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In one of her July 15, 1957 letters to my father my mother described a fight she had with her mother.  This was her conclusion:

“They [I guess meaning her mother, brother and his wife] can be happy again when I’m gone and I pray for all of us to have some peace.  I never have given her happiness – I see that now.  The only one I’ve ever made happy is you and I pray for a chance again.

I know we’ll both be happier away from our families – it hurts me so but is true.

I can’t stay in Pasadena now and won’t.

Please help me.”

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My father is in Alaska, Mother and kids still waiting in California – we went to a mountain resort cabin for the 3rd week of July.  This is from the 3rd ‘letter’ my mother wrote to my father on July 16, 1957 –

++ Afterthought – 15 minutes after my last letter

“I never hand described this cabin.  It’s location is not nearly as nice as some, as it’s located on a corner, quite (very) close to the road (which is a busy intersection for here).  As I said before there are huge pine trees all around and quite a sharp drop-off in back.  When we’re at home the children play in the house or on a tiny bit of cement out front.

But then it’s location is much nicer too than some.  It’s away from town, comparatively quiet and in a nice section!

The ones overlooking the lake are truly superior in every way.  There aren’t any real, real close to the water – with the exception of one beauty – built 30 years ago with 90 acres around it.  We were told by someone that the owner died recently, leaving it to a friend, rather than his own family – for some reason.  But his friend (?) is already busy putting a road through that beautiful wooded area – do doubt he’ll soon be selling lots.  All of the other cabins are away from the immediate lake – on high surrounding hills overlooking it.

The cabin we’re staying in has a fair size living room (no fireplace) with knotty pine walls and a tiny kitchen with old boards for walls and still fixed up kind of cute and a back-hall big enough for the refrigerator.

There’s a long porch off of the living room with a couch and old chair on it but we haven’t unlocked the door because it only has a rail around it and such a steep drop off right below it!  But I’ve told Grandma it would be a nice place for her to type if the children (or ME) prove too much for her.  (It’s a wonder it’s unlocked)

The furniture is old and cabinish.  It’s name is Owl Roost and it’s a wonder if we all don’t have nightmares of OWLS.  There are cute wooden cut-outs of owls on the blinds but that would be enough.  But oh no, there’s a large stuffed owl with evil, beedy [sic] eyes staring at me as I write (stuffed, of curse) perching realistically on a branch on the wall.

Still that’s not enough!  There are wooden cut-out owls on the window cornices, what-not shelves with all kinds of owls on them, pine cone owls, wooden owls, 8 tiny owls in a corner on the branch.  Is that enough?  Oh no – there are 3 framed pictures of OWLS in a row on the wall to my right and the theme (I guess you would call it that) is carried throughout the house.

There’s a black Franklin stove to burn papers in and help keep warm in the winter I suppose and old, old upholstered chairs (covered with plastic of all things – to protect them).

Really – it’s not bad though and has a peculiar charm all its own.

Now I’ll turn around and describe the upstairs – or maybe draw a picture.  (Which would be worse?)  I guess I’ll try both.  [Linda note:  There is a sketch, not copied here]  Now I understand how difficult it’s to describe thins in letters.

When we first moved in it was a surprise to see the stairs (I knew it was 2-story but of this type) and the upper floor is peculiar.  The 2 bedrooms are just barely big enough for a double bed a piece (one has a beat-up chest) – then the 2^nd flight and there’s a larger bedroom under the eaves with a cot-sized bed where John sleeps and another double bed.  There are no closets and only burlap curtains for doors!

As I said, it has a ‘kind of charm’ but I’ll appreciate my log house in Alaska after roughing it here in Southern California.  (I can hardly wait.)

(Oh, we too have a bath-room – I don’t want to worry you!)

I still like it here and prefer it to Pasadena!

I love you for letting me come without a fuss.  I know it probably wasn’t easy – as you said you could picture me before and knew where I was.  Well, now you can again!  With the owls.

Good night my love, Good-night. Do I hear a Hoot?”

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