Life — December 28, 1928 — page 8: what you’re looking at

Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.

= Sas SKIPPY’S Dear Sooxy: Today I was out all Percy L. alone skatin on the lake an ji I felt like a flea on a win- Crosby dow-pane. There wasn’t nothin to do but scribble on the ice, only when I got through, the curleycues didn’t read nothin. It got me to thinkin at the time that I'd like to do homework that way—that is if I was a good skater. The only trouble is that the teacher would have to come out an look it over cause I couldn’t bring the lake into school. Some places where you go over the ice it rumbles like thunder an ya can’t tell where. I guess it’s because air gets under- neath it. Anyway, that’s what somebody said, I think. It sorta scares you, but tain’t nothin to worry about. It was just too beautiful lookin at the sun set back of the mountains. They were very by LETTERS dark purple against the gold sky. A large plushy cloud was just over my_ head, sprayin gold all around its edges. It was all so lovely starin at the mountains rollin an rollin far off that I forgot I left myself standin in the middle of the lake. Right then an there, I figured that if God ever took up water colors—oh, boy! Remember when I used to say nothing could be ele- ganter than Dusenberry’s slippery post- cards? Well, I'm beginnin to change my mind. The pine trees around the edge of the lake were so very dark green that birch trees looked like frozen lightning. Everything was all so still an quiet that I felt empty inside an terrible sad happy outside. It was like you was lookin at your thoughts turned inside out while the church organ’s playin. I never felt so happy before as I went buzzin around the lake. It wasn’t the kind of happiness that you get when your mouth is dribblin with chocolate almonds. It was too differ. ent for that. It was like God fitted upa great big playroom for me an I was makin myself at home. When I got back to the house supper was on the table, an what I didn’t do to the beans. Grandpa cornered the sugar bowl when Grandma wasn’t lookin—he tilted it an galloped sugar into his coffee, Grandma says, “Tom Skinner, it’s just wicked the way you leave the sugar in the bottom of your cup. It’s no wonder that our grocery bill last month was nine dollars and fifty cents.” Grandpa took off his glasses an then looks into the cup as if he expected to see a pyramid of sugar stickin out of it. “Let me tell you one thing, Ma,” he says, “you can’t say that about me because this mornin I gave my coffee one hell of a stirring.” It was a good chance for me to sneak out, besides I couldn’t see the last hours |of the year slippin away without bein spent somchow. So I went up to Jim's. | The first thing I saw when I went in was the fifteen-cent necktie I give him for Christmas. There it was in his very show- case, only it was marked a quarter. So I wished him a Happy New Year an the same to you, Sook. Affectionately sincere, Melodies of the Months January Comes January, snowy month, A blustery and blowy month, A month to make (and also break) our noble resolutions, When dead December's charge accounts Appear unduly large accounts, And winter chills and bronchial ills attack our constitutions. Comes January, stripling month, A Happy-New-Year-tippling month, When Santa Claus can pause because he’s filled our requisitions, A gaze-on-tropic-photos month, A Palm-Beach-in-the-Rotos month, A month that teems with hopeful dreams and roseate ambitions. Arthur L. Lippmann. Wire: John, I'm writing a paper on calendar reform for our club, Do you know which Pope gave us our present calendar? . Huspanp: Pope? Good heavens! I thought it came from our grocer. comicbooks.com