. A street artist did my portrait for $2. He made me too pretty but flattery will get you everywhere. I’ll give it to Mom in a last-ditch effort to give her some illusions about me. I ruled the sailors and hoods and old men who came after us Unacceptable! Poor Andrea in mourning for her brothers will take anybody but I won’t let her. She wanted a midshipman, I wanted a French beatnik. We found two charming French beatniks (short-ish- my height) who walked us to our bus. Learned a new French word: “ravigoter” to freshen. Two beatniks gave us two kisses each!
    Singing on the bus: Up in the Air, Junior Birdman, Up on the Air, Upside Down! And Down in the Sea, Junior Frogman! Made camp WAY outside Quebec and we were tortured all night by malevolent mosquitoes. Next morning I was so sleepy I didn’t think I could stand up. Fortunately I can sleep at the laundromat. I sent so many postcards!

    July 4, 64 – Stratford Ontario
Happy Independence Day! The trip just began and tonight’s the last night!  I will pitch it to make it really great!
Arrived in Stratford too late to get the mail. Drat. Cruised around town, listened to some bagpipers, then pitched tent on the edge of town.
Dinner was delicious: tuna fish salad (in honor of the Catholics) and doughnut balls (Bisquick blobs in boiling Crisco) for dessert: delicious!  After that, we were all getting ready for the play Le Bourgeois Gentilhomme which I had seen twice and loved in the original French.  In English I should understand so much more.  Wearing my figure-flattering sailor suit  and white wood heeled sandals.

    Unfortunately my hair is dead after all this camping. It isn’t doing anything.
    Stratford is a lovely town and the theatre a splendid combination of old and new. Front balcony seats! The play was very good. At intermission Debbie came over and said two of the ushers were asking about me! I gave my address to the handsome one Dell Rynehardt. They walked us back to the bus Dell holding my hand. I would have let him kiss me but he didn’t try.


    We performed our song, the Trailblazer Anthem and Stu talked about how much the trip meant to him until the tears were hot in my head! I apologized for not doing more for the group and he was very understanding. Afterwards Andrea, Vicky and I slept in the same sleeping bag!!!
    Later –


    Saw the Falls! They were so beautiful but I did think they’d be taller. Too bad we won’t be seeing them by night – must be even more breathtaking than by day.
    Beginning to think tenderly of home, especially the sunlight striking that gray rug in the hallway. SusiAnna (he’s a boy) always hogs the brightest sunlight on the dining room floor. Plants everywhere, green and rich, the wood carved king with his tired kind face. Maybe there will be a letter from Mark!


    Last but not least my room with its green walls and twin pink-covered beds. Furry white flokati rug.
    Ending this on a happy note. Isn’t that the way all good things should end?

    TRAILBLAZER ANTHEM
    Oh we set out from Toledo on a bright and sunny day
    And our parents were there to wave us on our way!
    Gettysburg was our first stop where we made a movie flop
    As we rolled along the bumpy Eastern Roads!
    Bruises and hives, seven campers lost their lives as we rolled along the bumpy Eastern Roads!
    CHORUS: We’re still moving thank God, still moving Hallelujah! And the bus hasn’t conked out on us yet!
    Valley Forge was just a hop where
    We were picked up by the cops
    And the New York Fair made us spend our money there!
    Hanover we found was a Dartmouth kind of town
    As we rolled along the bumpy Eastern Roads!
    Peanut butter, jam, bug repelling spam oh we rolled along the bumpy Eastern roads!
    We flew to old Percé which is on the great Gaspé
    Where we realized French boys just love to fraternize
    “Bonjour, good day, ou est le cabinet?”
    As we rolled along the bumpy Eastern roads!
    Garçons of all kinds, Stu & Shavonne lost their minds
    As we rolled along the bumpy Eastern roads!
    We went out to the Boardwalk to see what we could find
    And each girl there had sailors on her mind
    The last two of our hauls were Stratford and the Falls as we rolled along the bumpy Eastern Roads!
    Rollers and combs, without money from our homes
    As we rolled along the bumpy Eastern roads!
    Oh, our sleeping bags were nests for nasty insect pests
    And the mess on our bus was very picturesque
    Though the trailer broke down once
    We’ll remember this for months
    As we rolled along the bumpy roads toward home!
    Impetigo and fleas, we had Band-Aids on our knees
    As we rolled along the bumpy roads toward home!

    Mon July 6 – 64
    Dear Diary, I‘m sure you’re tired of my lovelife, but I’m not. The Trailblazer bus roared into Brockton at 5:30 PM on a hot Sunday afternoon. Passed familiar figures – Haze & Bookie!!! I cried but he didn’t see me. Forgot about Tom & Dell, it’s all Bookie Bookie Bookie! Forced to go to the Pendragon house because my parents are out of town so I called Bookie from there. Bookie rushed over and kissed me. He doesn’t like taking off his mirrored shades but he will remove them for me. Julie & I agreed to meet Bookie & phil at the college snack bar. I care so deeply for him!

  • Wild With Possibility:

    Alysse Aallyn’s Teen Diary

    Thurs. Jun 18 – 64


    You have to forgive my writing – it’s hard to write on a jiggling bus! I snuck out one more time before I left. Andrea and Chase threw candy at my window – Bookie was easier to rouse because he sleeps on his porch. Andrea’s parents were already gone so she opened their liquor cabinet and Chase got drunk. (He is a problem. He steals things from cars. I think this is why he was kicked out of Eastern. ) Bookie and I didn’t have anything – we just wanted to slow dance. We kissed! He promised he will write! Andrea and Chase were making out like mad but Bookie walked me home.

    4:30 AM!
    Up at quarter to seven – too late to have breakfast – off to Toledo! We are getting to know everyone on the Trailblazers bus. I am working on a Trailblazers song to the tune of “Oh It Was Sad When the Great Ship Went Down”.


    Stu & Shavonne are the leaders. They are nice – especially Stu. He wanted a few kids who could speak French and Andrea volunteered me! Let’s hope I can understand enough to manage.


    I slept all morning; we stopped at 1 to each lunch (tinned food) in a motel parking lot. Maybe I can lose some poundage. Looked at a map and selected a park to stay in, (Gettysburg) in Pennsylvania. We slept in sleeping bags on the ground! It was hard as cement. I slept in my cute pink nightshirt. Walking around the park all day looking at monuments. Every now and then you get a whiff of history. Names like “Valley of Death” and “Bloody Run.” Stu posed us dying over a fence for a picture!


    Left Gettysburg driving too fast, the trailer broke free and we had to go to town to get a part. We need to travel tonight to get to the World’s Fair on Saturday.

    Fri Jun 19 – 64
I’ve decided to work on a third person account of my life. (Everybody wonders why I am writing all the time.) Look at myself from the outside in.  Obviously I have to change all the names – for me, chose the name Melantha Clenn. The title is “Dark Flower” which is what Melantha means.  Whew! That was enough work for one day!  My poor brain is exhausted! 
 Last night we reached Valley Forge very late and decided to sleep there.  There was nowhere to camp but thought it would not be too much to sleep by the side of the road.  We no sooner had out sleeping bags out then up comes a fuzz car!  (Stu referred to him later as Officer Remedial.)  No amount of pleading would work; he ordered us to “follow” him.  I guess he thought he was on Dragnet or something.  We weren’t even told where we were going!  Straight to the Valley Forge Police Station! Shavonne and Stu were led inside and the rest of us just sat there arguing about whether our camp counselors would be arrested for contributing to the delinquency of minors! 
But when they came out they said we would be allowed to sleep on some rocks behind the fire station!
I do miss Bookie but for some reason think mostly of Mark!  I’ll send him a postcard from Gettysburg: North Carolina memorial is a good one.

Sun Jun 21 – 64 – YMCA Camp in Poughkeepsie, New York
Can’t believe we’ve been on this trip four days only! For such a motley crew of sixteen girls and two counselors we are very compatible.  Two of the girls are childish which I actually don’t like. 
Shavonne is a sweet person. She is plain though with a very bad figure. She is certainly not distracting Stu from thinking about his girlfriend who he says we will all meet!  Shavonne is reading The Agony and the Ecstasy, says its very good and will lend it to me when she’s finished. (It’s a big fat book and she seems to read onl8 4 pages at a time! She was impressed that I’ve seen the Sistine Chapel.)

    Michelangelo says: “the promises of this world are phantoms and to have faith in oneself and become something of worth and value is the best and safest course”.


    Stu is broadminded – I think Daddy would approve. But he does have fits of anger and bursts of gloom. He’s a Catholic and says we should all get a chance to attend mass! I found the sermon interesting and the hymns beautiful but the Latin is annoying. Andrea and I left early because we had signed up for horseback riding at eleven thirty and when we returned for lunch Stu was furious! Said we were rude! We offered to be waitresses to get back into his good graces.
    Andrea and I have a room to ourselves in the South Barn. Boys in the North Barn!


    The World’s Fair is no Disneyland but it was interesting. Andrea and I pretended to be French! I got an ID bracelet with a big A on it. (I got another for Avril’s birthday.) I love it and I never take it off. Andrea and I saw Peter and Gordon who were performing – all the girls screamed and we screamed right along with them. I hadn’t heard of them before but I like their Willow song. Also the Eggheads and the Esquires. We were separated from the performers by a pool and a lot of kids jumped in! Andrea and I danced instead while 3 men filmed us with movie cameras! The only performer whose autograph we got was Danny Taylor. He was very nice, says he’s been doing this since he was 13.

    Mon. Jun 22 - 64
Thinking strange powerful thoughts.  I guess it is another mood coming.  How can I think of Bookie and death in the same thought?  Probably because I feel bad about Mark. I didn’t say the things he wanted and I didn’t want him to say the things I thought I wanted!  Bookie is outgoing and clever but less scary somehow.  Do I like being the one who cares more? I don’t think I want to be in this boat alone!  I hate myself for complicating my life! 
Now, meeting so many new people I am having to worry whether people like me.  Andrea called me “ugly” several times yesterday.  She was trying to hit a tender spot but I think she was really feeling the opposite! So there goes that relationship! 
I would rather not be hideous. 
Dark Flower coming along pretty well.

Mystic Seaport, CT – Tues June 23 – 64
Awful night!  Laura stole my diary and read it!  Made me so mad!  And that’s not all. We were sitting around the camp fire singing songs and I saw Laura and Andrea  planning something in the woods.  Said they are sneaking out to meet four boys and did I want to come!  I was all for it!  Laura, Chris, Andrea and that awful Julie who keeps tagging along. 
Unfortunately the minute I saw the boys I wanted to leave! They looked like hoods to me, but I couldn’t talk anyone else into leaving. Andrea started making out with a complete stranger immediately!  I talked to an ugly lug named Ralph, but when I told him about Bookie he kept his hands off. Then who should appear but Stu!  He knew all about it!
I told him nothing happened and he was very sweet.  Said he gives me credit for a  lot of common sense, says I am one of “the most intelligent fourteen year olds he’s ever met!  Others not so much. This AM when I woke up my eyelids were swollen: gnats bit them almost shut!
Really liked Mystic Seaport.  We toured the beautifully restored ships. Here’s a picture of the Charles Morgan. Bought ships-in-a-bottle for all family members and sent postcards to everyone.
Stu staged another of his “movies”.  I was a barmaid! 

Mass & N. H – Fr. Jun 26 – 64
Having a ball! We are in Hanover NH at Dartmouth College. What a pity its not co-ed or I would go there.  We went to Boston and rode the MTA – saw a lot of Harvard!  Met Stu’s girlfriend who is a waitress at an ice cream store! They just stare at each other adoringly.  Luckily she gave us free ice cream because now I have exactly seven cents to my name.  Writing home desperately for money.  I owe Vicky 5¢, Sally 10¢ and Chris 5¢.
Stu goes to Dartmouth and he was eager to show it off.  Not having seen boys for DAYS Andrea and I were principally interested in finding one or two or FOUR THOUSAND. 
It didn’t take long!  The few girls we’ve seen are nothing much so the Trailblazers bus is getting a lot of attention!   At Hopkins Hall we picked up seven eligible males, all of them cute who promised to visit our campsite and say hi.  Stu is not too sure about this.  A particularly cute boy named Tom Morris said, “We can’t help it if we sleepwalk, can we?”
I was Head Cook that night and while stirring the ravioli was not too surprised to see the bushes rustling.  When we sat down to eat they jumped out to say hi!  Stu made them go away.  They kept loitering around making it hard to go to the bathroom.   
When I climbed into my sleeping bag Morris scared me to death jumping out from behind a tree!  We talked for hours, promising to write each other. We have a lot in common (He is 5’11’!) but I don’t see how we can be more than friends. 

Percé on the Gaspé – June 28 – 64
I seem to be in an awfully good mood right now!  Probably because we’re on the move, singing our latest camp song to the tune of 500 Miles, “If you miss the bus we’re on, You will know where we have gone

    You will see the garçons trailing on behind…”


    Who would guess an all-girl trip would be so much fun!


    Poor Alain! He is a French boy from Montreal that I met here. He is cool. MARK, BOOKIE, MORRIS and now ALAIN. I’ve “got” them except I haven’t got any of them! It’s either sheer starvation or crowd control? You can see I really do have problems! The question is: which of them do I want? The $64,000 question!

  • Wild With Possibility: the teen years of Alysse Aallyn

    Wed. Jun 10 – 64


    A great summer is ahead! I’m excited – home life’s been getting pretty tough. Can’t say whether that’s my fault or not. I have many ideas on the subject – you will probably be forced to hear them later. Mom tells me I am too independent; that I am constantly trying to be an island unto myself.

    Camp Stark is a YMCA camp. They call it Camp Tarantula because of the Amenities (more like Eumenides. Greek.) This camp attempts to Instill Christian Character.  I don’t know how much Christian Character I already have – it all seems to be ebbing away.  At the end of the summer I may have even less. But it sounds like a lovely place to go.  Shastain, MI meets my requirement of Not Being In Ohio. We heard about it through the Imries.  My mouth started to water when I heard at Horsemanship Division you work with your own horse!  Do you impart Christian Character to them or do they impart Horse Character to you? I can but wonder; unfortunately I first have to go through Freshman Division. I was on the waiting list – it was only a week ago that I was told I was in if want an all-girl Trailblazer trip back East! !!  My friend Andrea is going, too!  She is fun but thinks boys were made to be taken advantage of.  Her trip to camp is not for a good reason – her two brothers were killed in a motorcycle accident (drunk driver.)  Now it’s just her and her parents and apparently they need to be alone. 

What with buying and packing and marking my days are just filled up!!!

Thurs. Jun 11 – 64
I knew sooner or later I’d have to acquaint you with family problems. Poor diary. My reputation around here is Slovenly Loaf who has never done a day’s work in her life. Most of the time I creep around the walls trying not to be seen but yesterday I swept the porch and washed twenty-eight screens – I call that hard work for a summer day when all my friends are at the pool. But I don’t get any thanks, it’s all “Poor you.” So why try? Today I’m supposed to clean the house!  I hope they don’t come in here to check on me!

Maybe mother can’t understand me but I understand her.  And I forgive her.  I will permit myself only to see the kindness that is there.  Remind me to read this when I become angry and tearful. Daddy’s in the hospital with an infected kidney but it’s not serious. 

John Bookover invited me to the dance tonight!  I don’t know why since he thinks Mary Ann Murphy likes him (she denies it.) It certainly is great to be a girl!  The town dances are at the Fisher Food Pkg Lot!  “Dancing in the Streets” blasts from a truck and all the teenagers come!  I’m finding Mark a lot easier to forget than I thought. John is very skinny but he is willing to dance fast which is rare. All the boys want to dance as slow as possibly.  A dance would look like a wake if it was up to them.

Sun. Jun 14 - 64
Bookie (everyone calls John Bookie)  invited me & Andrea out at night to join him & Chase.  Andrea and I wore jeans and our father’s white shirts.  Andrea told Genevieve which I knew was a mistake (she is very righteous) and we only got as far as the garage. “Tell your friends goodnight” said Mom through her teeth. Alysse the juvenile delinquent!  Oh well! I don’t like foursies anyway. (Double dates.) Date to play tennis instead. Bookie definitely doesn’t care for me as much as I care for him.

Thurs. Jun 18 – 64
You have to forgive my writing – it’s hard to write on a jiggling bus!  I snuck out one more time before I left. Andrea and Chase threw candy at my window – Bookie was easier to rouse because he sleeps on his porch. Andrea’s parents were already gone so she opened their liquor cabinet and Chase got drunk. (He is a problem.  He steals things from cars.  I think this is why he was kicked out of Eastern. ) Bookie and I didn’t have anything – we just wanted to slow dance. We kissed!  He promised he will write! Andrea and Chase were making out like mad but Bookie walked me home. 4:30 AM! 

Up at quarter to seven – too late to have breakfast – off to Toledo!  We are getting to know everyone on the Trailblazers bus. I am working on a Trailblazers song to the tune of “Oh It Was Sad When the Great Ship Went Down”. 

Stu & Shavonne are the leaders. They are nice – especially Stu. He wanted a few kids who could speak French and Andrea volunteered me!  Let’s hope I can understand enough to manage.
I slept all morning; we stopped at 1 to each lunch (tinned food) in a motel parking lot.  Maybe I can lose some poundage.  Looked at a map and selected a park to stay in, (Gettysburg) in Pennsylvania. We slept in sleeping bags on the ground! It was hard as cement. I slept in my cute pink nightshirt. Walking around the park all day looking at monuments.  Every now and then you get a whiff of history. Names like “Valley of Death” and “Bloody Run.” Stu posed us dying over  a fence for a picture!

Left Gettysburg driving too fast, the trailer broke free and we had to go to town to get a part.  We need to travel tonight to get to the World’s Fair on Saturday.

Fri Jun 19 – 64
I’ve decided to work on a third person account of my life. (Everybody wonders why I am writing all the time.) Look at myself from the outside in.  Obviously I have to change all the names – for me, chose the name Melantha Clenn. The title is “Dark Flower” which is what Melantha means.  Whew! That was enough work for one day!  My poor brain is exhausted! 

 Last night we reached Valley Forge very late and decided to sleep there.  There was nowhere to camp but thought it would not be too much to sleep by the side of the road.  We no sooner had out sleeping bags out then up comes a fuzz car!  (Stu referred to him later as Officer Remedial.)  No amount of pleading would work; he ordered us to “follow” him.  I guess he thought he was on Dragnet or something.  We weren’t even told where we were going!  Straight to the Valley Forge Police Station! Shavonne and Stu were led inside and the rest of us just sat there arguing about whether our camp counselors would be arrested for contributing to the delinquency of minors! 
But when they came out they said we would be allowed to sleep on some rocks behind the fire station!
I do miss Bookie but for some reason think mostly of Mark!  I’ll send him a postcard from Gettysburg: North Carolina memorial is a good one.

Sun Jun 21 – 64 – YMCA Camp in Poughkeepsie, New York
Can’t believe we’ve been on this trip four days only! For such a motley crew of sixteen girls and two counselors we are very compatible.  Two of the girls are childish which I actually don’t like. 

Shavonne is a sweet person. She is plain though with a very bad figure. She is certainly not distracting Stu from thinking about his girlfriend who he says we will all meet!  Shavonne is reading The Agony and the Ecstasy, says its very good and will lend it to me when she’s finished. (It’s a big fat book and she seems to read only 4 pages at a time! She was impressed that I’ve seen the Sistine Chapel.)

    Michelangelo says: “the promises of this world are phantoms and to have faith in oneself and become something of worth and value is the best and safest course”.


    Stu is broadminded – I think Daddy would approve. But he does have fits of anger and bursts of gloom. He’s a Catholic and says we should all get a chance to attend mass! I found the sermon interesting and the hymns beautiful but the Latin is annoying. Andrea and I left early because we had signed up for horseback riding at eleven thirty and when we returned for lunch Stu was furious! Said we were rude! We offered to be waitresses to get back into his good graces.
    Andrea and I have a room to ourselves in the South Barn. Boys in the North Barn!


    The World’s Fair is no Disneyland but it was interesting. Andrea and I pretended to be French! I got an ID bracelet with a big A on it. (I got another for Avril’s birthday.) I love it and I never take it off. Andrea and I saw Peter and Gordon who were performing – all the girls screamed and we screamed right along with them. I hadn’t heard of them before but I like their Willow song. Also the Eggheads and the Esquires. We were separated from the performers by a pool and a lot of kids jumped in! Andrea and I danced instead while 3 men filmed us with movie cameras! The only performer whose autograph we got was Danny Taylor. He was very nice, says he’s been doing this since he was 13.

  • Inspired Pleasure

    Diary of a Dancer – Last Post

    Party Castle – Mon 9 July 79 – 7:50 PM

    26 hours without T. Spoke to him last night and
    again this afternoon. His acceptance of me is total, but it comes from
    a position of strength and I have fears of being annihilated. Last night
    I experienced hallucinatory states – drove home the wrong way – felt
    something was happening to the car – re-experienced my swallowing
    problem. Resolved my panic by starting a poem.

                Sat night Toss and I read the diary passages where

    we lose our “divinity” (his word) together. He cried and told me what he’d
    felt like from his “side”, wanting to be male & in control, feeling helpless
    & immature. Agreed if we had married then we’d be divorced now.

    11:05PM Trying to read Oneness & Separateness. Not well suited to me
    right now! Much as I want to be a mother the thought of a demanding
    infant between me & T truly horrifying. Insane fears of rejection and
    abandonment – why on earth should I trust this man? Called T at work!
    Complete craziness. He reassured me we will have private alone time
    a real vacation in the Berkshires. He said champagne arrived.
    Called A & we discussed Mom & Dad – how they rewarded “self-sufficiency”
    and responded to neediness coldly. Makes it hard to be honest now but
    I hate this weirdly formal relationship with my own parents. Avril says there
    is no retraining them.

    Sat 14 July 79 – StormFall Farm – 11:15 PM
    Oh, my God who would believe it – here I am 11
    years later! Told T about my uncle last night as we made sexual
    “confessions”. He was completely calm about it so it’s no longer a
    Big Secret. He insisted I read his ex-girlfriend’s letters. She was a
    Piper Cub to his Concorde, believe me. He kept carbons of his letters
    to her!!!! Not very loving – downright fatherly. In a bad way.

            T’s actual father and he smoked cigars last night

    after dinner leaning against the mantel – they were so beautiful together
    I felt stunned. Wrote a poem:


    MY HUSBAND SMOKES CIGARS WITH HIS FATHER
    BY CANDLELIGHT

    Your profiles cut my heart like glass.
    Go ahead. I’m a bleeder, I’ll
    Still be here when you look back.
    Your father is a silver-headed
    Walking-stick; his elongation glows with far less heat.
    You’re his nemesis; and he’s used to it.
    The wooden floors washed cornelian
    Perhaps by sunset
    Perhaps by jealousy of girls who
    Lost you; judged too soon the temper of your eyes
    Wrote too many letters or
    Not enough; the wrong kind
    Addressed to the pale law student with
    The cinderblock heart
    Traveling commentator with the hundred
    Dollar bill rolled inside his shoe,
    The long-haired Pinkerton guard.
    You learned to suck the cherries
    Scarless from the tree; it’s no mean art
    Broke a few at first; we all did.
    By what right am I the winner?
    You chose me in thirty seconds leaving
    enough time to smoke another cigar.

                Everyone wants us to marry before May. But I feel

    I need some time in Kentucky first. Toss told me last night that on paper
    he is a millionaire. Here’s luck, because if I keep on keeping on, I’m a pauper!
    Tom’s grandmother’s response was “I am not surprised.”
    She committed herself to reading my “thriller”.
    At dinner he announced I’m the only woman he’s ever
    wanted to marry. Tom’s dad said he thought he’d be a bachelor forever.
    Privately we affirmed absolute sexual fidelity forever. Will we be able to keep it?

    Plush Palace – Wed 18 July 79 – 4:55 PM
    Boring day but good tips. Magnificent party at
    The Third Edition last night for Avril’s birthday. (I didn’t care for Avril’s latest
    “honey” Vigo but was furious at myself – she should date as widely as possible.
    Maybe I was affected by T who is a snob and a purist.) Drinks, fruit & cheese –
    then dinner at The Old Angler & Frank Langella in Dracula. (Not a good version.)
    “Finances” discussion with T. He talked me out of
    selling my car. I worry about being dependent on him but he says it will be fine.
    Sounds to me like he is living on a knife’s edge – working part time, going to
    law school, selling stock when he needs money (which he is loathe to do being
    naturally frugal.) Too tired to make love last night but we started up in the
    middle of the night – both asleep. Doors keep opening – then there’s
    another one.

    Castle – 1 PM – Thurs 19 July 79
    So happy I can’t take it all in. Feel like someone
    recovering from a long illness. Read Cheever’s Goodbye My Brother –
    as satisfying as a novel. Last night we made love for hours and hours but
    I just couldn’t come – kept holding his face saying, “Is it really you”? Dancing
    with Barbara the Kikuyu and blonde Joyce of the day-glo costumes.

    3 PM Party Castle – 24 July 79
    First real friction last night – very predictably, about
    my job. I’m irritated over the assumption that its sordid and brutalizing.
    It is totally NOT the same as the dancers in DC!!! LIFE can be sordid and
    brutalizing – I like this club because it ISN’T and I’ve tried others. We
    discussed HIS job which also has its sordid and corrupting aspects.
    Duh. His last girlfriend gave him shit about it (and refused to read the paper!)
    so it’s a sore point. He should get it. There was a horrible moment when
    he felt foreign and alien – but I expected it – too much intimacy always
    causes a backlash. Trying to read Sisters & Strangers. The Victorian
    novel is not dead.

    Castle – 2 Aug 79 – Wed
    Seems hopeless to TRY writing in this book – things
    happen so fast – a month is an eternity. Last night celebrated our 11th
    “divinity loss” anniversary – and a difficult anniv. It was. T came to see
    me dance for the first time – with Avril so it wouldn’t be so bad but had
    to leave he was so upset. He didn’t like me smiling! Like I’m ENJOYING
    myself! The PLACE didn’t bother him (“reverent & reserved” were his
    words) just my pleasure in movement beauty & freedom! Uh oh! He goes
    back to my parents’ argument: IT’S TURNING MEN ON. So what? I get
    impatient with that – that way lurks the “hajib”.


    We have to educate each other. At the end the
    atmosphere seemed cleared and we both cried with relief. Even though I
    know my love is in the larval stage, I’ve never loved anyone the way I love
    him. We had our last dinner at 641 E street – steak and wine, fruit, cream,
    brandy. He asked me if there were any boyfriends’ the report of whose marriage “depressed” me (he was referring to my marriage) and I had to say no.


    He opened a letter from Mindy, ex-girlfriend he was
    thinking of re-starting a relationship with except she went to Nepal. A letter
    I would have thought perfectly reasonable two months ago now strikes me as
    ridiculous – an ounce of love is worth more than all these pages of barter.


    I got a wonderful letter from Devon – he’s found
    “another girl” (with three more in reserve I’m betting) and wishes me the best.
    But T was upset because he closed with “I love you” a word NOT thrown
    around in his world! (Mindy and Cindy don’t say it!) He says it’s the only
    part of the letter he believes – “the guy is a total phony.” I said his only victim
    is himself. We then made love on the floor on top of all our exes’ letters.
    Gloriously. Got a poem out of it.

    The Bridesmaid
    Yes, I know everything
    You’re my poor
    Relation.
    I know of your daddy’s desk where you
    Fucked with formaldehyde fingers
    I know of your lonely
    Rosary of abortions
    I repeat, I know everything.
    We made love on your letters undisturbed
    As two icons.
    She’s imperfect
    He told me.
    Unseated by mortality
    We must take our place
    With the king’s crazy mistresses;
    Brewing menstrual blood coffee
    And mandrake root tea.
    Swim away, little bridesmaid,
    You’re too young
    I’m in love
    We’ve got
    Too much in common ever to meet.
    Need to see dentist & gyno, overhaul bike,
    pay bills. T. meets Ralph Nader at 6. Lucky me snagging someone so
    ambitious and competent.

    Castle Mon 6 Aug 79
                God I need Maine. I love T but I need to get away

    from him. I am used to being alone 4-5 hours a day. Starving for that.
    Wonder how many otherwise perfect relationships break up for this reason!
    T. is a little TOO driven. A little TOO single-minded. Makes me argue with him
    – I can’t help it. For example: he talked about the “ugliness of the desert
    landscape.” It’s not my “thing” either – because I grew up somewhere else
    – but O’Keeffe taught me to see the beauty of it. What he REALLY meant was
    “I don’t like it” but he raises it to a religious principle “New England is better.” That’s embarrassing.

    I constantly feel he’s trying to “re-educate” me
    – for example he didn’t like my turquoise silk pants because he “doesn’t like colors
    that don’t appear in nature.” When shown an aquarium of tropical fish he doesn’t “count” them, their colors are “cultivated” and somehow “wrong.” The truth is bright colors make him nervous. So say THAT.


    Sat night we went to an office party of his people (to
    which I wore the aforementioned pants) and praised the house over-
    extravagantly. (He does NOT like my yellow velvet furniture. I’m giving it
    to Maureen.) “One good picture” per wall, beige Danish oldern furniture –
    unbelievably boring and sterile. A chipped china frog would have done
    the place a world of good. Could warn of decorating problems ahead.
    His younger brother Dominic in town – when I
    complimented his Mazda sports car and said I’d love to have one someday
    Toss said “we’ll see” as if I could never buy one for myself! These
    flare-ups are important signs. Must work on my self-value.


    8 Aug 79
    Packing for Maine came across D’s letters. Not a
    “good” one among them. “Phoniness” is NOT his problem – that’s not
    the right word – he’s not even “tone deaf” which was Bruce’s disorder.
    I think it’s a “temperature” thing – he WANTS all passion sexualized
    (not that he would ever admit it) and doesn’t trust intimacy, closeness –
    as if he doesn’t believe – doesn’t want to believe it exists. He fears never
    freeing himself from the physical so he cultivates a lonely “spirituality” but
    he’s mired HIMSELF in it. So that’s pathetic. I take responsibility – he
    probably felt hounded by my love. Thank God I escaped is all I can say. I’m
    betting he was geared up to torture me for a lifetime.
    I let T read my short story about his mother. That was
    probably a mistake. (In it he’s planning her death!) He made some idiotic
    writing class comments – I said it wasn’t THAT far along – but there’s
    something appealingly mythic about this undigested mass. Worry about
    it in ten years!

    Shadowe Island ME – Mon 7:30 AM 12 Aug 79
            Toss just left on the ferry so I can relax. Wish this

    diary ended here – I need a New Life. But Not Yet. Rainy with a gray sea. Dogs stretched out snoring on the Greek carpet.
    This visit has been everything I wanted, but the first
    night was classic in its ghastliness. Guests showed up at cocktails and stayed
    through dinner – unexpectedly – this mob scene making our announcement
    a bit tougher.
    Toss whispered, “Want to go through with it?”
    I said, “Sure.”


    We opened the champagne. The guests loved it
    – Mom & Dad really surprised. Dad started talking about his difficult
    father-in-law and how things would be different but flat out calling me a
    liar when I chimed in about how Wilbur returned his prison mail (he told
    me this story HIMSELF last Christmas!) I kept my temper – oh I must have
    got it wrong. (I didn’t. We’d discussed it later ad nauseam.) Avril attacked
    me later for bringing it up and “embarrassing” Dad – but he’d been TALKING
    ABOUT HIS DIFFICULT FATHER IN LAW. Toss was surprised at Avril’s hostility
    – used to her as an ally. He said, “They obviously think you’re invulnerable.”
    Probably. If so they’re all idiots! I thought A was upset
    about her own out-of-his-depth boyfriend, Vigo.
    Anyway T rescued the evening bringing tears to Mom’s
    eyes by talking about how he’d always loved me. M & D apologized &
    congratulated us.


    Sunday the four of us toured the island – trying to
    get along with Vigo. (A says he has just one testicle as if that’s all that’s
    wrong with him.) At dinner watched slides of my growing up – T tremendously
    moved – then lobster dinner.

    Tues 13 Aug 79 – 5 PM
    T called last night on his WATS line and we talked ½
    an hour. Says he used to play an “airport game” of “Looking for his future
    wife” but thought “I AM married!” Wow!

    Sun. 19 Aug 79
    T’s letter came! Glorious. I do not feel worthy.
    Tension between A & V – he teases her too much – we all try to ignore it –
    tough to figure out how to call him on it without opening up hostilities. Hope
    she dumps him. T on phone!
    Ex-island boyfriend visits. A says he acts like he wants to knock me to
    the floor and French kiss me to death. Seems accurate. Glad T missed him.

    Party Castle – 11 PM 22 Aug 79
    Glad to go to Maine and thrilled to leave it. Mary &
    Debby dancing. Today’s been eventful – T got my letters and was
    enormously moved. He says the worst mistake he ever made was burning
    my teenage letters. We should try to exist without this phoning but can’t
    help ourselves. Diet going well: I feel good. Struggling with a pile of thank
    you letters.

    Castle – 7 PM Fri 25 Aug 79
    T. and I separated 11 days already – feels like
    eternity. Avril announces she wants her own apt so I should put house
    on the market. Maybe its easier. Flooding small publishers with Blood
    Memory     – feel pessimistic however. 3 poems accepted – 2 by Colorado
    Woman, 1 by Friends Journal. Doesn’t feel as good as I’d hoped.
    Struggling with new novel where I try to tell the truth about Devon. But
    why should anyone want THAT God knows. Moving costs $400. I still think
    I should sell my Fiat. Rotten crowd. Bored and jerking like a marionette.
    Dancing with crazy Robin and Anne who never stops talking. She says
    June’s in the hospital in a full body cast – will never dance again. 2 more
    sets – praise God.
    Trying to read about Lewis Carroll. A says Zach
    threatening to show up. Don’t show up, Zach. I have a headache.

    2:30 AM Sun 27 Aug 79 –
    There is a God. Zach didn’t show. Long phone call
    w/T then walk dogs to think about it. He is such a powerful person
    it’s a little disturbing. Said he read my poem (The Duel) to his most
    erudite friend who was very impressed. We wound up in another
    argument about my dancing. I can’t bear his slurs so I referred to his
    past drug use – WE’VE BOTH EXPERIMENTED, ALL RIGHT? He
    wants me to live without money then complains about selling stock. I told
    him it’s a “schizophrenic bind.” Didn’t mention how I have to PRY my stock
    (that’s in my name) out of Mom and Dad.


    Reading an idiotic romance – its very idiocy is refreshing.
    I see why people get addicted to these. Like looking at maps when you’re lost.
    Ok they’re only two dimensional but its SOMETHING!

    Party Castle Tues 28 Aug 79
    Last night dancing. Celebrate with chocolates but I’m too
    enervated to appreciate it. Finished I’m Radcliffe, Fly Me. Ultimately a failure.
    Fails to explore the inherent corruption of institutional structures. Horrible
    night. $5 in tips – they are sick of the sight of me and I refuse to buy new
    costumes. I am scared to death of being dependent on T. I think he could
    reassure me but doesn’t know how because if I really needed him would I
    be so desirable? Is a puzzlement.


    I feel like I’m unfastening my suckers from Avril and grabbing
    onto T! Up here without a net! Then I get mad at myself for being so infantile.
    Can I just write and feel powerful? We’ll see! Doubts creeping in! This time
    next week I’ll be in Kentucky! Well, I’ve written some good poems lately.
    Self-confidence atrocity attack. Feel & look rotten. Realizing
    the extent to which I was fertile soil for my parents’ anxieties.


    3:30 Thurs 30 Aug 79
    Everything done, ready to leave. I’m in shock. Crawled
    into the bath with a vodka tonic and now I’m feeling better. Trying to figure
    out how to approach parents for money. Maybe they could give me my own
    stock as engagement present? Feel I won’t be able to disguise my rage.
    This “I’m All Right Jack” no matter WHAT – is mighty convenient for them.
    I realize its any sense of helplessness that triggers all this
    rage NOT a good sign for T’s and my relationship. He can’t “make” me
    independent! I must not succumb, or Plath-ize. (She sacrificed herself
    to the gods of rage.) I’m doing this guy no favors handing him a woman
    on the edge of breakdown.

    4:25PM – My darling just called! Relief! He borrowed a truck from
    somebody so although we’ll have to drive separately we won’t have
    movers or returns to cope with. He’s driving it out here so I can sleep as
    late as I like which I really need. Impossibly intense happiness. Peace & joy. Feel we have been standing in a dinghy trying to balance. Equilibrium is everything. The irrevocableness of marriage. My children mutely regard my choice. The hopelessness of explaining myself to any of T’s friends. Rain. Any excuse not to take a walk (T lives in bad neighborhood.) Feel like a girl in a gothic novel except for the constant sex which makes it a different kind of novel. Break with the past.

    Reading Robert Ludlum’s perfectly ludicrous Matarese Circle. In 100 yrs people will wonder how we stomached this stuff. A. and I going to Olney theatre to see The Bat tonight.

    TOMORROW STARTS WOMAN INTO WOLF Alysse Aallyn’s thriller about difficult marriages & split identities

    …a thrill-ride, unique and highly recommended reading.” –Entrepreneur.com
    “deceit, rape, fertility, imprisonment and a mother’s grief…as each piece of the tightly coiled fiction was loosed I waited for the revelation to come…she couldn’t imagine the extent of the deception until it was spelled out. Neither could I.” –MyShelf.com
    “one of the most unusual mysteries I have ever read…I loved reading Woman Into Wolf … kept me on the edge of my seat right through the end…I highly recommend this novel to fans of crime mysteries that also
    enjoy some extra spice in their stories.” – Readerviews.com
    “a very fine psychological thriller…
    the characters in this book are as bright
    as crystal and as sharp as shattered glass. Aallyn not only can describe them to a neo-noun, she can make them speak
    true to those characters.
    Quite a talent…a novel every bit as worthy as her first.” ArmchairInterviews.com

    “Satisfying as hell.” -Quoth the Raven

  • Inspired Pleasure

    Diary of a Dancer

    Tues 28 Mar 78
    Extraordinary spiritual experience. A haunting. Someone
    standing behind me in the empty house. I turned and no one was there but
    power only increased. At first I was afraid – then felt a melting richness of love
    – coming at me, into me from outside of me. I realized it was Jesus. Relief.
    Confidence.
    Of course afterwards I question it all over the place.
    How could I be so certain? Maybe just an ordinary haunting by a peculiarly
    loving ghost? Maybe a thing in my head? But I do have that memory of certainty
    and bliss to cling to. Very powerful. It’s out there – somewhere.


    Starlight Thu 14 Mar 79 – 10:00 PM
    Started out as a very bad night – trying to dance myself
    exhausted – then some guy tipped me a $50 and I ate an orange and now
    I feel better. (Feeling so unbearably fat I bought diet pills. Then “dinner” of
    cashews and wine.) Finished Prayerbook for a Skeptic – I liked it. Fortunately,
    I brought along a ton of reading. Had to dump Joyce Carol Oates’ Do With Me
    What you Will     when I became disgusted with zombie heroine. NOT as good as
    The Hungry Ghosts (but reminiscent of McCarthy’s Groves of Academe.) I’m
    in the mood for something different. Not, however, C.S. Lewis’ The Four Loves
    which is deeply annoying. Women are “unqualified” to be “true friends”. Isn’t that
    the “know your place” argument?


    Maybe what I need is Thos Merton’s, Seeds of
    Contemplation    . How to switch the physical into the spiritual
    – that’s what I can’t figure out. Sexual longings intense – my body on fire.
    No wonder monks beat themselves. Peace and concentration in the dressing room
    – we are all doing doubles. Yvonne is fine. She is more than a match for
    Stockley – saw through him without a problem. She just acts interested in all
    men regardless. On principle. She says if you want to choose, you’ll have to
    compare offers. So sensible. Tomorrow a day of cleaning & working in my study.


    Sun. 18 Mar 1:50 PM.
    Terrible nightmare about Usher Glayne. His face
    melted showing the skull underneath – two hideous holes of darkness. The
    world is fierce, cruel, we are all hobbled. Wake to astonishingly gorgeous day.
    Worked on expanding short story Erin – cleaning away deadwood – it’s only
    going to be 30,000 words but the hell with it. Can’t “produce” to “compete”. Want
    to find the intrinsic shape buried within. The secret meaning. Letting it speak for
    itself makes me happy.


    Adoring Pilgrim at Tinker Creek. (Wish I had written it.)
    Then it’s off to the library á la bicyclette for more theology books. Obviously,
    I should worry more about Success and the fact that I’m dirt poor. But I have
    arranged my life so carefully to do exactly what I want. Seems a shame to ruin it now.


    12:30 PM Mon 19 Mar 78
    It’s a problem that I don’t like Usher’s poetry. At least
    he talks about sperm and chastity so presumably is not yet dead from the waist
    down. He’s successful and I am not, so criticism from me sounds like sour
    grapes. I call to thank him for the books; a woman who is probably his wife
    answers. Should I be embarrassed? We are NOT having A Thing. Out in the
    yard with dogs trying to read Teilhard de Chardin. Hot sun.


    Café Rabelais, Wed 21 Mar 79 3:25 PM
    Pleasant 3 hr lunch with Usher discussing literature
    – he had to run away leaving me with my coffee. Tried to get me to pretend
    to date his friend who is wheelchair bound. I have a feeling this was the
    whole point of the lunch. I want to talk about literature, he wants to give
    me away to his friends. I said No. But couldn’t I just make nice? I said no.
    I’m not that kind of nice. I took revenge by asking if he lives with his wife.
    He said “sort of”. Their child is “a problem”. No one can write within a mile
    of this child. (Poor wife. Luckily her life doesn’t matter!) Usher seemed
    taken aback by my questions so maybe I won’t hear from him again.
    Good lunch, though. Very cuisine minceur – lots of different dishes and
    you don’t feel full afterwards. (Rabelais would have been very
    disappointed.) I top off my coffee with a glass of blond chartreuse.
    At the Phillips, I saw a Goya that made me want to burst into tears.
    Note to self: reorganize Courtney entirely around paintings. But which
    artist would be perfect to express my anti-heroine?


    4:20 PM Thurs 22 Mar 79
    Today a model for what all days should be.
    I’ve passed unscathed through the financial hysteria of closing, even
    have money in the bank. Sparkling weather; spring is definitely here.
    A day of sunbathing – the first are always the worst – skin a white blubbery
    mass. Reading Kroll’s book on Plath – gives one furiously to think.  She
    wants to find everything in the poems themselves – and of course – that’s
    exactly where it all is. Plath controlled by potency symbols.


    I am sick of Devon’s letters – he must “shield his eyes”
    against my radiance”. Come on. I can’t believe he doesn’t want exactly
    the life he’s got. Always hard for me to believe that one can reject the
    sprinkles, the cherries, the walnuts on the sundae. My family always
    lectured me for being attention-seeking and voracious – so it makes
    me shy to advance myself into anyone’s purview. Plath seemed prepared
    to be loved for her accomplishments rather than her being – a scary
    compromise.


    Although I do recognize that I am trying to
    experience my own “wholeness” through the eyes of another with all
    the danger that implies. Trying to kick my sugar cravings.

                11:30 AM Fri 23 Mar 79
            More sunbathing – my own skin smells

    intoxicating to me. Like pool water, like beach sand, childhood.
    Dixie – “God’s lioness” stretches out beside me, wind ruffling her fur.
    I write a poem about dogs.

    Sticks

    Peter’s dog
    Went on fetching sticks
    Long after it was dead.
    We’d find them on the stoop
    Arranged In patterns
    Pete would sigh and say
    That’s poor old Monk all right
    Still missing people games
    Heaven won’t allow

                Add it to my ghost story book.
            Unexpected tear sheets in the mail from Usher

    – his reviews of Plath. He says he didn’t think it “professional” to disclose
    that he knew her – that seems unprofessional to me. Makes his comments
    seem underhanded: pale. He says diplomatically about my poetry that I’m a “rare being.” Hmmm.

                11:40 AM Mon 26 Mar 79
            Ezra Pound’s last years (Nigel Stock) make very

    depressing reading. I wish “survivors” seemed more enviable, considering the alternative is Death at the Height of Glory. The good news about a long life
    is, you can accumulate quite a body of work – the bad news is your instrument
    is increasingly deranged.
    Dreadful schedule this week – 5 shifts including one
    double. Present of $2500 “house gift” from Dad means I don’t need to accept
    but I would have to quit and I’m not ready. These are the best places to dance
    with the best managers – I don’t want to get thrown into some of the compromising situations I’ve heard tell of. Plus they just let me up and leave for vacation
    whenever I want. Can’t play that hole card too often.
    Spent all day wandering the mazes of literature
    – look at Lillian Hellman – surely she’s getting very bizarre. She’s a “history
    fixer” and no one wants artists doing that.

                    3:20 PM Tues 27 Mar 79
                A bad day doesn’t make a bad week thank God.

    Got drunk with Maureen last night, (too much sherry in our tea) but with
    careful diet and lots of sleep I bounce back. Anne Lindbergh’s Flower &
    Nettle a great improvement on previous volumes. Tantalized by Rosamond
    Lehmann, who ought to be my next project. I AM HAVING ALL MY HAIR CUT OFF MAY 1!!!


    Starlight 8:30 PM Thurs 29 Mar 79
    Joselle plies me with Chablis – I succumb to get her
    to spill her secrets – but her secret seems to be she’s thinking of turning
    lesbian and her gaze on me seems somewhat fixed. Or am I imagining things?
    Two glasses of wine on an empty stomach and I’m a goner. God knows I long
    for the flesh – those “brown motherly furrows” as Plath calls them are in need of plowing. Would I have to exclaim over her body the way men exclaim over me?
    It just doesn’t sound fun. If only she were less female. More boyish. Order a cheeseburger to snap myself back to reality. This is a dangerous world to be
    hungry in.


    Reading Randall Jarrell’s Third Book of Criticism.
    I enjoy him enormously.


    11PM – Shank of the evening. I am dancing superbly
    but tips very bad. The approach of tax time or are they simply seeing too much
    of me? The latter, no doubt. Went to the health club today but I won’t renew
    when my experimental month is up. I was seduced by their sauna and masseur but need something closer to home.

                    Starlight 2:30 PM Sat 31 Mar 79
                Hot day – sun behind clouds – the sky is violet

    and the air intense – looks like rain, but I’m overflowing with joy and luck
    and good fortune. Just ate an enormous chef’s salad and two cups of coffee.
    All I needed for returned confidence was one big tipper and a non-suicidal letter
    from Devon. (He’s been depressed, is all.) Obviously it will never work out
    between us. We would be in competition each trying to get the other to play
    caretaker. I need too damn much care. It would be madness. Discuss this over
    vod & tons with Avril. Invited back to Mulberry Island, but also got a card to the
    Bullets opening (which I prefer.) Reading The World, the Flesh and Father
    Smith.     Dancing very well – what a pity I’m “sculpting in snow”. Feeling in
    tune opens a clear lens to the soul.

                9PM Tues 3 Apr 79
            Buying spree with A.  Bought a pile of silk shirts and

    a satin whipcord coat & skirt (black). Immortal piece I should still be wearing
    thirty years from now. We had a lovely lunch at Third Edition – reminiscing
    about our lovers’ bodies – what we treasure most – I vote for the flock of
    milky-white scars above Devon’s buttocks. Aaah. Intimations of glorious,
    irreproducible mortality. I am also irate at not hearing from Usher and even
    more irate at myself for being irate. He is obviously a no go so what’s wrong
    with me? I think I may be like those explorers expiring for lack of vitamin C.
    Need to force myself to eat raw blubber just to save my life. It’s a wonder anyone survives.
    Reading 3rd vol David Garnett’s autobiog – what an
    unlikeable human being.
    Car pooped out on us will cost $250 to fix.

                Starlight 9:15 PM Wed 4 Apr 79
            I hate wasted days.  Drove all the way to White Flint

    Mall to pick up my rhinestone glasses – a pin broke on them – and all
    the way back. Grrr.
    Not liking Robt Frost’s letters and Christina Stead’s
    House of Nations is even harder to get into. But things looking up on
    diet front. Fewer binges. 5 days of rain, and a power mogul in the
    audience who keeps instructing me on how to please him. I curtsy down
    to the floor very gracefully and pretend I don’t speak English.

                Starlight 8:25 PM Sun 8 Apr 79
            Burst of freedom rescues me from inertia. My best

    moments are intense enjoyment of the present: must write and examine
    everything. Revel in my own growth – including comprehension that Usher
    Glayne can’t be my crutch. Lost 4 lbs eating apples and feel good – refuse
    to take a guy’s tip because he licked his lips at me. Yuck. Jervaze came into
    the bar last night, dragging his shame-filled self across the floor. I couldn’t
    resist suggesting he come home with me – he was so excited – love poured
    out of him like a dizzying force. I browsed greedily on his beautiful body. It
    was like plugging into an electric current. He moaned, “You’re so good to
    me” but when my orgasm came it was just a little pop – uncorking a bottle of
    stale champagne. So goodbye to all that. Masturbation is really a lot less
    trouble.


    Out to China Syndrome movie tomorrow with Avril.
    John Middleton Murray is a blubberer. Usher sent me a poem entitled “I
    dream of starting off with you” which was obviously not written for me. Took
    her name out and slammed my name in. What could go wrong? What a pity
    we leave choice up to men when they so clearly have no idea what they are
    doing.