Hi Princess, I’m gazing through the window at three oil derricks, a wide expanse of Torrance, and two airplanes that must have been used by the Wright Bros. in their first experiments. It’s a real balmy day--about 75° and I can hardly keep my eyes open. As soon as I can get off I’m going to grab something to eat and then sleep for about twelve hours--My plane didn’t leave the airport until almost five o’clock and I got into L.A. around seven. I had just a half hour to eat, change, and get ready for my flight--which I made but I don’t know how. It’s late afternoon now and I wish you were here so we could go to the beach. It’s a perfect day for it, and supposed to be tomorrow too but tomorrow I have a flight to Camp Roberts so I won’t enjoy the So Cal weather.
The minute I got into the cab I missed you, and it got worse until now I’m moaning around here and--a guy just offered to take me out for nine holes of golf--and I refused.
There was a request invitation waiting for me saying Thursday evening I am, with my lady, expected to make a social call on the Commanding General, to meet, socially, he and his lady. Well, since my lady isn’t here I shall go it alone but I wish you were here to meet them with me. He’s a two-star general.
I received a letter from Mom saying she would send the dress and hoping you would come down or give her a call.
Gee I’m tired hon--really beat. I think I’ll have a brandy in about ten minutes.
All for now--And dammit, sit right down and start composing. Bye for now.
(Written in pencil on the back of the envelope in my mother’s hand:
The Scotch Broom looks like transplanted buttercups,
The cold stately Calla Lilies are refusing to be tossed about
The roses have long since given up, they let their petals be windblown)
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