My Day by Eleanor Roosevelt

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HYDE PARK, Friday—Yesterday noon I went across the river to West Park to lunch with Mrs. Richard Gordon and the judges of the West Park flower show. From her house we went to the Episcopal church, a very charming little church which has a tie with our old Episcopal church in Hyde Park, since originally the West Park people came across the river to worship here on a Sunday. The tale goes that one of the boats was swamped and after that they built their own church.

My mother-in-law used to open this West Park flower show occasionally, so this year they invited me to do so. It was held in the parish house, and the booths for the little fair were out on the lawn. It is a real community undertaking, though the proceeds go to the support of the Episcopal church. Everyone who has anything to exhibit does so. I presented the cup to the person winning the most points, Samuel Tinney, who won 156 points.

There were beautiful gladiolas and dahlias and a new variety of gladiola called the "Atom," grown in Poughkeepsie by Humphrey Hedgecock of the Conservation Department. It is a very beautiful flower. I was given a large bunch and am enjoying them.

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I have been hoping that, since we had such cold weather in August, we would have warm weather again in September, but I am afraid that cold nights are with us "for keeps." As I walked through the woods this morning, I saw tinges of red on many of the green leaves and, across my brook, I can see one tree turning yellow and gold against the dark green background of the pines.

This pine plantation, which we can see from the cottage, was planted many years ago by my husband. It has now become a dark and mysterious wood, with a floor of pine needles thick beneath the branches. It has an atmosphere in which the children can play Indians or any other mysterious game and really feel that they are miles away from civilization.

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Our two little boys came down from the top cottage for supper with me last night and we read a delightful children's book called "Little Squeegy Bug," story of a firefly by Bill and Bernard Martin. The illustrations are just the kind that appeal to children. There is a moral to the tale but it isn't too obvious.

Squeegy is a little "nobody bug" who wants to be like Buzzer, the bumblebee, and carry a gun in his tail. Hunchy, the spider, weaves silver wings so that Squeegy can fly like Buzzer and live at the turn of the road just south of the Moon. But instead of a gun, Hunchy hangs a lantern in Squeegy's tail so that he can be a friend to all the world. Thus he becomes "Squeegy the Firefly, Lamplighter of the Sky."

Another children's book that seems to be of great interest is "At Daddy's Office," written by Robert J. Misch and illustrated by Roger Duvoisin. It is a simple recital of the routine which is familiar to almost any child who has gone with Daddy to see where he works.

E. R.
TMs, AERP, FDRL