High Calorie day at Lakeside

Sunday morning we go to the Patio Restaurant for a pancake and eggs. Most people know Brent and Heidi are famous for their donuts, but frankly, the pancakes are the best on the peninsula, or maybe the Northcoast. So what is that with dripping butter and hot syrup? 1,000 calories? Then this afternoon was the ice cream social and band concert on the hotel lawn. The day had started cool and cloudy, but by 2:30 the sun was brilliant and the sky cobalt blue (I took art class last week and relearned my colors). The servings were generous--so big in fact I ate both scoops of butter pecan ice cream but only a few bites of the chocolate cake with caramel icing. We sat in rocking chairs on the sidewalk in the sun.

All of a sudden it was 3:30 and I was getting sleepy listening to the marvelous band music, in the warm sun, with a cool lake breeze. But I remembered at the last minute the Women's Club Book Sale and headed over there with a $10 bill. Didn't need it because by then the books were going for a grocery bag for $1.00. Not much left, but I did pick up a first edition of Letters of Edna St. Vincent Millay. I checked it on the internet and found one that pretty much matched what was in my sack:

LETTERS OF EDNA ST VINCENT MILLAY
MacDougall, Allan, ed.

Harper & Bros, NY, 1952. Hard Cover. Book Condition: Fair. No Jacket. First Edition. 8vo - over 7¾" - 9¾" tall. LC# 527291. 384pp, index. Grey paper boards, green cloth spine, gold lettering on fading spine, wear to edges and corners; foxed on lower fore-edges and small amount on front and back covers, fading at edges, initials on front end paper, slight tanning of pages.

$20.00 plus shipping

So for ten cents (average), not bad, plus it's fun to read.

"Arthur darling,

This will be one of the most unpleasant letters you ever received, and I'm sorry. But it's time I got this matter off my chest and onto yours, where it belongs. . .

Dear Lulu [Llewelyn Powys]

I am so sorry about your brother [died 1936]. I think about it, and I say to myself, "There is nothing to say". Yet perhaps there is something to say, only I don't know what it is. I am the last who could teach you how to fit into the pattern of your life the death of someone you love; I have no skill at this."

Isn't that too wonderful for words? Her prose is as good as her poetry! This book will be a charmer, even fading and foxing on the fore-edges.