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19 

HOME, FAMILY.AND FRIENDS (Cont.)

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Where some Catholics go to a retreat to contemplate and get themselves readjusted, I got into the habit of going occasionally from the office over across the Lawrence Park golf course to the steep shore of the lake, where I'd sit for awhile and think things through when I felt disturbed or dissatisfied. I did this on July 6th, one week after my return to work, sitting there for a half hour trying to get on the beam. I attempted to take all the threads of my life and bring them together into something tangible, something I could see clearly and take hold of. My life was good. I hadn't any kick on that score. But it was too helter-skelter and without unity--without a definite driving purpose. Occasionally I'd feel the thrill of it and at such times, I could see what it ought to be all the time. My only complaint was with myself for not living completely. It was simply delightful to sit there by the lake, to hear the waves breaking on the shore, the wind rustling through the trees and blowing in my ears with a gentle hum--wonderful to look out across the many-colored carpet of the sea—-golden, blue, jade, slate, all mingling together—-to see the trees and flowers and to reflect how all this was made. It became easy to know what George Santayana felt when he looked out the classroom window and then turned to his class and said, "Gentlemen, please excuse me. I have an important engagement," and left, never to return. There by the lake, I assured myself that I was still young and that my life could still be steered into channels of happiness and fulfillment, but that I couldn't wait much longer. I was finding it harder and harder to break out of the rut of routine. I knew that I must do the things that I loved very deeply to do--appreciate the outdoors and nature, read, write, draw, hear good music, think good thoughts. And at the same time, I knew I had to make good at my profession too, but my life had to be broad, making for the happiness of all those to whom I owed happiness. I'd think these thoughts often and they helped, but they didn't keep me on the beam completely indefinitely—-I had to get a recharge occasionally.

At that point, Mother had gone to Chautauqua and Nana and Gapa Fritschner had arrived to spend July with us. We now faced the summer in Erie, having blown my vacation time on the Colorado trip, but it promised to be one full of plenty of exercise and outdoor air--golf, swimming, tennis, picnics--and on the indoor side, a little penny—ante poker and some parties. Babbie was just learning to wade into the water, sit down, and then let the waves wash over her--litt1e waves, of course.  She loved it and would scream for joy. And she looked herself again after the intense heat in Louisville while we were out west. She was pale and peaked when we returned and my heart ached for her. How clearly it shows in the picture of her on the Louisville park bench, even her hair wet with perspiration.