EN ROUTE TO WASHINGTON by airline—I had a beautiful flight last Saturday from Seattle to San Francisco. It was sometimes cloudy with a soft white cushion of down under one wing of the plane, while on the other side pine covered mountains were plainly visible below us. Finally we had a clear view of Mt. Shasta snow capped and standing out alone far above the other peaks. I tried to forget how much I disliked saying goodbye to my Seattle family and kept telling myself how lucky we are that we can keep seeing each other as often as we do. It is odd how hard it is to rationalize feeling.

I was so concerned about the numerous appeals that came to me in Seattle, that I forgot to mention the fact that I received several letters which contained only kind messages. One enclosed a Christmas card, one a song for the President and others told of achievements which were good to hear about.

In Portland, my friend, Congressman Nan Honeyman, came to the airport to see me. She is making a good fight in her district. In Edmonton some delicious pears were brought to me and at another stop some flowers, so I felt very much spoiled by the kindly, cordial people of the West.

It was about two hours drive from the San Francisco airport to the ranch where James is a guest. I was glad to find that his enforced holiday was doing him good, but he does not look or seem quite strong as yet. I arrived at the ranch after dark, and I must confess that it did not seem like any ranch I had ever seen before. A swimming pool forms the center of the house, set in a garden court from which the rooms open out. It seemed like a tale from the Arabian Nights and one waited for the genie to appear and ask one to make a wish.

When I awoke in the morning, the sun was shining on the brown California hills, but all around the house was green surrounded by borders of flowers. I went out for a stroll before breakfast, was shown some adorable collie pups and discovered that, once away from the house, the place is a real cattle ranch run on a business basis. James and I had a leisurely walk over the golf course on this beautiful Sunday morning. In country like this, which is unemcumbered by people, I always feel particularly grateful to the Almighty who made this world and who put us here to enjoy it for a time.

I flew out of San Francisco again about 6:30 pm, had a smooth flight to Los Angeles and was met there by a terrifying number of flashing bulbs and wondered why I rated so much attention, until I found out that Irene Rich was a fellow passenger on her way to Washington to attend the unveiling of her daughter's beautiful monument to the nurses in the War.

A smooth flight to Fort Worth, where my lessons in flexibility served me well. Elliott and Ruth met me and announced that if I expected to vote tomorrow, I must continue my flight straight through, for storms were on the way which would, in all probability, prevent my plane from flying through the night.

I hated to give up seeing my grandchildren and Elliott's radio studio and the addition to their ranch house, but I must be home tomorrow if possible, so here I am on the plane bound for Washington and a midnight train to New York. It is wonderful what one can do with modern transportation facilities, isn't it? I left last Wednesday morning from New York and next Tuesday morning I shall be back in New York.