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Erie, PA July 9,38

Whenever I start this journal off again, determined to keep it going this time ad infinitum, I have a lurking feeling of being kidded by myself; I have started it so many times, only to let it fall by the wayside. So this time, I shall make no rash predictions as to its continuity. Suffice it to say, I think it is a desirable thing, quickening one's appreciation of living, engraving many experiences and thoughts upon one's mind that otherwise would be forgotten. So once more, the Diary or perhaps better, the Journal, is off.

Willie, Bab and Rog and I went to the beach this afternoon. It was too rough to swim so we lolled on the sand in a little cove just west of the lighthouse, acquiring some sunburn. It was a glorious day out there, the lake many shades of blue running off to the paler blue of the sky. Out on the horizon, a few large, fleecy white clouds piled up on the water, making it look like a backdrop in the theater. The wind blew cool off the lake and long rollers threw sheets of spray along the jetties. The bay was only rippled and covered with white sails against the blue water, too lovely to attempt to describe.

A quiet evening at home. A walk around the yard in the full moonlight made me feel that after all, this isn't a bad little place in the summer. But we are thinking of moving to some thing a trifle swankier in the spring. However I've grown attached to this; we have put a lot of effort in to making it attractive. It is the only home Rogie has ever had and the only one Bab can remember.