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Chewing and gnawing over little thoughts and sour, amused views on the rest of the world. Can't evoke that mood... am not feeling sour or removed or in need of a substitute world.

Nellie, I could ramble on indefinitely. If I were at your house, you couldn't make me stop. Talk..talk..talk..talk. I do love to sit down and talk. Okay. One day soon, I'll call and come in and talk. I haven't begun to tell you about Timmie and Ellie. There's a whole another two pages worth, at best -- but briefly.. Tim finished college as a philosophy major, and has turned into a mountain man in Colorado -- bartending to raise money, when he needs it, then off on pack trips into the wilds; in winter -- out with the skis into the fastnesses of the Rockies. El-bell is also in [[strikethrough]][[?]] [[/strikethrough]] Colorado -- having dropped out of the Boston Museum art school, because "she was not being fulfilled.." But she's made her own scene, art school or not -- and is selling her pen and inks as fast as they come off the drawing board. Controlled fantasies, as she explains them when people ask for a name for her work. And she has an agent now in New York -- one Amy Vane with Freelance Artists Associated (or something like that). Anyway, I find them both interesting and with it people and we are all good friends -- close friends, I should say -- and dearly enjoy each other's company. They keep urging us to move to Colorado -- the Big Golden West -- I'm sure we'd love, and we'd all like to be near by to one another. Perhaps, one day... But I do think of my mother, for the time being: aged 81, living in New York, out and around every day to lectures at the Frick and the Met, etc. Unless I could station her in Denver for her declining years, which have not yet really entered a decline, would feel badly at leaving her alone in the East.

Well, I'm rambling again. Enough. Here endeth the letter, and with much love, and floods of nostalgia -- Yaddo will not seem right without your being there. No kidding... Mary [[?]]