Page 4 - Contrast1980v23n2

EDITOR'S PAGE
Half perched at my kitchen table, my thoughts turn to this
space of mine called editor's page. Countless images drift
through my head, fail to crystalize. Volcanoes were erupting
in Washington state. I remember Westminster. Section part-
ies. Christmas tree farms. Kings Dominion. Club Venus.
Alumni Hall. Countless nights in the Pub.
I run into all the confusion and pain that I've caused in four
years. Sometimes I don't like myself. But I'm trying. I re-
member Matlovich saying "life at best is a bitch." I'm only
half certain I believe him. I want simply for the people around
me to be happy.
Poetry. One large void. I want to write about flowers and
colors. Thoughts of thanks reach to Mike, Mitch, Ralph,
Teresa, Ronni, JUdy.
Ann, my co-editor, may you find the colors that you seek.
Thanks for CONTRAST.
The dogwoods are blooming. Kathy, Ray Stevens, and Del.
Always. Sue for simple loving friendship.
This is sounding like an awards ceremony. That's not what I
wanted. I'm simply trying to reconcile my four years. Pick up
the particles. Move on. Rimbaud comes back to haunt me.
And I'm not sure.

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