Sunny California. Highest temperature: 76... Just a little California propaganda. Something about this California climate... there seems to be enthusiasm in the air. Any kind of climate will seem heavenly after the heat of the Mohave Desert, through which we passed on Wednesday night, the 11th. When we filled our gas tank, oil pan, radiator, and water bag at Kingsman, Arizona, the service station man said, very casually, that the temperature from there on to Needles California would be around 130. We do not doubt his word. But let me go back to Amarillo, Texas, where I left you last week. We wouldn't want you to miss any of this cross-country trip. I forgot to tell you to be very circumspect when you visit the motor courts of Amarillo. In the delightful apartment that we occupied in Bungalow Courts, pasted on each bedroom mirror (where a dishevelled traveller is sure to look, first thing) is a printed sign: "The woman who occupies this room must be your wife or kin. We cannot and will not tolerate partying. We cooperate with the police department in this." To offset the sternness of this message a neat little sign pasted on the bathroom and kitchen mirror says. "Please complain to us if this room is not clean. We want your stay to be pleasant." It was just that, bless their hearts. The colored porter and maids, in their immaculate uniforms were as gracious, generous and helpful as could be. Our contentment reached a new high when we all assembled in the bathroom while Charlie was shaving, Virgil Jr. perched high on the blanket shelf, and harmonized on "Love's Old Sweet Song" and "You Are My Sunshine." The novelty of it lay in the fact that the four of us had never attempted such a thing before this trip. Little did we know that two days later we would be shouting at each other in a sort of motor cavalcade of "do's" and "don'ts" and reproaches. We had left Amarillo at 5 o'clock Monday evening with a new timing gear, light hearts, and a slightly lighter purse ($32 lighter) with the sweet assurance from the garage foreman that if we drove 35 m.p.h. the first 75 miles, 40 m.p.h. the next 50, and 45 the next 50, everything would be hunky-dory. The boys did most of the driving; in fact, all but about 300 miles, done by yours truly on the slow runs. Only twice did we go above 50, which shows what a dignified, conservative carriage is ours.

Due to the pressure of household tasks (which must be done, even in Sunny California) I have had to forsake the column for the rest of the day. It is now 5:45 Saturday morning. The mail is collected at 6, which is surely the deadline - even with Uncle Sam's swift air mail.

I did not mean to drag you across the country. But I hope to complete the traveling next week.

Florence B. Taylor.
241 E. Tenth St. Long Beach, 2, Calif.

Next - 10/12/46 - The "Great" Adventure. Long Beach CA
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