March 23rd, 1932
My fortunes continue to improve in the most ordinary ways. Though the tides of time have not swept the market back out to clearer waters, I find myself fretting less about it on this particular week.
The cherry blossoms are beginning to bloom and they become no less glorious the more years I witness their resurgence. I had the pleasure of accompanying Miss Eudora Hale and her aunt on a walk to enjoy their splendors and found the whole outing invigorating. Fresh air and ambulating is always a balm for the body and soul, but it was the conversation I found most renewing.
I made Miss Hale’s acquaintance some months ago and have, in all honesty, avoided much contact since, despite finding our first meeting quite diverting. It is only recently that I have been reminded that it isn’t the eighties anymore, and I’m allowed enjoy the company of a young woman without the suffocating expectation of a proposal. I, of course, must still be careful as to not lead her to the wrong conclusions in regards to her understanding of my affections, but I expect she views me more as an elder brother than anything else.
It has been many years since I formed a friendship beyond one of circumstance or convenience. So long, in fact, that I hadn’t known to miss the unique pleasures of having the opportunity to learn someone’s mind. Miss Hale is bright and charming, with a wit sharp enough to cut even the sturdiest of men. Though we met at a gathering of scientists—the occupation of her father—she is more interested in the arts. She has many opinions to share in regards to sculpture and paintings, and is incredibly well-read for someone so young. But her real love is live performance.
She was delighted to hear that I had known a man who worked in the theater once (a man of my own creation—a blend of Fogg’s experiences and my own) and has very generously indulged me as I walk down memory lane. It’s wonderful to see her eyes grow wide as I describe the illusionist arts of the last century (explained to me by this dear, old friend who has since passed, of course) and the burst of new theater I experienced while living in New York.
Regaling Miss Hale with stories from my life—especially a part of it that feels so very long ago—has been a vital reminder that I have, in fact, lived a very interesting one. It is easy to get stuck in the doldrums of my never-ending existence, and while wallowing in the past is certainly not a cure-all for that feeling, a visit every now and then is bolstering for the spirit, I think. My life has shifted so dramatically since the World’s Fair, both for the better and the worse, and I daresay it will shift again and again and again.
It is heartening to think that, though the cherry blossoms will be gone in a few short weeks, they’ll return again next year. Living things are most remarkable in their state of change.
[from the personal diary of C. X. Chambers]
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