Greetings and farewell from Texas!
This little town of Hawkins is a very pleasant stop-over on the way home. It is the home of Mary's daughter, Judith, and the fine young man she married 4-1/2 years ago - Wesley Marston. They have a beautiful daughter, Karen Leigh, aged 20 months. I thought Mary was the usual prejudiced and daffy grandmother when she wrote all the glowing accounts of Karen. I find that the pen can hardly do her justice. For who can put a baby's smile or the gestures of tiny hands on paper? Or the texture of a baby's cheek? I must say this: that Karen's golden curls are the most beautiful that I have seen. She and her mother had been visiting in Austin for a week, and Mary drove us all up here yesterday - Mary is to have a week's rest before returning to large scale production in baking with her new Blodgett oven.
Last week we did many interesting things, such as learning to drive a jeep, eat devilled crab in a swanky hotel, learn the true meaning of predestination (which I must pass on to you, along with the other high-lights of that marvelous Presbyterian conference). But the really exciting experience has remained for my last day with my dear ones. A friend of Wes', who flew in here last evening, is going to take Mary and me for a ride this evening, as soon as the air cools off a little. He pilots his own plane, and hops down here from Baltimore with a load of fresh crabs quite as casually as one of us ordinary mortals would drive up street to Aunt Minnie's with a pound of hamburger. Bernard Vincenti served in Uncle Sam's air corps, along with Wes, down in Panama. In fact, Wes was his commanding officer, and even as such, managed to keep Bernie's unswerving friendship. He (Bernie) is referred to as Wes' "millionaire friend." He seems to have unlimited funds, and may or may not practice his profession, which is law. His mother took a plane for Europe the other day. And thereby hangs a tale. Bernie told us this story as we sat in the Marston's back yard last night, munching soft-shell crabs. Bernie has two sisters, both married. One of them was "expecting" the first in August. Mrs. Vincenti, the mother, had reservations on this trans-Atlantic plane for the 13th. Everything should have been lovely. But the perverse little bundle from heaven failed to catch his Aug. 1 deadline. Aug. 12th, he still hadn't arrived. Mrs. Vincenti had to catch a 5 o'clock train for New York. So she hustled her daughter off to the hospital and insisted that the doctors give Mother Nature a shot in the arm. The dear little babe was ushered into this world at about 4:10 p.m. - perfect and squalling. But the young mother had been put to sleep, and she just wouldn't wake up, to tell her mother good-by. So this time the nurse had to give her a stimulant. She came to long enough for Mrs. Vincenti to bid her farewell, and dash out to the waiting car, with only ten minutes left, to catch that train for New York.
It is strange to hear a suave bachelor of 33 - a man-about-town - tell of walking the floor with a ten-day-old babe, trying to get two ounces of milk down the tiny throat. In case you think Bernie's mother is a society butterfly, let me assure you that her winged flight was on an honored mission. She was chosen by the Baltimore Bar Association as delegate to the meeting of the International Bar Association in Stockholm. Bernie spoke of having had very little sleep the night before he arrived here. He didn't get to bed until 3 a.m. Mary and I wondered if he was a play-boy. This morning, over the breakfast dishes (he dried them), we learned how, as family attorney, he had been trying to straighten out a family tangle, where a wayward daughter of fifteen is involved. We are proud and happy to know Bernard Vincenti. And now we must go for our airplane ride. Au revoir until next week.
Florence B. Taylor
2907 Hampshire Rd.,
Cleveland Hts. 18, Oh
Next - 9/2/48 - Back in Cleveland. Visit from the Deemers
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