The movers were finished and gone, the door of the dishevelled cottage was shut, the mess and uprooting of the move was all about me. For a month I had toiled without help, cleaning and sorting, picking over, selling, condemning as garbage. I sold my four suite apartment…
One day, in answer to a gentle knock, I found a little Indian mother. There was a fat baby on her back, lased to it by a gay plaid shawl. She had a full skirt full of loud plaid material, a bright yellow silk handkerchief about her head.
January 17th, 1940 The owner of my house wants to sell it. I have to move from this comfortable cottage that has housed me and my pictures and my beasts for four years. It is a great upheaval. I have been happy here. At first I was dismayed…
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