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bitterly to me this morning about how she sat in her room alone all day yesterday, no one coming near her, not getting out at all. (I asked her if she didn't want to go downtown with me yesterday morning and she refused.) This afternoon, we took a nice ride as it was a lovely Indian Summer day, and Mother refused to go along. I kept well out of the cellar today and still Mother sat in her room alone most of the day. Another thing - no matter how little meat I give her now, she will eat only half of it (because of the cost of living remark by Willie). So it is all rather difficult. Tomorrow Mother is 70 years old. She insists she doesn't want us to even mention the fact tomorrow and yet if we don't, she wont like it, I know. When she is in one of these moods, it makes it very hard going at home - it seems to pervade the happiness of all of us, even the children, with a sense of strain, unpleasantness. It is too bad for us all - most of all for Mother. After she "snaps out" of such a mood, she will come around and half apologize to me, showing she realizes what it means to us. But the moods recur and recur, and I can't get hardened to them. They disturb me profoundly.

Erie, Pa.,
Monday, Nov. 20, 1939.
Mother is 70 today - successful completion of "three score and ten" for which anyone may well be proud. In spite of the fact she told me yesterday she didn't even want her presents to be given to her, they were and she didn't mind. I final normally the best thing to do