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Thank you with all my heart for writing me about Jobyna3. I hadn't heard of her death4 and might not have heard for months. O
Zoe, don't you sometimes wish we had been born in a kinder and less
"progressive" age than this, when people lived closer together and stayed at
home more and had a deeper and less scattered
life? So many sad and bitter things are happening to my old friends in
Nebraska5 that I can't feel very
happy. I can send them canned fruit and vegetables and checks to buy clothes
and fuel, but I can't bring their dead trees and ruined pasture lands back
to life. There five terrible years of utter
drouth and frightful heat have ruined their farms and their health. In my
own town6
two
months when the heat did not drop below 100
for a single day, and went as high as 117, usually about 110! I feel wicked
to be up here in this green flowery island2 in the north and to be wearing sweaters almost every
day. Since I wrote you I've not been awfully well, but I think it's worry
about my old friends that takes the energy out of me. Keep well, my dear,
and enjoy life—as you have a blessed gift for doing. One's life is all one
has, and I want yours to be long and happy. You'll miss Jobyna, but I'm so
glad she died on an up-grade and never went all
to pieces as I had a fear she might do. And to think of her business affairs
being in good order! Jobyna was always wiser
wiser than she let on to be—except about alcohol. Why do people guzzle, when
a little wine is so good?
This is not a letter, dear, but a note to thank you for writing me at once. These days I dread a pen like a red hot poker.
Lovingly Willa Mrs. Hugo Rumbold1 2041 Brigden Boulevard Pasadena7 California U. S. A. By Air