# 8 Post:
Monday, Sept 29, 1952
Pretty bright greeting for a Monday morning, isn’t it? I feel very – well — peppy this morning. For one thing, the diet has begun to take hold. After losing six pounds the first few days, there was a kind of dormant period in which nothing seemed to happen. It lowered my spirit to go without so many nice things to eat and then seemingly not get results. But this morning the scales registered 184 ½, just ten pounds from what it said one week ago. I suppose the body has to readjust itself to the new condition. Anyway, I am high this morning, both mentally and physically.
We spent yesterday at the [friends’] mountain cabin at Idyllwild, a mountain resort some forty miles beyond Riverside in a branch of the coast range I’ve never encountered before. It is interesting and beautiful country, a large six or eight mile valley, bowl-shaped, heavily wooded with pine and spruce, no undergrowth to speak of, a good place to ride horse-back. Very little water in the valley, something I miss after Colorado, Wyoming and Utah. About five thousand feet, clean sweet air and blue, blue sky, I miss that, too, but I sure don’t know what to do about it. Send me a small vial of it, will you?
The cabin is just that: a mountain cabin. No furbelows. It is rough shakes outside and plywood inside. Two rooms really, plus kitchen and bath. The living room has the usual big fireplace complete with moth-eaten, sad-faced deer head. Lots of old comfortable chairs and sofas, sort of cast-offish. Skis, bows and arrows, a bunch of paperback mysteries, ski posters from Switzerland around the walls; old beat up rugs on the floors. Very comfortable, very pleasant, not a bit swank or pretentious, a place to sit in any old clothes, a happy informal gently rundown mountain cabin. We thought it was swell.
Three of us went for a short ride, got horses from the local stable. They know the proprietress so we got pretty good horses. Mine was an odd animal in away because he had a dual personality. He was a white horse on one side and a pinto horse on the other.
None of his markings passed across from his left to his right side. It’s really true, Linda, if two people approached this animal from opposite sides each could truthfully sign a statement that would drive a district attorney mad. “The bank robber was riding a white horse.” “The man who robbed the bank was riding a pinto horse, dark head, huge brown spot extending up his front leg, from fetlock to withers, dappled tan spots on his flanks.” Even his tail had some dark hairs on his right side. Otherwise he was a nice animal with a gentle jog and a lovely canter. [Our friends] thought I was a pretty good rider, and I knew they were. He is really a fine horseman. A good all around athlete, I guess. Won his letter at USC in water polo, is president of the California Ski Association and also played football. Versatile, hm?
Doesn’t look like I have much more room on this sheet or much more time before noon. Dottie is going to try quitting smoking again. I hope to hell she makes it.
I love you and miss you. xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx