Page 8, December 15, 1977
★ Meadows’ Meditations Present ★
Earl Zelswick Meets Argus
No doubt you are now wondering
“who in the world is Argus?” So to
explain once and for all: Argus -
(ar-g-s) famous name of super
canine species only found within the
confounds of Montreat, N.C. (Please
see the photo in the centerfold of the
last issue). I would tell you more,
but it would give away the story. On
with the story. . .
As Earl came shuffling out of
Gaither Chapel Wednesday morning
his roommate (yes, even Earl has a
roommate) greeted him with the
news that Earl had a letter in his
mailbox down at the P.O.
“Sugar Babe!’’shouted Earl. “I
knew that she would write me. I just
knew it!’
Earl’ s feet, outfitted m Keds
Allstars and Jox socks, sprouted
wings as he dashed away road-
runner styled in the direction of the
Post Office behind shouts from
friends saying “Hold up Earl. We
we’ re gonna go play a little hoop
(that means basketball in case you
were wondering and I’m sure that
you were).’
“I ain’t got no time for hoop, cause
a letter from my woman is like the
joy of eatin’possum soup!’ bellowed
Earl from a distance.
His arrival at the P.O. proved less
than rewarding for after he ripped
the door of his mail box off its hinges
his facial expression changed
dramatically. To put it simply, he
turned from a Jimmy Carter to a
Richard Nixon expression. “Wiz
gee! Just another letter from Mom,”
cried Earl now in deep dark
depression, excessive misery,
gloom, despair, etc. “Why this is the
12thlletter from my parents this week!’
Suddenly a door swung open from
inside the mail room. “Hey bub,”
whined a little old hunched-back
man of about 80 years. “You’ re
goingtb have to pay for that door you
broke off of your post office box, less
I’ll have to get Uncle Sam onto you! ’
“He must be crazier than I am,’ ’
thought Earl as he stared at the old
dad. “How much it it?’
“Eight-fifty with tax sonny, ’ ’
replied the oldster.
Earl threw him a ten and told
himn to go buy some Poly-grip with
the change. That old guy, thought
Earl, must have more longevity
than a zit on your forehead. “By the
way, what’s your name pops?’’asked
Earl.
“They call me ‘The Ancient.’ ’
“Oh really, now long have you
been here. Ancient?’
“Long enough to know its easier to
use the combination to open my box.’
And with that, put-down Earl
moped back towards his dorm.
Halfway there he decided to open
and read his letter from home. It
\x secMs uKX Y«e ©md
c3F -me ■ ■ ■
was
read:
Please sit down, son, before you
read this for I am afraid that I have
some bad news. (At this point of the
letter Earl quickly moved to a
nearby large rock to sit down.)
Yesterday, while I was out hanging
up the wash I heard Nero II
(remember, folks, back in the 3rd
issue that Nero, his dog, died? Well
Nero II was her one and only pup)
let out a terrible yelp! I walked out
to the front of the yard and found
him in the road - dead - and a 1977
black on black Grand Prix speeding
off in the distance. The police are
looking for the car now. Please do
not take this too hard.
Love, Mom
cuds appeared out of nowhere,
the sun was blocked out, a cool wind
picked up blowing across Earl’s
right shoulder, the rock shook, and a
tear ran down the side of Earl’s face.
“Why, Lord, why?’’moaned Earl as
he bit his lip repeatedly. (Readers,
try and tell me that this isn’t the
saddest you’ve been since your little
brother ate your pet gold fish.)
Earl’s moaning soon took on
added volume from a four-legged
passerby. Earl turned and looked in
disbelief at a dog approximately 2Vz
feet tall, curly black and red fur, and
hiff friendly eyes. “Gosh, you’ re
ugly, ’declared Earl as he reached
out his hand to (surely you’ ve
guessed his name by now. No! It’s
not Joey Shore.) what he later came
to call Argus. Why Argus? After
listening to Argus bark at a rock for
several hours with that gross and
downright painful barking (Arrr,
Arrrrr, Arrrrrrrr, ARGUS!) what
else could he call him? Yes, Argus
had come to Earl in his hour of need.
Fate had now taken a turn for the
better in Earl’s life. Although he felt
that Argus could never replace Nero
or Nero II, Earl knew he had found a
true friend. Someone to do things
with, someone to buy Christmas
presents for, someone to look after
and who would look after him, (are
you starting to get as sick as I am?)
and someone to share his inner-most
feelings with.
NEST ISSUE. . . EARL AND
ARGUS THE WONDER DOG
TEAM UP TO DESTROY THE
FORCES OF EVIL WITH THE
HELP OF “THE ANCIENT “
NOTE: Now doesn’t knowing this
make you want to go beg Dean
Wilson to shorten Christmas Break
just so that you can get back for the
January issue of Aletheia? Oh well,
Merry Christmas anyway from
myself and Earl.
£AfcL- ..iosr OOOLVNV
ro QJST OVSE. IT
■COr pporA Novji-teEG,-• •
Aflsq?,
•It.
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How Soft The Night
How soft the night with charming lights gleaming,
How soft the night with carilons teeming;
The light voices carry with the canty breeze,
How soft the night with shimmering yule trees.
The time is here once again for the season,
A person’s spirit lifts with heart warmed reason:
And church spire chimes in fog covered gowns
Go round a’lay and touch as wind’s lofty downs.
How perfect each placement of glow and gloom,
Glows pervade not night while it leaves its bloom;
The darkness so empty I rid my dispair.
And bring in fancies created in its air.
How secret' a stream with its silver jingle.
Flashed is this spirit of inspiring Kris Kringle;
My minds runs wistfully out far to the lea,
As riding' the wind I feel amiably free.
The golden moon’s distance through frosty white mist
Acquaints old times past with its warmth I have missed
A forgotten friendb hearth in welcoming glow.
Uplifts my thoughts in the wind’s lofty flow.
How soft the night with charming lights gleaming.
How soft the night with carilons teeming;
The visions play windy out over the leas.
How soft the night with shimmering yule trees.
Donald G. Miller
Howerton 309
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Praise you. Father
I have never seen, only pictured
the bubbling up of water
as the spring comes to life.
I imagine the power of a gevser
as it shoots toward the sky.
I have watched water, prodded by heat
begin to form steam, and boil.
I have felt, though, a py;
a special happiness
that comes from your love, your watchful care.
I experience your grace;
each living day I thank you.
Though the sight of me
may not be the spectacle of nature,
the light of me is
your glory, God, your will.
My joy is inner -
the source from above.
I do not perk nicely,
or stream upwards toward Heaven,
but I do love you, Jesus.
I do come alive with your kiss,
Christ, my redeemer
I do seek your face
at the image in my mirror.
I do bubble over in joyous anticipation.
Thank you, Jesus.
by Ellen Draine
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